2019 USU Creative Writing Contest by Sink Hollow Undergraduate Literary Journal

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Undergraduate Nonfiction

Editor’s note

This special edition of Sink Hollow presents the winning entries of the Utah State University Creative Writing Contest, which is open to all USU undergraduate and graduate students from all departments and disciplines. We want to thank all our contestants this year for all their hard work, for making the judges’ jobs so difficult(!), and for helping to create such a vibrant and inclusive writing community here at USU and in Cache Valley. Many thanks for the generosity and discriminating taste of our contest judges: Russ Beck, Kathryn Christian, Brock Dethier, Matt DiOrio, Terysa Dyer, Robb Kunz, and Shay Larsen. Thanks also go to Sink Hollow faculty advisors Robb Kunz, Shanan Ballam, and Russ Beck, and to Angela Richter, Sara Johns, and Annie Nielsen from the English Department administrative staff, whose assistance in running the contest has been invaluable. And an extra special thanks goes to the amazing Sink Hollow staff who helped to run the contest, organized and promoted the Helicon West reading, and produced this beautiful issue of the magazine: Jess Nani, Marie Skinner, Mira Davis, McKaleigh Rogers, Carrigan Price, Lexy Roberts, Abby Stewart, Katrina Funk, Madison Lang, and Madison Silva.

—Charles Waugh, Contest Director

Table of Contents

Editorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Note

Charles Waugh

Everyone Apologizes Too Much (Or Not Enough) Ashley Thompson

Sexy Sale Ashley Thompson

Growth Mary Folsom

She Reads Me Walt Whitman Ashley Thompson

Love Marcus Crapse

Bluegrass Nate Hardy

A New Beginning Kimberly Rimington

Caught Nate Hardy

Moved Through Today Like a Basquiat Painting Nate Hardy

Letting It Go Justyn Hardy

Avalanche Justyn Hardy

Monkey Marie Skinner

Undergraduate Nonfiction

Fold Justyn Hardy

The Substance of Memory Marie Skinner

Yellowstone Sky Jessica McCulloch

Dearest Mother Kylie Smith

Walls Kayla Berryman

Succumb Rylee Jensen

Stung Abby Stewart

Mine Rylee Jensen

Bask in Stardust Rylee Jensen

Dead End Job Jonah Allen

Capture My Good Side Adriana Castillo

Pipes Kimberly Rimington

Strawberries & Lemon-Lickers Madison Silva

Overhang Luke Lemmon

No End to the Trail Stacie Denetsosie

Sinkulova, Prague in July Stacie Denetsosie

Apricot Stacie Denetsosie

Purple Grey Mackenzie Garrison

Stung while Sanding the House Christopher Davis

100

Having Cut Someoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s String on the Bus Christopher Davis

102

A Tick Off Christopher Davis

104

Surrogate Mother Emily James

106

Tobacco Emily James

107

If, Like Mario, I Recorded the Poetic Emily James

108

Debriefed Shaun Andersen

Undergraduate Nonfiction

112

Home Mary Folsom

114

Drowned by Blue Emily James

122

Abandoned Sydney Thomas

124

Moments of Impact Alyssa Witbeck Alexander

134

Urban Michelle Jones

140

Pink Carnation Alyssa Witbeck Alexander

144

Framed Christopher Davis

159

Bottleneck Cree Taylor

160

Scream Michelle Jones

163

Backlit Christopher Davis

177

A Strange Occurrence Brady Maynes

178

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9 Ashley Thompson Nate hardy justyn hardy

Everyone Apologizes Too Much (Or Not Enough) Ashley Thompson

When they walk across the floor you’re mopping, or their two Year old presses his syrupy hands and milky lips to the glass door you just

Sorry, sorry, sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

washed. Between wax-on-wax-off motion of window cleaner and old rags you say don’t worry about it to someone who was there once but is now gone, leaving nothing but a puff of smoke and a forgotten pacifier stuck to the carpet. When they ask if breakfast is closed or what time it will close or if it’s too close to close to take a bowl of cereal or

sorry, so

sorry, sorry, sorry ysorrysor a coffee or a sliced toasted everything bagel with honeyalmondcreamcheese. No, of course you can turn the griddle back on. Of course you have more eggs, salt and pepper packets, miniature blueberry muffins spilling over their papery wrappers. Just please forgive the violet and cerulean flowers pressed into the creases of your face, please recall the pay stubs on the counter, the unkissed faces

Undergraduate Poetry

11 in their beds. Let your mouth pull up at the corners, stretched like little tightropes, when an old man prompts you to stop vacuuming the lobby just to say

you should smile more sweetheart, you should smile more.

Sexy Sale

Ashley Thompson

Plus size-specific clothing stores shouldn’t exist in this godforsaken world but I’m sorry to report: they do. Because Abercrombie doesn’t want us. Because someone has to. Sometimes, Fashion for Sizes 10-30 slogans look more like Fat People Enter Here or Horse Show Contestants Only. Twice annually, corporate sends in big posters of size 12 women with wide hips, full boobs, tiny waists. Pruned, preening in their lacy violet balconettes and bandeaus, demi bras strapped around their torsos like saddles. Pretty cotton panties ride their smooth hips, the curves of their thighs. When a customer prances through our doors, bit in mouth, I handle the longe line. An expert, the routine practiced. Lead her, size her. She wants this, doesn’t she? So I’ll teach her the skills. To be desirable. To bridle herself as the women in corporate’s posters. Surely God created her with the same care as each untamed mare, mane soft and waving in the feral wind. Surely she should show all parts of her, each curve in its wilding glory. But my job is to break her in, train her for the show of dressage.

Undergraduate Poetry

Growth Mary Folsom

Undergraduate Art First Place

She Reads Me Walt Whitman Ashley Thompson

because I have to for class in seven hours even though I just locked up the coffee shop. I shut my eyes soft as moth’s wings, her voice yellow like mulberries blooming from her silkworm lips. I inch nearer the realm of sleep, awake enough to tiptoe around my own thoughts, to swallow the other poet’s words pouring from her mouth. what is it then between us? whitman says as I curl up beside her, cocooned, not knowing if I’ll be able to fly by morning.

Undergraduate Poetry

Love Marcus Crapse

Undergraduate Art Second Place

Bluegrass Nate Hardy Where’d you go sweet song? Summer thrum that played my boyhood like a banjo string hot as cicadas rattling in backyard locust trees shaking the air awake ancient drone— narrate me— an asphalt mirage. Where’d you go old call? You prairie breath filling the jug of Midwest midnight hollow rosin on the breeze pulling across dry acres of sweet corn out of the silence trembling over the West into the front porch where the sea glass wind chimes played back that same homesick song while Mama sat in the old swing thinking about Jesus.

I missed you before you left—

Undergraduate Poetry

A New Beginning Kimberly Rimington

Undergraduate Art Third Place

Caught Nate Hardy

Evening was hot in the soft belly of June. On the porch, we listened and swung To the drawl of roads shouting distantly one eyed at a bunny

and children and Pop—

threading his gun

We watched

rabbit nibbling his garden. and swung

and POP! the gun coughed, the fight was on and over in one shot.

But the rabbit leaped three feet, legs treading air as if to keep from touching the ground and tying the knot of gold thread led by lead needle—

Grandmother and I Undergraduate Poetry

thought the bunny may have defied gravity or time or god until after three days Pop came from the garden carrying squash and tomatoes and a thief caught in the act of being.

Moved Through Today Like a Basquiat Painting woke—

Nate Hardy

Happiness is Being Understood -Pavel Viktor

preoccupied and watched my breath curl in the cold at noon— a Volkswagen carrying shifting angles of sunlight up Center Street on its lip-gloss paint job— schizophrenic tangles of creeper hang dormant from the beige brick wall of the University Inn— old Layton is standing in his usual spot, beneath his straw hat, peddling Jesus with his matchstick voice— in my palm, an anchor, pretty in her makeup, drawls on in that tired serious tone about another shooter— A quarter past the hour and more breath lingers like limp ghosts across the quad— I imagine everyone is haunted by the sense they make to themselves. Passed a pretty, sad looking girl on the concrete steps of my apartment complex and thought about asking her in for something warm to drink and if she’d like to help me take all of the art off my walls.

Undergraduate Poetry

Letting It Go Justyn Hardy

A Douglas Fir, struck by loose boulders from grey cliffs over Dry Creek and bent at its half, provided shelter from the rain, for my father and me. Water smeared his face, turned red soil to mud, and the murk across our boots sank through leather, chilled our toes even as blue sky shone in the alpine storm. I will never know if father wept in that rain as he told me grandpa had died, while sharp winds from the canyon stole the chirps of larks against a lupine trail and father clutched his straps, as if his pack of PB&Js weighed like stone, his shoulders thrown back, chest wide against the gale, the cold lost amidst his tangled whiskers. I kept my whimpers silent, placed mitted hands beneath my butt, looked to father to see if I could grieve while rain whipped the fallen fir and a twig snapped, twenty yards east where two pines danced into the sky, trunks entwined, the antlers came first, a six point, heavy, with golden lacquer. Fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s gaze locked on the bull, hooves certain against mudded rivulets, the bugle sudden and waning as fierce gusts and rain silenced the cry and I waited for father to unsling his Winchester Magnum, but he never did. He kept his back to his son and watched the bull he had tracked for two days, feed on pine boughs.

Undergraduate Poetry

Avalanche Justyn Hardy

It took sixteen search and rescue members to dig Dr. Bennett’s body out of a half-mile snowfield littered with shattered trunks of evergreens—their upturned roots bare to the icy February wind that cut Dr. Bennett to the bone, his bones shattered they said, like a scarecrow, loose and only identifiable by the wallet in his snow-pants with a picture of Jamie, his wife, in a red dress at Thanksgiving holding me, their four-year-old son who remembers his father like a comet flashed behind Red Top’s peak, and when I asked my mother to tell me a story about dad, she told me he loved snowmobiling— that feel of gliding on powder while eight-thousand feet of Rocky Mountain air ripped through his lungs like God’s fire and draped the world, if only for an hour, in crystalline blankets, where the bullet wounds staining hospital sheets were bleached clean in a blizzard, where femurs crumpled like toothpicks returned, erect and straight, to the lodgepoles, and the mother whose daughter he told he could not save would reach deep into the aspen’s roots and hold her again—but I still hate my father, for loading the Polaris 900 into the trailer, for defrosting the windshield of the Chevy, for promising to build a snowman in the backyard near the swing set with the broken slide when he returned from snowmobiling that Sunday afternoon, for leaving me before I knew how much I needed a father— and now I chop wood for mother, carry the split logs from chicken coop to wood-burning stove in the basement, I write essays in English about the surgeon, the hero who saved lives and earned a Bridgerland memorial outside the ER roundabout at Star Valley Medical Center, and Mom cherishes my words, but she does not know about the five-, six-, seven-, eight-year-old boy who rode a yellow bus to school each day and looked out the window as the wheels rumbled over Dry Creek Bridge, where four miles south up the twisted canyon near Red Top, his father died, in an avalanche, atop a snowmobile in a mess of powder between those aspens and the alpine air that saved him.

Monkey Marie Skinner

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

Fold

Justyn Hardy

You told me I played my cards right, when I proposed under a half-sunk moon on Bear’s Beach.

The Thunder Rolls. My body quakes and the girl whose name I don’t know dresses and leaves

I doubled-down with a wet kiss, the kind that stole star shine and sealed the gaps between blinks.

through a door I opened while you wait for me in our messy covers I thought I’d never fold.

And ten years rumble past like buffalo herds on the open range, two kids, Emma and Suze, double time, over time, four hours into midnight at Maverick ringing up Red Bulls for younger versions of you and me buying a fresh pack of cards with ideas of Budweiser and strip poker. Now I am here, in this house, and I don’t recognize the shiplap on the walls. Four shots of Jim Beam, lacquered, liquored up, on a couch I’ve never sat, next to woman I think I might know. She grazes my hand, a wanton smirk, alcohol laced whispers, little fires, I’m all in the strange bedroom with posters of Garth Brooks in his Stetson, I don’t think about you— a few miles away, down Fern Hill, curled in our familiar bed, with a lamp that blinks like your eyes when you chop onions.

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Undergraduate Nonfiction

27 Marie Skinner Kylie Smith Kayla Berryman

The Substance of Memory Marie Skinner TEXNHNOIDEIN

the lightness and color of the

(to see art)

paint. He was undeniably a bit

two details stand out to me:

strange. But let’s talk about

the strange, almost earthy

much as it looks like it should

paint. Oil paint is made of

hues available, and the glori-

be, is one of my favorite Greek

binder (some type of drying

ous and cryptic names affixed

words. It means I see, but in

oil) and pigment (this is the

to them. Alizarin (red), Phthalo

ancient Greece, to see was

exciting part). These days, we

(turquoise), Cobalt (traditional-

to know. What an amazing

load up the binder with artifi-

ly blue, but now many colors),

idea! I like to look at art, but to

cial pigments, but don’t think

Quinacridone (magenta), Ul-

do it Greekly. What I see isn’t

plastic—that means metal

tramarine (violet or blue, as in

enough. I want to understand

oxides heated to impossible

crushed lapis lazuli). And how

how it was received, where

temperatures and mixtures

about Paris Green? You can’t

it came from, and how it has

stabilized with unimaginable

buy authentic Paris Green

changed the people who see

pressure. This is artifice like the

anymore, but it was certainly

it.

folds of linen that are actually

popular around the turn of

marble in Michelangelo’s Pieta

the century. And why not?

damental questions I could

are artifice—a representation

It’s more green than green.

ask about art escaped my

of the pinnacle of human skill

Irish Gaelic has two words for

notice for years—what is it

and toil. It is not artifice like the

green—one for things that

made of? The answer is often

fake smiles in photographs,

grow, eyes, the sea, and callow

fascinating. Van Gogh mixed

or the plastic everything that

youths (really), and one for the

breadcrumbs into his paint,

has replaced wood, stone, and

other kinds of green—dyed

not for texture, but to change

metal in our lives.

fabric, jealousy (maybe), and

, pronounced pretty

One of the most fun-

Undergraduate Nonfiction

When buying oil paints,

the color of arsenic. Grass is

ly made of real mummies,

stars, came from the urine

glas, but Paris green is uaine.

it’s not certain it was once a

of cows fed solely on mango

That’s why they don’t make it

human—why not a cat, or a

leaves. Ick-factor aside, man-

that way anymore. Papering

crocodile because who doesn’t

go leaves are not a healthy

your dining room in arsenic, it

need a good croc or two in the

diet for cows. Will Starry Night

happens, leads to poor health.

afterlife? No ancient Egyptian

ever be the same? As it turns

who was worth having over for

out, Turner liked Indian yellow,

browns: Umber, Sienna, and

dinner, I’m sure. In any case,

too—for the sun. That’s right.

other place-names that tell

the Forbes color collection at

The Painter of Light, as he was

us where the soil is a unique

Harvard, which stores vials,

sometimes known because of

color. If you want the same

jars, packets, and amphorae

his fascination with weather

brown that John Mallard Wil-

of pigment samples (the good

and sky, turned to cow piss for

liam Turner used for smog and

stuff, the old stuff), did not find

his favorite subject. The things

soot and his many iterations

any viable DNA in their sample

people do in the name of art.

of the tired landscape of the

of Mummy Brown. They admit

Does knowing what the image

Industrial Revolution: ground

that after thousands of years

is made of change how we

zero, you’ll have to impro-

in the Egyptian desert and

experience it? Should it?

vise—he used Mummy Brown.

spending a little time with a

And guess what it’s made of!

Victorian-era mortar and pes-

gerous or morally ambiguous

Some artists, when they found

tle, that’s not shocking.

hues don’t have such colorful

Then there are the

out that their paint was actu-

Van Gogh’s Starry Night

al human remains, gave the

is similarly fraught. For a

tubes of pigment what they

while, it was a closely-guard-

considered a proper burial.

ed trade secret, but Indian

Even though it was definite-

yellow, his famous whirling

Modern versions of dan-

stories, but they offer other ad-

vantages, and we have a much

The afternoon air is cool,

the occasional insect hostage.

more vividly populated color

but the sun is warm. Most of

My camera freezes them and

wheel now. My favorite paint

the leaves are gold and brown

captures some traces of their

ingredient today is cadmium.

and orange—shades of earth

laughter, but mostly the device

You can buy a rainbow of cad-

in one way or another. I see

can only approximate. Most-

mium—at least nine hues—

Sienna, Umber, Ochre, Indian

ly, their faces and limbs are

from Windsor&Newton. The

Yellow, Payne’s Gray, Cadmium

smudgy blurs. Impressions, not

oranges, reds, and yellows are

in all its hues.

precisions.

the oldest colors made with

Orpiment.

cadmium. What I see so much

Walking has always

The landscape doesn’t jump around, though, so when

in the autumn is what should

seemed simultaneously like

I turn to capture that, I expect

be painted with Orpiment, if

an indulgence and a chore.

better results. Tap after tap, the

anything was painted with

On days like this, with the sun

screen tells me I’m a poor pho-

Orpiment any longer. Cadmi-

flitting through the leaves and

tographer. I am, but the cam-

um Orange is close, and it’s

knocking some to the blue-

era is also lying. It can’t capture

safe. But knowing one orange

gray gravel while the wind

something so full and huge,

is made from something safe

whispers to the trees and skirls

and that’s not my fault. These

and versatile, while the other is

the path, it’s a pleasure. It’s an

moments are too much for it.

made from toxic volcanic crys-

extravagance, even with my

But it’s not just the motion and

tals, well, doesn’t one of those

children in tow.

light, the flicker of wind in the

provoke more intrigue? Maybe

Their chaos and laugh-

branches and the soft fall and

that’s why they make Cadmi-

ter tint the crisp afternoon

susurrus of autumn leaves. The

um green as well as orange.

in a full spectrum of delight.

camera doesn’t know what to

Someone is jealous.

Pockets fill with pebbles, horse

do with the pops of Orpiment

chestnuts, select leaves, and

nightshade berries in the Ul-

Undergraduate Nonfiction

tramarine Violet foliage tucked

is intended to identify and

paint, fine detail, composed

under all the trees decked out

catalog colors from photos or

(posed) figures and land-

in Cadmium Yellow.

directly from the camera turns

scapes, and mathematical

something vital and indescrib-

compositions. The Impression-

able into a code. A product

ists squeezed paint directly

the treasures of the trail, the

number. The camera on its

onto the canvases. They let

bounty of essential booty, will

own does something similar,

the texture of the paint add its

join the hoard on the front

but it’s an accomplished liar.

own shadows and highlights

step. Rocks remarkable in

After all, what could be miss-

to the work. They changed

their smoothness, striations,

ing from a photo? Paintings

the definition of art, but did

or color, twisted sticks, dried

are my favorite tromp l’oeil, my

they succeed in preserving the

flowers, seed pods, leaves, and

favorite way to fool my eyes

experience of twinkling star-

the odd dragonfly corpse. Out

and tickle my memory.

light or the quivering surface

When we get home,

of context, it’s all debris. When

The Impressionist Move-

of a pond? Are smudgy details

the Most Beautiful Leaf in the

ment was an acknowledgment

better able to convey emo-

World is taken from its natural

of the limits of paint and even

tion than precise, technical

habitat, it’s just a leaf. Just like

photographs to preserve an

execution? I delete most of

my photos. Just like paintings.

experience. The Impressionists

the blurry photos I take, yet

Trophies and mementos are

were variously fascinated by

I love to study the daubs of

sad, disconnected objects.

emotion, non-idealized real-

paint that might be eyes in

What about memories them-

ity, and by light and motion.

the indistinct face of a walker

selves?

Impressionism was a sharp

Color in nature is

departure from the Academic

changed when we preserve it.

tradition, which prized hy-

The app on my phone which

per-realism, smoothly-blended

in a Parisian park. No viewer

paint—another medium of ex-

Orpiment itself is volcanic,

would forget she is looking at

pression for something bigger

toxic, but the color, the very

a painted canvas, but is what

than us.

wavelength of the light itself, is

happens in memory different

I imagine experiences

free of that baggage. So, that’s

when faces are left undefined,

and thoughts out there, wild

how experiences use us, even

and landscapes blur and twist?

in the world, waiting to be

as they shape us. Of course,

Does it feel the same as some-

made into the fabric of a per-

the road goes both ways. I

thing the viewer remembers?

son’s brain, waiting to become

think of pumpkins, which are

Is my memory blurry? What’s

something, or just waiting to

that color, then of masks and

the difference between blurry

take us for a ride. Orpiment

steam-ghosts rising from cider

photographs and the Impres-

has been used to render silk

in black and orange nights of

sionist movement? Perhaps

gowns and sunsets. It would

late autumn that ring with the

one is a failed attempt to pre-

suit the wings of a Monarch

sounds of laughter and happy

serve memory, and the other is

butterfly, pumpkins, quietly

shrieks—all kinds of things that

a successful attempt to pro-

decaying apples, rose hips,

were separate from orpiment,

voke it.

marigolds and calendula

in all its toxic glory, until the

flowers, or half-ripe night-

color got into my memories

shade berries. Its hex code is

and bound it all together. So,

isn’t shaped by memory—by

#ED5900. RGB values: (234,

what is being shaped? Me,

the past? Perhaps people are

89, 0). I can order the color,

through my memory, or my

experiences, embodied. What

which is renamed persimmon

memory through the experi-

is a beautiful sunset if no one

when it has been made into

ence?

experiences it? Do we exist

safe latex interior paint, and I

so everything else can, too?

could cover my walls with it if I

Perhaps we’re like cameras or

wanted to drive myself insane.

What part of a person

Undergraduate Nonfiction

TEXNHMOIDEN (art sees me)

Yellowstone Sky Jessica McCulloch

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

Dearest Mother Kylie Smith

It isn’t a scream. Noth-

see the pony-tailed, 8-year-old

my front door.

ing is a scream until it reaches

child sitting before her. From

The police officer looks at my

85.1 decibels, and my straw-

rapid lips I hear only mumbles

disfigured hand, and at the

berry-shortcake lips are still

about robberies and justice.

blonde mess of confusion

too timid to produce anything

Maybe she’s seeing thieves

holding the blade.

above 64. I whimper, neverthe-

tonight.

“Is this your mother?” He asks

less, as the sharp blade fissures

She’s seen the thief

with concern. My mind scram-

my thumb’s paper skin. I have

movie before. I remember the

bles to articulate an answer to

learned, through sad experi-

plot has something to do with

this supposedly simple ques-

ence, that nights like these

people trying to steal all of her

tion.

tend to end with bangs instead

government money (although

of fizzles, and so I brace myself,

nobody is sure what that is).

Lydia is my step-mother, al-

anticipating the next move of

I’m not usually a character in

though she has been in my

my loving tormenter.

this story, but I am afraid that I

world for as long as I can re-

might remember the ending…

member. Despite the fact that

I look into eyes of em-

erald fury, and wonder what it

“YOU DESERVE TO

Technically speaking,

she and my father have been

is that they see tonight. Daddy

HAVE YOUR HANDS CUT

exclusively responsible for

says that his wife’s mind is like

OFF!!” she yells violently. Sud-

clothing, feeding, and housing

a 3-D movie theatre, except

denly, I understand why she’s

me for my entire existence,

for that she doesn’t get to pick

slicing me with carbon steel.

calling her, “mother” still feels

which movies she watches. So

disloyal to the woman who

it is that tonight, despite per-

my little lungs finally vibrate

gave me life. My aunt used to

fect vision, this woman can’t

enough to move a blue suit to

joke, darkly, that what I had

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With a bloody scream,

was a “Frankenstein Mother.”

commences a process to find

at least, like the pictures of Eve

She said that I could take bits

me a “more suitable home.”

I had seen in church. She has

of my biological mother--the

Two weeks later with

long, wavy, red hair, warm eyes,

colorful hippy, who I was al-

my fate now in the hands of

and a natural beauty unlike

lowed to see only during sober

people who will never know

anything I have ever seen be-

summers; bits of Lydia, my fa-

me, a stranger drives me past

fore. She greets me with a hug

ther’s wife who had made me

bright lights and familiar pave-

instead of a handshake and

smiley-face pancakes in the

ments to a house hidden be-

allows me to cry on her shoul-

mornings before her schizo-

hind mahogany and sage. The

der before a single word is

phrenic genes took hold of her

stranger tells me that Emma

spoken. My new foster-mother

mind; and of course, bits of my

is the best foster parent they

leads me up the stairs and into

aunt and her wife, the strong,

have, and that I will enjoy my

her living room, where I meet

stable women who loved us

time with her and her other

the other children. I learn that

immeasurably despite our

foster children. The car comes

Emma is a widow who feels

parents’ efforts to keep them

to a stop, and my eyes catch

no inclination to re-marry, but

distant from our world. Put all

hold of a bright yellow home

who believes that her life’s

of these together she said, and

with big windows. I breathe in

calling is to care for children.

it makes one complete, “moth-

slowly and exhale tears. Now

She has one biological child, a

er.”

separated from everything

ten-year-old boy named Sean,

that’s ever been real or familiar

and enough former foster

my hybrid-parent situation, I

to me, I get out of the car and

children to cover her walls with

nod my head at the officer’s

see a smiling face with out-

question. Apologetically, he

stretched arms.

Unsure how to explain

takes one-third of my mother into custody for the night, and

My first inclination is

that Emma looks like Eve. Or

pictures of graduations and

hand, houses marks from an

soccer games. Presently, she

entirely different kind of moth-

has three other foster daugh-

er. Apparently, living without

“Check out my neck.” He says,

ters, 16, 13, and 11. They smile

a roof, and at the whims of

rolling down his shirt collar.

with Emma’s brightness and

Mother Nature, her toes have

We behold a nearly-crimson

make me feel a foreign sense

been dyed black and blue.

sphere laced into his skin.

of security.

Sean joins the conversation.

“Oh my gosh! What is that

noun, the word ‘mother’ is sim-

from?” Hadley demands.

next few weeks, my thumb’s

ply a female parent, the verb

“A couple of months ago I was

gash morphs into a scar, and

- to mother - actually means to

sitting at the dinner table, and

I learn that my foster-sisters

care for something with love

my mom tried to reach over

all have scars from mothers

and affection. The definition

me to set down some spa-

as well. The oldest, Sarah,

makes sense, as motherly love

ghetti sauce. She missed the

has a gash on her forehead,

is supposed to be strong and

table, and the hot sauce spilled

apparently from her moth-

unconditional. Every back-

down my neck.” He explains.

er’s drunken fury, that almost

packer fears the intensity with

resembles Harry Potter’s mark

which mother bears protect

Even great mothers, like

of lightning. Jordan, the 13-year

their precious cubs. People are

Emma, leave scars on their

old, has a rib cage that looks

deemed to have faces, “only a

children.

like it’s been scribbled pink

mother could love” and even

with colored pencils; we learn

the fictional scar that resem-

to peaceful weeks, I realize

that this is courtesy of the

bles Sarah’s was formed, sup-

that my time with Emma is an

boyfriend her mother chooses

posedly, because of a mother’s

hourglass. I secretly disconnect

to stay with. The eleven-year-

tenacious love. It is, therefore,

the landline and break the

old Hadley’s body, on the other

with irony that we compare

cord—afraid that a call from

Over the course of the

Though when used as-

scars from mothers.

Undergraduate Nonfiction

How strange, I thought.

As blissful hours turn

a social worker will rip me out of my oasis. I imagine what it

of mother. I spend three more

would be like to stay here for-

months in the safety of Em-

ever.

ma’s home, until the right Still, despite my vivid

combination of therapy and

daydreams, I know that Emma

drugs mean that it’s time for

isn’t truly my mother, although

me to return to the former

I’m not sure who is. Is moth-

scene of the crime. My fos-

erhood earned or is it given?

ter-mother has given me a

Does the title belong to my

parting gift, a stone that she

biological mother?

says represents bravery. I grasp

The woman who, like

it tightly as I walk the familiar

Mother Nature, gave me life,

steps to a foreign, familiar land.

but then carried on, in indiffer-

Emerald eyes are staring back

ence to my existence? Does it

at me once more, but this time

belong to Lydia? The woman

they are softer. I recoil from

who fed me but failed to pro-

Lydia’s embrace, but see gen-

tect me in the way that moth-

uine love in her countenance.

ers are supposed to? Biology

She says nothing, allowing me

grants motherhood liberally

to ease back into her imperfect

to women who are able to

love. I look down at my thumb.

conceive, while women who

The mark is beginning to fade.

cannot must be financially, psychologically, and emotionally evaluated to earn the title

Walls Kayla Berryman

There are three types of strangers. The first will guess, the second she will tell,

and the third will require complete honesty.

Stranger in a room with cinderblock walls under friendly interrogation, dim lighting, large blue eyes. She thinks this stranger might be understanding. They live together, stay up giggling, talk about finals and classes. She feels stronger, older, keeps textbooks with quotes by Abra Fortune Chernik and essays by Virginia Woolf. Because itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been three years since everything, since things started lining up and this complete and total lack control of

stopped

being a problem

really, really And at first, nothing made sense.

Undergraduate Nonfiction

Years later,

still didn’t make sense.

But that was OK. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully. Some things would take years before anything began to make sense. But that couldn’t happen until much later, after another room, another stranger, another set of walls.

Walls have blood pressure cuffs, hanging like all-too familiar teardrops. Hand soap and sickness smell. Cabinets with tongue depressors, cotton balls, screaming You are a body that wants to stay alive! Stranger in white coat, tie, I promise you don’t want to be hospitalized. It’s not fun. You have to eat. Skin bumps with bruises and cold. There’s nothing as uncomfortable as sitting in a hospital gown in a room full of her mother and strangers.

Stranger with blonde hair and blue eyes says I thought so. That explains why your side of the room is so clean and later You’re skinny enough. Start doing that again and I’ll tell you to just eat.

Get over it. Face red, mouth dry and hot, climbs in bed and stares at her cinderblock dorm room wall, chunk missing at eye level, and stares and stares and stares. She wasn’t sure how the stranger would react. That’s the thing about strangers.

Stranger scratches on a yellow legal pad. Oversized glasses, crossed ankles. A lamp tossing light on a wall. Parents say, She used to be such a happy, blossoming girl when she was younger. Now look. She blushes, but doesn’t move her lips to say I’m sorry. At home she’ll climb into bed and read Pollyanna, The Secret Garden, and Judy Blume. Wishes she could slap the gladness from Pollyanna, turn into a worm and burrow, wiggle, tunnel under the walls of a secret garden with light and roses that bloom and bloom— and Judy Blume? Doesn’t know what to do with Judy Blume. She listens to her parents, ear pressed to the wall, Anxiety, depression, antidepressants, counseling… Anxiety \ANG-zi-e-TE\ n. 1 a: An inescapable need to worry usu. over fourth grade, decimals, family, family finances, religion, and teachers with red nails. 2 : an unrealistic sense of dread marked by sweating, racing heart and thoughts, shakiness,

bouncing knees, restless feet, loss of appetite, the

Undergraduate Nonfiction

feeling of ones’ stomach swimming with worms, and the possible necessity of the Barf Bucket.

Depression \de-PRESSH-un\ n. 1 a : An all-encompassing state of despair, marked by sayings such as I’m not hungry, I’m really tired, decreased ability to function in daily activities, lack of facial expressions resulting in poker face 2 : The feeling extending beyond “sad”, the feeling that one may as well stay in Little Mermaid pajamas and read forever. You sick? You need this? Talking about the Barf Bucket, of course. You wanna get out of bed? She has staring contests with the walls. Blank walls, white as hospital and blood loss walls.

Walls of the kitchen are a nauseating green. Why are you doing this? You have to eat! Her brother with huge brown eyes—eyes browner than eyes she’s ever seen says I don’t want Kayla to die! She gets up, runs from the table to the room with amoxicillin pink walls.

Walls, hidden walls of a cupboard in The Handmaid’s Tale have secret writing on them, Do not let the bastards grind you down in Latin, written as a symbol of rebellion, of empowerment, a fuck you to something that surrounds her, a terrified, angry woman, in a world where words, stories, experiences, are rationed, prohibited, contained, restrained,

a woman who thought to say I was once here, thought to leave her mark, decided to write something, anything, at the risk of losing something personal in order to feel stronger, she writes something that will eventually be read by someone she never knew could exist, could trust, a complete stranger.

Stranger in another white coat says We’re running out of choices. Diploma hanging on a wall, lettering so curly and foreign it may as well be Latin. I see a lot of patients like you. Are you worried about germs, hitting people with cars, locking doors or anything like that? Obsessive Compulsive Disorder \Ob-SESS-ev com-PULL-SIVE DIS-or-DER\ n. 1 : A disorder in which one has obsessions and is driven towards often ridiculous behavior such as handwashing, excessive cleaning, running to the point of exhaustion, plays a role in not eating, resulting in family members screaming What the hell? and Don’t do this shit! 2 : A frustrating condition in which one becomes embarrassed by one’s own lack of control and can’t understand how other people aren’t the way she is. 3 : A condition which extends beyond just being clean or just being a perfectionist. Nononononononono. She’s fine. Finefinefinefine. She’s getting sweaty-squirmy-antsy and all her thoughts are blurringtogetherintoonebiglongtrain. It’s just that Everything

Undergraduate Nonfiction

every thought circles in a triangle

don’t-think-don’t-think-don’t-think and everyone says it’s okokokokokokokokokok

and she tells herself dontthinkthatbecauseifyoudosomething really, really, bad will happen! Everyone wants to know why her thoughts are so strange, obsessive, destructive. Which came first, thought or action? Chicken or egg? She’s really hungry and would like some scrambled eggs like her mother used to make. Mother says Your room and bathroom are awfully clean. But that’s not a problem. Is it? Can’t be a problem. Parents are supposed to complain about messy teenagers, not the clean ones. Hides in her room with Pepto-Bismol colored walls. Didn’t want to get sick. Scrubbed until her hands bled. Family said Are you ready to perform surgery, Dr. Berryman? and We’re not that dirty. Not true, not true! she thinks. They keep a designated Barf Bucket (always smelled like popcorn), turtles swim in the bathtub, frogs ribbit in the laundry room. Her brother keeps a secret booger collection smeared on his walls.

Walls can’t hide things forever. She writes the sort of thing in high school that makes the teacher say Are you OK? Don’t let anyone see. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t tell. Don’t be the crazy girl, don’t be crazy— Edgar Allan Poe and nervous narrators, erratically beating hearts, Charlotte Perkins Gilman and “The Yellow Wallpaper”, woman tracing, pacing, ending up in the exact same spot. Her own family peels horrid yellow and pink heart motif wallpaper from her bedroom walls. Repaints the house. Reveals boogers cemented on her brother’s bedroom walls. Move furniture. Find her journals and binders shoved next to the walls, hidden under her bed, covered in dog hair in an otherwise spotless room. Kayla! Why did you write this? Why is this so dark? What’s this supposed to mean? Is this character you? What does this poem mean? She doesn’t know. Everything is too strange.

Stranger in running shoes, stopwatch. Did you hit the wall? Why are you getting slower? Sure. Just hit the wall. Slowest race time. Ever. That’s Ok. You’ll do better next race. We just need to get you over your anorexia first. Then we’ll

Undergraduate Nonfiction

move you back to varsity. Stranger in running shoes and track T-shirt laughs. Smiles.

She freezes in September, mind a blizzard, whirling, white, blank, high school track jersey streaked with dirt and sweat, suddenly too cold.

Anorexia \AN-or-ex-EA\ n.: 1 : A potentially deadly eating disorder in which one’s body begins to fall apart (esp. skin, bones, hair, organs) 2 : A condition which involves not eating nearly enough, followed by the feeling of never being good enough 3 : A situation which revolves around control, crying, and parents saying Why won’t you let us in?

Stranger in running shoes and stopwatch laughs. He doesn’t know. He’s still a stranger. He’s joking! There’s nothing so humorous as a girl slowly killing herself. Hilarious! So funny! Funny bone. One day she will see pictures of her own insides across a computer screen, ribbons of pain shredding through thinning layers of bone both feet, left hip, You’re falling apart here, here, and here— danger in each move, each choice, the feeling of limping on pure electricity. It’s an odd thing— to see even a section of a nearly invisible interior,

slowly, slowly revealing something previously hidden and separated, isolated by barriers she allowed to weaken, even encouraged, throbbing lines on a computer screen with the things inside her visible. It hurts here and hereâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; unnatural lines, unnatural breaks against skeletal whiteness revealing something so deep and intensely painful, something people naturally canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t see inside a body slowly healing. White coat again. You have to eat or you will die. Bone density. Possible osteoporosisâ&#x20AC;Ś Osteoporosis \AUS-teo-POUR-osis\ n. : 1 : A medical condition which is not supposed to be even a possibility in sixteen-year-olds. 2 : A medical condition in which bones become fragile. 3 : The condition of being fragile to the bone.

More strangers.

Strangers at church ask about her, and her mother lets everything out. There are no strangers for her mother.

Undergraduate Nonfiction

Her mother talks to everyone on the phone, on the back porch where there’s no walls. Yes, Kayla has an eating disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder… yes, we know… Well, she had some pretty serious issues with depression and anxiety when she was younger… We’ll let her know you’re praying for her… thank you. Her mother says This isn’t you. I want my daughter back. I don’t even know who you are anymore. She doesn’t know who she is anymore either. Looks at the mirror hanging on the wall of her bedroom. Face tearstained, eyes tired, lips chapped. I don’t have a problem. I’m fine… She won’t admit anything to herself. Even she’s a stranger.

Stranger that she thought to tell anything to the second stranger, sure that she didn’t want them to be strangers anymore. Strangers in an apartment with posters peeling from walls says Yeah, some people just don’t get it, rolls brown eyes, flicks long dark hair, If anyone judges you for what you went through, then they’re just an asshole. From a smiling face, red hair, Oh, Kayla! I never would have guessed! You always seem so put together! So clean, disciplined, driven. The nicest compliment she’s ever had. She could hug them both, these people who are no longer strangers, people who write her notes to tape to her walls. So sweet. Butter pecan, pistachio, pralines and caramel…

My parents think I’ve gone nuts. Trail mix. Reese’s. Peanut butter… difficult to swallow, past the point of physical hunger, there comes the feeling of being consumed. Digested. Eat or be eaten. Inescapable, forever on the couch facing a stranger, biting her lip, another room, more walls. I don’t think outpatient treatment is an option for you. I can’t help you. Go meet with specialists at Primary Children’s Hospital. Stares at blue walls.

Walls above her computer are white, chipped paint, remnants of Command Hooks, left over tape. I can’t write about this. I can’t let anyone else know. I need to hide, she says. That’s what walls are for. To separate, hide, divide. Something between her and other people, other strangers. Walls for privacy, secrecy, isolation. I don’t want to remember any of this, she tells the second stranger, chokes and catches on her own breath, hides in her bed and stares at her bedroom walls. She never counted on a fourth wall, a wall with windows, doors,

Undergraduate Nonfiction

a green EXIT sign, a blank page with black marks she created, looping cursive pencil, ballpoint pen, keyboard clacking, marks she erased, frowned over, never planned on a fourth wall for examination of the self, though it was always there, always waiting. She never thought to examine that fourth wall before, much less planned on breaking it for you acknowledging you, addressing you, dear reader, dear fourth stranger, dear person who existed all along, but she wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t sure she could admit, could tell, could open the door, turn the key, welcome you in, allow her a way out. Her parents always told her to never talk to strangers, to never let strangers in. Dear stranger, dear reader, how does she tell you something that can never be fully retold, captured in entire journals, books, a lifetime? Dear stranger, a movie could never recreate her parents telling her brother with his wide brown eyes You sister might die.

Dear reader, a camera could never snap at the exact second when she said I hate you! to her father who told her to eat, the moment when her mother said Please…you’re killing yourself. The second type of stranger tells her Everything’s OK. It will all work out. Nobody ever told her that some strangers were never meant to be strangers.

Strangest that she listened to the second type of stranger with their I think you could write about this. I think you need to. I think you’re braver than you think. Strange that she didn’t want to be a stranger to herself anymore, strange and odd that at two in the morning, she took a red pen and wrote on her mirror Do not let the bastards grind you down in Latin, paces back and forth, wonders if she’ll get her apartment deposit back, if she needs the Barf Bucket. Her hands shake, either from nervousness, or three cups of coffee. Why are you doing this? You can always write about something else. What is wrong with you? she asks herself. You’re OK now. For the most part. Why should you tell anyone? Why should you even bother writing?

Writing \RYE-ting\ n. 1 : To attempt to recreate

scenes one would rather forget in a notebook or

Undergraduate Nonfiction

Microsoft Word while drinking coffee for the sake of becoming acquainted with oneself,

so that one’s strange past is no longer so strange. 2 : To form onto paper the idea that one is vulnerable and human. 3 : The act of allowing strangers a glimpse of ones’ own mind and past. 4 : An academic activity and passion which sometimes results in the questionable need for a Barf Bucket, and the expressions What the hell was I thinking? and What a mess! She tells herself that to write about something is to gain if not power, at least some understanding of some event, because she’s tired of pretending and saying that never happened. I’m fine. I’ve always been fine. I am totally in control. She’s tired of strangers guessing— She looks depressed, I think she’s got some sort of anxiety issue… She’s tired of the incredible amount of trust it takes to tell the second stranger, the deep breath followed by Look-I-have-to-tell-you-something-I-had-an-eating-disorder-butI’m-fine-now, the deeper breath it takes to admit to herself It’s OK to not be OK. It’s OK to tell other people, nobody’s going to tell you you’re crazy, nobody’s going to judge you,

tell you youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re stupid, which leads her to you, to writing, to you reading her strange story, in an effort for herself to become less of a stranger, to the act of her walking across the room, past the white walls, past the blue walls, past the kitchen walls, to the fourth wall, peering through the keyhole, turning the lock, and letting in you, a stranger.

Undergraduate Nonfiction

Succumb Rylee Jensen

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

e d n

Undergraduate Nonfiction

n o ti

a gr

c i f u

t ua

55 Abby Stewart Jonah Allen Madison Silva

Stung Abby Stewart

Frankie slept in the

she had moved the bees back

ing through the walls, leak-

morning the bees were sto-

to her house.

ing under the cracks in the

len. Sleeping in hadn’t had

doorframe, bumping happily

anything to do with the theft, though that didn’t stop her from wondering. The bee thieves had come in the dead of night, her hives had been far

“Do you know anyone

who might have wanted to

against the windowpane as

take them?” the mustache had

a few dozen perused the lav-

asked.

ender bushes lining the front.

A face flashed through

The silence drilled a hole in her

her mind. Kind eyes that

skull. Call it what anyone want-

from her backyard, and who-

had turned tired. Hands al-

ed, premonition, melodrama,

ever had stolen her bees were

ways streaked with engine

but she felt in her bones that

grease. Darrin had left, but he

the bees weren’t coming back.

experienced hive-heisters, at least that’s what the detective

wouldn’t have…

Her bees weren’t a hob-

in her living room had said.

“No,” she had said.

by, a side hustle, something

He had asked her a lot

The officer had left,

she did because she liked the

of questions, made a poor joke

promising to let her know

buzzing. Her entire livelihood

about stolen ant farms, and

when they heard anything.

was tied to the bees. The tiny

talked through a spectacular

Frankie’s throat closed up, con-

house she could still afford the

mustache that Frankie focused

stricting so she couldn’t choke

rent for was thanks to the bees.

on instead of crying. She had

a “thank you” out.

Her thrift store sweater was

felt the prickle of panic in the

She collapsed into her

thanks to the bees. The beat-

back of her eyes ever since the

secondhand sofa. When the

up furniture that she shared

almond farmers she had rent-

bees were in her backyard,

with no one was thanks to the

ed the bees to called, asking if

she could hear the faint buzz-

bees. She couldn’t afford to

Undergraduate Fiction

lose them. All she had now was

ideas and making sure Frankie

Cassie continued speaking

the one hive left behind in her

was still alive. “It’s about damn

while Frankie covered her

backyard. Her first hive. Now

time, especially if it was one of

eyes, trying to find patterns in

her only hive.

those fourteen-year-old ass-

the darkness. She focused her

holes from town, they have

breathing on the pulse pound-

bee—”

ing in her temples until Cassie

She barely registered the knock at the door before Cassie barged in, all hoop ear-

“Someone stole them.”

asked, “Are the almond people

rings and big curls and bigger

Cassie’s mouth opened

still going to pay you?”

opinions. “Honey, was that the po-

and closed like a fish. Then, “The assholes.”

That was the question. Frankie had rented out her

lice? Is everything alright? It’s

“It wasn’t the assholes.”

bee boxes to an almond farm

not your asshole of an ex again,

The fourteen-year-olds

nearby. Almonds took bees. It

is it? If I ever—”

came and harassed the bees

was a crazy amount of mon-

and, on occasion, Frankie

ey for a little bit of work. It felt

ie said. With the detective

when she was gathering. But

cheap, like prostituting herself

gone, she felt herself sink like

they wouldn’t have stolen

out for a quick grand, but the

a weight into the couch, the

them. They weren’t that smart.

bills piling up on her lopsided

worn leather threatening to

This heist required skill and

table had approaching due

swallow her entirely.

the ability to reach the pedals

dates and no one seemed to

of a truck, judging from the

buy enough honey from the

someone?” Cassie lived down

grooves in the mud where the

roadside stand to pay them.

the long dirt road in a house

boxes had been. A truck with a

about the same size as this

trailer. A trailer big enough to

one. She barged in occasion-

take away all of her hives.

“It’s the bees,” Frank-

“What, did they attack

ally, bringing company and

Clearly unconvinced,

She agreed to a week of pollination, strapped her hives to the trailer of her truck and

Mine Rylee Jensen

dropped them off, load by load, one morning, but the bees had been stolen only two days in. There hadn’t been a formal contract, just a handshake and instructions on which field to put the bees in. She tried not to rent them out often. She didn’t like leaving a paper trail. And she didn’t think that she would exit this agreement without any bees. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Cassie.” Frankie’s callused palms stretched at the skin around her eyes. If it had been six months ago, the action would have smeared dark mascara across her cheeks. Now, there was just the crinkle of eyelashes folding under her hands. Maybe they would snap

Undergraduate Fiction

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

so bad. It would be good for

hard enough.

the bees. Weren’t they tired of

with her measly two-sev-

the three-mile radius around

enths of a week’s money and

fault,” Cassie said. The sofa

their house? His thumb had

climbed back into her dust-

shifted and groaned as she

brushed her shoulder blade, a

brown truck. The pastel bloom-

sat beside Frankie. Her hair

ripple of calm in the dark.

ing almond trees hung heavy

“Well this isn’t your

smelled like hot sun and the

Cassie leaned her head

Frankie walked away

off like dry grass if she pushed

around her.

pomegranate hair cream she

against Frankie’s in a moment

used to keep her curls intact.

of softness, the gesture famil-

keeping, she had managed

“It’s not like you ran away with

ial and weightier than Frankie

to avoid colony collapse, wild-

your bees after two days.”

had felt in a while. “You need-

fires, droughts, and a myriad

ed them too.”

of diseases. But at least Mother

“They farm almonds, they’re not exactly made of money.” Frankie’s palms

In her five years of bee-

Nature had it out for everyone The almond farmers

in those cases. Mother Nature

pressed harder into her eyes.

were nice enough. Obviously,

couldn’t drive a truck through

Hard enough that it should

it wasn’t Frankie’s fault. Ob-

an almond grove to steal 200

hurt. Sparks danced in the

viously, the bees would still

hives. It had taken her five

darkness. “And I’m sure they

be there if they hadn’t been

years to gather her bees. Five

needed the bees.”

stolen. Obviously, they trusted

years of gathering honeycomb

her that she wasn’t swindling

and stings and selling jars and

told her when she first hesi-

them. But, obviously, they

beeswax balms on the side of

tated to rent out her boxes. He

couldn’t pay her for a full week.

the road and at crowded farm-

had said it in a whisper before

Almonds needed pollen. And

bed, with a smile that con-

two days of pollination wasn’t

vinced her that it wouldn’t be

what they had agreed to.

That’s what Darrin had

ers markets. Eventually, she

bee on occasion. Once, he had

lost enough weight in the last

had enough to live off of just

tried to swat one out of her

few years that she no longer

the bees. And just in time, too.

hair, resulting in a welt on his

looked anything close to hom-

wrist. He swore as Frankie gen-

ey. But her honey was good,

pounded through her wind-

tly dug the stinger out with a

and local, and the people who

shield, pricking tears in her

dirt-crusted nail, ignoring the

drove to northern California to

eyes that could have been

voice that scraped against her

shop at farmers markets were

from the brightness or the

mind more every day. Bees die

all about that.

empty buzz in her chest. Wind

when they lose their stinger.

swirled through the cracked

She didn’t think this sting had

bee-jacking, she didn’t bring

window, snapping her wal-

been worth a life.

any of her supplies along with

The California sun

nut-brown hair across her finely freckled cheeks. Her

The Saturday after the

her. Emptyhanded, she colCassie—“Cassandra”

lapsed into the folding chair

post-breakup haircut wasn’t

on weekends—read tarot at

beside Cassie. Frankie’s legs

long enough to be pulled back

the southeast corner of the

looked like splotchy, peeled

yet. In some ways, she regret-

farmers market on Saturdays.

sapling trunks stretched in

ted it, but when the back of

Usually, Frankie would rent the

front of her. Cassie curled on

her neck sunburned or her

space right next to her, set-

the ground, compact and

comb suddenly ran out of hair,

ting up her buttercup-yellow

composed.

she felt the unbearable light-

tent over her gingham table-

ness in the fact that Darrin had

cloth-covered folding table

ing?” Cassie asked, only

never touched this hair.

to display her honey. Frankie

half-joking. Frankie had only

didn’t fit the rest of her setup—

taken her up on the offer once,

short. He hadn’t liked when it

she was too dark, too thin, she

and the sheer number of

caught dirt or leaves or even a

didn’t smile enough and had

reversed cards made Frankie

He hadn’t liked her hair

Undergraduate Fiction

“Do you need a read-

stop listening halfway through.

didn’t need to be reminded of

rustling. Frankie had no idea

A person could hear about

Saturdays hawking honey and

how Cassie wore this much

their introversion, passiveness,

coming home feeling like she

fabric all the time. “I know you

and aversion to change only so

had more than she left with.

loved your bees. I know you

often.

She didn’t say she was terrified

loved your house. But you’ve

that once the honey and bees-

been doing the same thing for

where to find the money

wax balms sold, they would be

too long. Don’t you ever think

for my electricity bill?” Only

gone and that would be it.

about moving out of there?”

“Will a reading tell me

half-joking. “The police haven’t

It was cloudless again,

“You know I can’t—”

heard anything. I called. They

nothing to stop the sun beat-

“Whatever excuse you’re

said other people have had

ing down. Cassie forwent the

about to come up with is a bad

their hives stolen, and it’s been

mysterious tarot reader aes-

one.”

months of nothing.”

thetic some weeks, preferring

Cassie hurried on, at-

“Here.” Cassie shoved

to spread out under the sun on

a sheet of printer paper into

tempting to distract Frankie

a blanket she bought from a

Frankie’s hands. A job posting.

from her impending poverty.

thrift store but told people had

For teaching beekeeping. In

“You should set up today. I bet

been handed down through

Georgia. “I checked for what

it’s not too late. Plus, it’s tour-

generations. This was one

kind of jobs beekeepers could

ist season, and you know they

of those weeks, and Frankie

get, and this came up.”

love your local shit.”

could already feel the sunburn

“Not today,” Frankie said. She didn’t say that there wasn’t much left. She didn’t

“Are you trying to get rid

creeping over her cheeks. She

of me?” Frankie asked dryly,

turned her face upwards.

half-joking. Darrin had never

“Frankie, look.” Cas-

say she was considering selling

sie reached under the chair

the tent to pay a bill and so she

Frankie sat in, bell sleeves

asked her to get a normal job.

exasperation when she came

she didn’t bother going inside.

He used to find her beekeep-

in late from bottling honey.

It was a short walk from her

ing charming. She had bought

The bees didn’t threaten to

dirt driveway to the overgrown

the first hive herself, the only

take the car on the week-

garden that passed as a back-

thing he couldn’t and didn’t

ends so she would be stuck at

yard. Grass, brittle from the

want to take with him.

home. The bees didn’t berate

heat, brushed the backs of her

her for caring about nothing

calves. She didn’t own a lawn-

er get rid of me. You could stay

but the hives. Bees stung, but

mower. Darrin had taken that,

here, gather more bees, suffer

only in self-defense.

for whatever reason. But she

“You know you can nev-

along. But you could also start

“Have I?” Cassie feigned

stayed in the tiny house they

somewhere else. At least while

innocence. “Well then I’m

had rented together and kept

you wait to hear something.”

probably right.”

her bees and that was enough.

Cassie shrugged. “Also, I read

A shy looking boy with

Or at least it had been.

some of what you call ‘non-

cutoff shorts and a temporary

sense’ about heart chakras,

henna tattoo band drying

inciting incident for Darrin

and I think yours is blocked.”

around his arm slowed as he

leaving. A lot of small pricks

passed Cassie’s sign. “I think

built up, swelling and healing

before.” After the tarot read-

you’ve got someone,” Frankie

and stinging again until he

ing. “Heart Chakra Nonsense”

said, vacating the chair. The

announced, “I’m moving out,”

meant she needed to open

paper wrinkled in her hand.

one day before breakfast, and

and accept things. That the

“Think about it. May-

she didn’t feel the sting at all.

“You’ve told me that

There hadn’t been one

bees were gone. That Darrin

be something new would be

He asked her if she ever loved

was gone. That maybe she was

good.”

him and she wasn’t able to

better and that was okay.

The bees didn’t sigh in

Undergraduate Fiction

answer at all. When she got home,

Frankie fell into her

usual smooth movements as

in the US. But as her fingers

were fewer now, but some of

she approached the remain-

traced the letters, her breath

them still buzzed, a last mo-

ing hive. Anything fast or jerky

evened with the ebb and flow

tion before night. It felt like

and the bees would defend.

of the words. She would nev-

the ground humming to her,

She had been stung enough in

er tell Cassie, but Frankie had

giving her a rhythm to breathe

her first few months, startled

done her own research. Break-

to. She pressed a hand to her

by one landing on her arm or

up healing. How to feel when

chest and felt the rise and fall

buzzing too close to her ear.

all your feeling is gone. Yoga

of her lungs.

Now she hardly felt anything,

for self-discovery. She erased

and the bees crawled up and

the search history as soon as

was impractical. She had lived

down her sleeves like she was

she was done.

here the entirety of her adult

an extension of their hive. The

Careful not to squish

A cross country move

life. She only had enough

job posting was still crinkled in

any bees, Frankie lay down in

things to fit into the back of

her fist, and she smoothed it

the dry grass. It was a familiar

her truck with the first hive

out against the rippling of the

position, one Darrin would of-

strapped to a trailer. Who

grass. Georgia. The Smith State

ten come home to as her hives

knew if her bees would ever

Prison, exactly. A program had

multiplied and she spent more

show up. But she had lived her

been set up to teach inmates

time with them. Exasperated,

life in one place with one love

beekeeping, in the hopes of

he had called her “Francesca”

long enough.

giving people skills and drive

when he found her like that,

while they served a sentence.

in the grass without her suit.

Darrin had moved, but she

Sometimes the bees crawled

was certain it wasn’t Georgia.

The job was absurd. She only kept her own bees. Geor-

across her clothes and glove-

gia was nearly as far away as

less hands, sometimes they

she could get while still being

swarmed above her. There

She didn’t know where

Sometimes she thought she saw him, hovering around the farmers market, or his truck, driving a little too slowly down the dirt road they both used to complain about. The sun was setting. The air tinged hydrangea pink and lavender. Georgia would be humid and green, but maybe the nights would feel the same. She already had a sting from a startled bee on her left arm, and she imagined her white blood cells rushing to fight the toxins, balancing her veins. The welts werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t as big as they had been in the past, but she pressed her nail into the mark, searching for a stinger but finding nothing.

Undergraduate Fiction

Bask in Stardust Rylee Jensen

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

Dead End Job Jonah Allen

Way out in the desert, in the

let with clumps of wet toilet

to be done about the blood

sagebrush-nothingness of the

paper sticking to its sides. And

there. He changed into a clean

American southwest, there

names and phone numbers

shirt advertising some national

are these ugly gas stations. In

are written and carved in every

park.

a few places along the nev-

conceivable place in every

er-ending rivers of asphalt that

illegible font. And there is al-

mirror, not to look at his face,

carry people through this des-

ways something alive, lurking.

but to see if all the blood had

ert, there are these festering

A lizard, a scorpion, something

been cleaned away. If he ever

waypoints, selling cheap can-

maybe that is a combination

did see his face, he wouldn’t

dy and ugly trinkets. And the

of both, the very essence of

recognize it because it didn’t

bathrooms. The bathrooms are

desert fauna: brittle, poisonous,

belong there in the mirror.

a thing unto themselves.

and ready to kill.

Then he looked in the

When he finished, he

The access is outside

Billy washed blood off

the building, for the conve-

his arms in these bathrooms.

sunlight, and the bathroom’s

He had a routine for it:

steel door slammed shut, like

nience of desperate travelers

walked out into the punishing

and to the consternation of

first, he scrubbed the blood

a brick thrown at a moving

employees, one must suppose.

from beneath his nails and

car, because the door closing

But if you have not seen one of

splashed water up his arms,

mechanism had leaked all its

these desert gas station bath-

and then he scratched at the

oil down the door and had

rooms, it’s like this: a brownish

little skeletonized blood rings.

gone slack.

gray stain that spreads down

The blood wasn’t his. It usually

the four walls and a puddle

wasn’t. He wore a dark shirt

way across the lava field of the

surrounding the solitary toi-

because there’s nothing much

cracked blacktop parking lot to

Undergraduate Fiction

He made his fearful

from bathroom to bathroom.

lar thing from the early ‘90s.

The man stood motionless on

shut, Billy just kept looking at

He held his hand at his brow as

the side of the road, miles from

him, and the man kept looking

a visor from the sun all along

anything. No vehicle in sight.

back.

the way.

He had no possessions. No wa-

The car was his prison.

When the door was

his car, which was a low angu-

“I— I thought I should

ter. Billy slowed as he came up

wait for you to talk first, but…”

As were the gas station bath-

beside the man, rolling down

the man said, with abstract

rooms, the slowly unspooling

the window.

apologetic overtones. “Are you

roads, the desert, and the sun. When Billy got into

The man stooped down and peered in through the

sure you’re okay with this? If you want, I can get out…”

his car, as always, he put his

passenger side window. Billy

Billy shrugged.

hands on the oven-hot steer-

said nothing. “How ‘bout this

“Well then… I guess

ing wheel, sighed, and hung

weather?” the man said. Billy

that’s good.” He smiled wide

his head for a moment. He was

stared at him, unresponsive.

and held out his hand. “They

saying a prayer. Hardly recog-

“Can I get a lift?”

call me Jaws. ‘Cause I once bit

nizable as a prayer, it was so

Billy looked at him, then

small, so short, and so utterly

at the empty passenger seat,

silent.

and then out the driver’s side This was Billy wanting to

be free. …

window at the flat landscape.

a man clean in half.” Billy nodded, shook the hand, and drove on. After a few minutes of

He looked back at the man

silence, Jaws picked up the

and nodded. The man opened

thread again. “They don’t really

But there was a man standing

the door and hesitantly low-

on the shoulder of the high-

ered himself into the passen-

way, out there in the great big

ger seat, keeping his eyes on

nothing, where Billy moved

Billy.

call me that,” he said, glancing at Billy, who glanced back. “They never called me any-

It read: Hello, my name is Billy. It wasn’t one of those

deadly breath. ... Rapture of the Reagans…

thing.” Both were silent for a

name tags. It was as plain as

seeking out and biting per-

long time after that.

that—simple font, centered on

sons of low-income brackets…

white cardstock. Jaws turned

notorious, delirious, President

scratched his ragged hairy

the card over and in the same

of the United States emeritus…

face, sniffed slightly, and said

stark manner was a PO box

devastating conservative eco-

“Sooo what’s your name?”

address.

nomic efficiency…

Eventually, Jaws

Billy nodded, remem-

“So… do you not speak

Jaws moved slowly from

bering that stating your name

at all?” he said, after examining

the disjointed chiaroscuro

was a part of normal social

the card for nearly a minute.

of sleep into the surreal an-

procedure. He awkwardly slid

Billy shook his head.

nouncements of the radio. The

his back up against his seat,

Jaws nodded with a

sky around them began to un-

thrusting his pelvis toward the

contemplative look on his face.

ravel and reveal its light. Billy

steering wheel. With one hand

This conversation consisted

turned off the radio. “Did you

on the wheel, he reached the

largely of subtle variations in

drive all night?” Jaws asked.

other into his back-left pock-

the inclination of the cranium,

Billy shrugged.

et and pulled out his wallet.

he noticed.

Jaws looked around at

Jaws’ eyebrows slowly crept up

“Got a cigarette?” he

the desert sky, which was vast

his forehead. Billy flipped the

asked. Billy reached into the

and alluring. Its union with

wallet open and pulled out a

pocket on the driver’s side

the landscape was complete

standard business-sized card.

door and pulled out a pack.

and created a sense of upward

He handed it to Jaws.

And then they rode on into the sunset, silently puffing

Undergraduate Fiction

curvature such that, as you followed the land, you would

ets always come from the

plore it and then discover land

desert? I mean, basically all of

“I wonder what it

again.

the prophets of the old testa-

means,” Jaws said, eyes trans-

ment start out in the desert,

fixed.

The shortest path between two points is a line. He looked back at Billy.

wreathed in flame.

rise and meet the sky and ex-

…

right? And Jesus. And then Muhammed. I guess the Bud-

“Did you know Ronald Reagan

“What was that you were lis-

dha is the exception. But still,

has been spotted all over the

tening to?”

always from the dust.”

county, just wandering the

Billy turned on the radio

He trailed off for a mo-

streets?”

briefly to show him 89.1 on the

ment, looking back out the

FM dial.

window, the sky blazing ec-

the newspaper that had been

“Hmmm.” Jaws

static pink and blue. “I’m just

sitting on the dashboard and

frowned. “Have you ever no-

thinking out loud. I tend to do

was skimming the B through

ticed that lunatic panhandlers

that. Forgive the non sequi-

D sections because, as he told

are usually the sanest people

turs.”

Billy, “The A section is essen-

you see when walking down

Just then, the warning

Jaws had picked up

tially nonsense, written by

the street? Because they’re,

signs of civilization arose over

macaques with typewriters.”

like, profoundly correct in their

the hills—billboards, lining the

diagnosis of society’s spiritual

highway as far as the eye could

gan thing to Billy, he flipped

necrosis? Have you noticed?

see. They were all on fire, like

back to the front page and

They don’t even have to say

burning crosses. Jaws looked

looked at it like a painting

anything at all.”

at them as they passed, one

whose is orientation is a mys-

Billy nodded.

by one, enthusiastic advertise-

“Nothing at all. And

ments for vaginal rejuvenation

have you noticed that proph-

and breast augmentation,

After reporting this Rea-

tery. “What the hell kind of

you found me?”

where I was at. And now I’m

newspaper is this?”

A nod.

here.”

“I was a slave,” he said,

…

He stared at his dark

They stopped at a diner on the

playing with the salt and pep-

reflection in the coffee for a

main street of a nearly dead

per shakers. “There’s a place—

while. Billy didn’t take his eyes

desert highway town. Billy was

out there in the nothing—that

off of him. When Jaws looked

visibly excited to have some-

they call Armageddon. I was

up again, he saw a deep sad-

one to order for him. He leaned

a slave of the apocalypse. The

ness in Billy’s eyes. “Hey,”

in towards Jaws, pointing con-

sweat of my labor turned to

Jaws erupted, “you know how

spiratorially at what he wanted,

blood.” He looked out at the

Moses was poor of speech so

and Jaws relayed the order to

street, then back at Billy, and

God gave him Aaron? Maybe

the waiter.

made a sweeping gesture,

that’s me and you. Billy the

clutching the salt. “I killed ten

Prophet and me, companion

pancakes and a root beer. Jaws

thousand men by the swing of

of the prophet.” He looked

got a Reuben.

my arm. With the jawbone of

back out the window at main

a donkey, I could kill the whole

street, then back at Billy. “Then

a nondescript mug and shifted

world.”

again… what is it you do, exact-

uncomfortably on the vinyl,

ly?”

which would not shut up with

cash register gave the two of

its little protestations of being

them a sideways glance.

looked out at the street, same

sat upon, squeak-squeaking

as Jaws.

away. “I came out of the des-

lab. I was an expert in auto-

ert, like a prophet, I guess,” he

mated homicide. And I guess,

the waiter came back and Billy

said. “Do you wanna know how

really, that’s the whole story.

payed with a handful of crum-

I wound up out there, where

Where you found me was

pled bills.

Billy got banana walnut

Jaws sipped coffee from

Undergraduate Fiction

The old man behind the

“It was a military R&D

Billy shrugged and

They sat in silence until

…

though, since they’ve been

out forever in front of and be-

As they got into the car, Jaws

ritually blinded.” He shot a

hind them. “I guess they’re not

leaned against the roof and

quizzical glance at Billy. “That’s

wrong about that.”

asked “Where are we going?”

an aggressive branding cam-

A man in a suit sham-

“And the messiah’s light

paign. But effective, I guess.

will be so strong that they will

bled by behind them, unno-

be able to see him. Or her, it

ticed.

in front of bulldozers or into

says. Good for them. At least

pit mines, because apparently

they’re forward-thinking about

car and pulled the newspaper

their schtick is environmental-

messianic gender.”

from the dashboard. He slid it

ism. Geez, that’ll really help the

across the roof, pointing to the

cause earn some good repute.

Billy ducked into the

story below the fold. The head-

“And they keep walking

“The leader says the

He looked expectantly at Billy and waved the paper at him. “So what’s your jig here?

line read, “INSIDE THE TAOS

messiah has already come but

Did you ritually mute yourself,

BLINDFOLD CULT.”

has not chosen to reveal him-

and now you’re going to blind

self. Shouldn’t they be keeping

yourself too? ‘Cause that’s

an eye out for the messiah?

hardcore, but I think one ritual

Instead of, you know, blinding

mutilation is enough.”

“Taos?” He furrowed his brow. “I hate Taos.” … As they drove, Jaws studied the article, which he had previ-

themselves? “Oh, but so the blind-

ously skipped due to its posi-

folding/actual-blinding thing is

tion in the A section, occasion-

because the world is pornogra-

ally sharing important details.

phy.” He twisted around, try-

ing to get a 360-degree view

“Says the cult wears

blindfolds symbolically. They

through the car’s windows.

don’t actually need them,

Flaming billboards stretched

Billy’s face was that of someone unimpressed by a bad pun. “Okay,” Jaws said, put-

ting his hands up defensively,

this urban legend, ‘The Silent

“I got that one.”

Assassin.’ I didn’t think any-

ded.

Billy pointed at the

thing of it. Totally forgot about

glove compartment. Jaws

it. I can’t believe I didn’t figure

Jaws looked out at the blurred

opened it and pulled out a

it out earlier. I guess at the

landscape. “So then I guess

Nagant M1895 revolver and

time I thought ‘Silent’ meant

we’re both slaves. Both con-

examined it with a neutral ex-

that you were stealthy and,

tract killers too.”

pression. Then he gasped and

like, used a silencer. I don’t

bounced with excitement. He

think anybody thought that

sighed and looked out the win-

tapped the tip of the barrel on

‘Silent’ literally meant mute.

dow. “So Taos then. Where we

his nose and said with childlike

Hot dog, Billy! You’re like a uni-

go, darkness follows.”

enthusiasm “Oh oh oh! I got it!

corn. I have beheld a unicorn.”

I got it! You’re a contract killer!

I remember now!”

ful.

Billy looked astonished

Billy looked a little bash-

Billy pointed and nod-

“So the second one.”

After a long pause, he

The sky began to darken with great thunder heads, but the thunder came up from the

“That means you’ve

ground. It was raining some-

at how quickly he had figured

been working around here for

where in front of or behind

that out.

years.”

them, but not on them.

“You wanna know how I

Billy nodded.

know? You wanna?”

“You’re a nice guy, Billy;

why don’t you get a new job?”

When they reached the out-

Billy’s look was Obviously.

skirts of Taos, a woman in a

shook his head.

blindfold wandered across the

here for the DoD for a while.

street directly into the path of

When I first came out here,

good at’ sorta thing or an ‘in-

the car, causing Billy to slam

there was watercooler talk of

definite contract’ sorta thing?”

on the breaks.

“Well, I’ve worked out

Undergraduate Fiction

Billy looked away and

“Is it a ‘do what you’re

“Can I get a light?” …

…

The woman wandered on unfazed. Billy watched her disap-

blue dicks, which were in fact

For a while, the two of them

pleasant looking pale blu-

just hung around the pool.

ish-purple flowers.

pear behind a dumpster. Jaws

Jaws rolled up his pants and

grimaced and rubbed his neck.

dangled his feet in. Billy sat

book emerged from one of the

on the edge of a pool chair,

second story rooms. She pat-

ager made small talk as he

elbows on knees. A woman in

tered down the resonant met-

checked them in. “You heard

a wheelchair was situated on

al stairs and came straight to

about our old friend, Ronny

the far side of the pool. Neither

the woman, smiling politely at

Reagan?” Jaws stopped rub-

of them thought much of it

Billy and Jaws. She sat down in

bing and looked right at the

when they first sat down, but it

a pool chair beside the woman

man. “Yeah, actually. Is that

became clear after a minute or

and began to read to her.

something… that we should be

two that she was not blinking

concerned about?”

and not moving. Whatsoever.

away again and thought about

She was alone. She wasn’t star-

how big the sky was. It was

him, don’t try to take him on

ing at them. She was evidently

awfully big.

yourself. Better to call the

staring at nothing.

cops,” the man said, pushing

the key across the counter.

look at things other than her.

long time, searching, trying

“Room 104.”

Across the street he saw a

to communicate. The woman

squat beige building with tint-

reading didn’t notice. Jaws no-

exited the lobby while Jaws

ed windows. Out front it had

ticed the whole scene, though.

stood there and contemplated

a sign that said, in swooping

the significance of this ex-

letters, Blue Dick Psychiatric.

change.

Around the sign were planted

At the motel, the man-

“Radio says if you see

Billy took the key and

Jaws tried to casually

A woman carrying a

After that, Jaws looked

But Billy stared into the catatonic woman’s eyes for a

And he realized that he was

nothing but underfunded arts

you?

just an observer in all these

programs in its path.

events, not an actor.

ning to understand the subtle-

When the sun began to

Billy lay supine on his

Jaws was really begin-

bed. Jaws paced back and

ties of Billy’s face.

set, the woman set down her

forth, occasionally parting the

book and wheeled her wooden

blinds and gazing suspiciously

right.”

friend across the street to the

out at the empty street. After

loony bin. Jaws said loony bin

staring out of any set of blinds

turned off the lights and were

in his head. He preferred this

long enough, one is always

lying in their beds, Jaws asked

term over “residential psychiat-

bound to exclaim something

“Do you think this whole Rea-

ric treatment facility.”

like what Jaws did.

gan thing is germane to your

…

“Holy mother of—Billy,

“Yeah. I guess you’re

Later, after they had

mission to murder the leader

There was no TV in the room,

come look at this!”

of a cult?”

so they just listened to public

broadcasting on the alarm

saw, lurching down the street,

even look over at Billy. He just

clock radio that sat between

a cluster of identical Ronald

stared at the ceiling. There was

their two beds.

Reagans. He looked wide-eyed

only a gentle chafing of blan-

at Jaws. Jaws grinned and said,

kets in reply.

vy-blue with the tailor-made

“Should I go outside and see

fabric of that POTUS of the

what they do if I throw stuff at

past, Reagan the Returned.

‘em?” His hand was already on

In the very late or very early

The Rapture of the Reagan’s

the door knob.

darkness, Jaws was awakened

seems nearly complete, as the

by Billy getting dressed. He

unspeakably patriotic parade

not. Why would you even—I

could make out Billy tucking

advances and grows, leaving

mean—what is wrong with

the Nagant behind his back

The streets now run na-

Undergraduate Fiction

Between the blinds Billy

No. No. Of course

It was dark. Jaws didn’t

“Yeah. I think so too.” …

Capture My Good Side Adriana Castillo

into his waistband.

As he opened the door to leave, Jaws sat up. “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Billy stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the outside world. He stood there frozen for a while, then nodded. He pulled the gun from his back and tossed it on his

bed, then walked out the door. As soon as it shut, Jaws sprung from his bed and darted to the window. Billy was getting into his car. Once he pulled out of the parking lot, Jaws sprinted after him. He watched from a distance as Billy stopped in the middle of the intersection of center and main. Billy set the car alarm

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

off; then he stuck a piece of

police brutality. They simply

shouted through bullhorns.

cloth on the end of a rod down

watched as the fire dwindled,

He just stood up there, barely

into the fuel tank, pulled it out,

like kids around a campfire

illuminated.

stuffed the cloth in the mouth

on the last night of summer

of the filler pipe, and ginger-

camp.

held her out over the edge and

ly ignited it. Billy sprinted off

…

And ever so gently, he

let her go.

down an alley, and that was

But when the fire died at last,

the last Jaws expected to ever

the crowd began to recognize

gave her a little push, and she

see of him.

each other as an incompatible

drifted further out above the

assembly. Before the disillu-

street.

Jaws kept watching though,

sionment could fully ossify

still a few blocks away and

though, a wheelchair came out

tore them off and wept. Ron-

hidden in shadow, as a crowd

of the sky and crashed into the

ald Reagan fell to his manifold

gathered around the burning

pavement. Everyone followed

knees and melted into puddles

car. A police car pulled up, and

the chair’s arc backwards, and

of unrefined oil.

then another. And people in

there he was, watching over

blindfolds were everywhere,

them. People pointed and

al integrity of the burning des-

and Ronald Reagan was ev-

gasped. He held a woman in

ert billboards failed, and they

erywhere—some blindfolded,

his arms, like a fireman. She

began to collapse into great

some not.

didn’t move at all. Jaws knew

heaps of metal.

who the woman was instantly.

…

There was no action

for what seemed like a very

Billy stood on the roof’s

And she just floated. He

The people in blindfolds

And finally, the structur-

Billy was gone when

Jaws’ gaze moved back to the

long time. All of these people

edge. People clutched their

rooftop.

peacefully coexisted somehow,

faces like cartoon characters—

no biting, no ecoterrorism, no

or The Scream. The police

said.

Undergraduate Fiction

“I think I get it now,” he

Pipes Kimberly Rimington

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

Strawberries & Lemon-Lickers Madison Silva Johnathan Stuart loved those goldenrod girls. He had watched his sis-

sister and Cathy. Every week, they packed up that rusty pick-

gossip. Johnathan pulled back

up with fishing poles, beach

the daisy kitchen curtains. He

ter, Beth, and her best friend,

towels, and sometimes even

watched as his parents pulled

Cathy Ray Garrett, grow from

bubble wands. The Kentucky

out of their driveway in his

little girls looking for ladybugs

roads always brought them to

daddy’s spotless ’86 Toyota

to teenagers gawking over

Lake Monte. The two girls sat

pickup. That man took better

Randy Travis as they watched

in the truck bed and stared at

care of that truck than he did

fireflies from the Stuart’s front

the sky, purple milkweed in

his own land. Their diminishing

porch.

their hair. They scratched at

corn crop was proof of that,

their toenail polish, not car-

and Johnathan hated every

Johnathan liked the way she

ing that their bare feet were

second he had to work on that

ever so slightly popped one

browned from dirt. Johnathan,

land. Since graduating high

hipbone out when his mama

who everybody called John-

school, his parents didn’t really

took that photograph at their

ny, blared hard rock music.

give him a choice otherwise.

families’ Fourth of July barbe-

He loved it, and Cathy hated

Especially since they needed

que. He couldn’t help but stare

it, which always made him

him to prepare for the upcom-

at Cathy’s ruffled bathing suit

smile. But sometimes, when

ing harvest. A lot of their crop

and thin-lipped grin.

he turned down the music, he

would be sold in the Garrett’s

God, that girl.

could make out all those girls’

grocery store.

Johnathan spent the

secrets of wide-eyed crushes

Cathy was fourteen, and

summer of ’88 watching his

Undergraduate Fiction

and he-said-she-said school

Johnathan let out a sigh and swept his dark hair behind

a University of Kentucky base-

“Tough girl, huh?”

left all the windows down.

ball cap. He grabbed the keys

Johnathan asked her. She

Cathy poked her freckled head

to his truck off the hook before

shrugged.

through the back one to say,

opening the side door. The

“Even strawberries could

“Happy Birthday Johnny Boy.”

girls waited for him outside;

use band-aids, Cathy Ray.” He

He mumbled thanks and,

Cathy had slept over the night

usually used her first and mid-

while pulling out of the dirt

before. He walked out of his

dle names to patronize her like

driveway, put on some Van

house, the screen door slam-

their parents did to every one

Halen so loud that the lyrics

ming behind him. His dirty

of them.

were no longer coherent. He

cowboy boots clunked down the porch stairs as his tanned arms saw the sun for the first

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

watched Cathy roll those eyes of hers. She slid out of the win-

“Then whatchu standin’

dow and down to the bed to

time that day. Beth sat on the

out here for? Get in the bed,

towels in the bed of the pick-

sourpuss,” Johnathan said,

up, holding the fishing poles.

pushing her into the truck’s

“Practically a man,” Johna-

Cathy leaned against the rusty

side while he walked to the

than’s mama told him that

exterior with her knee scraped.

driver’s door. She stomped her

morning, leaving a stained kiss

foot and huffed.

on his cheek. Sure, if he was

“Cathy needs a bandaid,” Beth said, fiddling with the line on her pole. “It’s just a strawberry,” Cathy told Johnathan. She crossed her arms and looked

talk with his sister. Eighteen years-old.

“Cathy Ray, get in the

practically a man, then Cathy

damn truck, will ya!” Johna-

Ray was practically a woman.

than hollered. He couldn’t help but laugh at her. Johnathan started up

at the giant oak tree outside

that ’73 Ford pickup. Since

the Stuart’s house.

the air stopped working, he

Johnathan tried not

to think about that tangled

they weren’t just in a small,

ing that sunset kind of pink all

blonde in the back of his truck.

backwoods Kentucky town. A

the time. He joined in, though

She was too young and his

couple minutes later, as Johna-

he yelled more at growing up.

little sister’s best friend, but,

than approached the turn onto

Birds flew from the trees as he

damn, Cathy had something.

the Lake Monte campground,

drove. He wished he could stay

The two made eye contact in

he turned down the music

frozen in that moment with

the mirror again, and she stuck

and slowed the truck, what

the windows rolled down and

her tongue out at him. He

he always did when they were

“Panama” by Van Halen blaring

winked back and ignored the

close.

into the southern summer.

sudden need to tap his finger-

“’Kay, ya’ll, up!” he told

“Finish up!” Johnathan

tips to get the tingle out of his

the girls. Beth and Cathy

shouted, “We’re almost to the

hands, while she went back to

joined hands, both with a

tables! Ain’t want our mamas

poking at the scrape on her

friendship bracelet made of

to see ya’ll standin’!”

knee. They seemed to only live

red embroidery floss and a

together in the rearview mirror

dangling Coca-Cola bottle cap

gled and crouched back down

of his truck.

on their left wrists. The best

when he pulled into the camp-

friends stood up and held

ground. He parked next to a

driving to Lake Monte, down

their hands in the air. The wind

large pine tree and watched as

familiar roads lined with ev-

blew through their hair like

their parents waved them up

ergreens, the group passed

the hands of God were brush-

to picnic tables covered with

the sign that read: “You are

ing out that purple milkweed.

watermelon rinds and beer

now leaving Honey Crest. See

Johnathan turned down the

bottles. Their daddies grilled

ya’ll later!” written in a fancy

gravel road.

the hotdogs, and their mamas

After fifteen minutes of

script font, as if trying to convince the people leaving that

Undergraduate Fiction

The girls screamed at the sky, cursing at it for not be-

Beth and Cathy gig-

spread mayonnaise on buns like they spread church gossip

after Sunday morning service. The girls hopped out of the bed and started skipping towards the water, the ruffles

grinned. “Ya’ll got it,” he said,

her. He and Johnathan’s daddy

jogging up to the tables. Beth

brought the grilled hotdogs

and Cathy groaned.

over to the table.

“Happy Fourth, ya’ll,”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said

on Cathy’s swimsuit flapping

Johnathan told the adults and

through her teeth. Johnathan

up and down. Johnathan

Cathy’s sixteen-year-old broth-

knew she didn’t mean it when

got out and threw the keys

er, Travis, as he sat down at the

he saw her eyes roll again.

through the rolled down win-

wooden table. Everyone but

He thought about revenge,

dow onto the passenger’s seat.

Travis said it back. His face was

how big brothers always pick

He pulled off the faded Led

buried in a book.

on their little sister’s dumb

Zeppelin t-shirt that his mama

“Happy birthday, John-

hated and threw it on his keys.

ny,” Mrs. Garrett said. She was

He was left in his sun-bleached

six months pregnant.

swimming shorts and his UK

“Thanks,” he told her,

friends. Cathy Ray had it coming. Mr. Garrett smiled at Johnathan and clapped a

Wildcats hat. It hid the spots

giving a polite smile. The girls

hand on his shoulder. “Happy

of acne on his forehead and

finished bringing all the stuff

eighteenth, Johnny!”

only came off for sleeping and

up from the truck. While on

church.

the way to their table, Cathy

in with her sweet tea smile,

slapped Johnathan on the

“Practically a man.”

“Hey, kids!” Johnathan’s mama yelled. “Bring the stuff

back of the head so hard that

from the truck up here! We’re

he knew a bruise would be

eatin’ lunch together ‘fore ya’ll

coming on.

run off!” The girls stopped as Johnathan turned and

“Cathy Ray Garrett! Do not slap that boy on his birthday!” Mr. Garrett shouted at

His mama chimed

Johnathan ignored her. “Thankya sir.”

“Girls, get over here!

“Well sir,” Johnathan

ain’t goin’ to college,” she told

We’re sayin’ grace!” his daddy

started, “You know, I ain’t that

them, fanning herself with her

hollered.

good.” He was a second-string

hand.

The families gathered

quarterback as a senior. No

“Why not?” Mrs. Garrett

around the picnic table while

way was he getting out of

asked, rubbing her belly. “Tra-

Beth said a blessing over the

Honey Crest on his arm alone.

vis will.”

food and the soldiers and

Mr. Garrett tried to talk sweet

America the Beautiful. When

about Johnathan’s last season,

answer, “I was just tellin’ them

she was done and everyone

but his daddy recounted his

that—”

had gotten their food, Mr. Gar-

bad plays. Johnathan watched

rett sent Travis to sit with the

a squirrel run past an emp-

on our land for Michael. Isn’t

girls because “only the adults

ty table. He interrupted his

that right, hun?” She didn’t

can sit at this here table.” The

daddy, “Besides, I ain’t smart

wait for her husband to an-

men and women sat at op-

enough for college.”

swer. “Men in my family have

posite sides of the eight-footlong, rotting wood.

“What’s this about

Johnathan started to

“Johnny’s goin’ to work

been workin’ on that land for

college?” Johnathan’s mama

ages, and we’ll need Johnny’s

asked. He looked at the kids’

help now that he’s not busy

doin’ now? Off to college?” Mr.

table to get some kind of com-

with school. I mean, wouldn’t

Garrett asked, mouth full of

fort or an excuse to leave, but

want anything less, would ya,

food.

the girls had already run down

Scott?”

“So, Johnny, watchu

Johnathan swallowed. “Uh, no sir.” “Ah, come on kid,” Mr. Garrett said, “You can play ball. Get it all paid for.”

Undergraduate Fiction

the hill to Monte. “We were just wonderin’

“S’pose you’re right,” Mr. Garrett said. “That’s good work

what Johnny’s gonna be doin’

anyhow, Johnny. A man of the

with his time,” Mr. Garrett said.

land. Great crop and all.”

“Oh, well, Johnathan

Without another word,

Johnathan got up from the table and threw his plate away in

onflies. He leaned against the

“Johnny, come up here

and get in the photo, son!” his

the black garbage bag tied to

fence and watched them

a tree. His mama asked where

splash each other until his

he was going, but he just

mama’s voice him made him

here,” he said. Johnathan

silently headed down the hill,

jump. “Hey girls! I wanna pic-

straightened his ball cap, faced

kicking a rock as he walked.

ture of ya’ll!” she shouted. His

his mama, and propped him-

He thought about farming and

sister hopped up, but Cathy

self up with an arm on the

college and knew he didn’t

took her sweet time. Johna-

fence. Eyeing Cathy up and

want to do either. He also

than could tell she was rolling

down, he knew he was in the

knew the only things he was

her eyes as she wiped dirt off

shot. Johnathan’s mama took

actually sure about were Beth

the back off her thighs.

a Polaroid picture for each of

and Cathy. A wooden fence lined

Beth combed her fingers through her wet hair as

mama called. “No, ma’am. I’m good

the girls. Mrs. Garrett made Travis

the beach, and Johnathan

her and Johnathan’s mama

leave his book and go down to

liked to walk the length of it

placed the girls about two

play with the other kids. The

while the girls swam or made

yards in front of the fence with

mamas decided to lay out by

crowns out of the tall lake

Monte in the background.

the edge of Lake Monte and

grass. Every once in a while,

Beth held her hands in front of

watch the daddies fish while

he’d tease them about some-

her stomach, and Cathy posed

Johnathan led the girls and

thing, but most of the time, he

like she was about to get asked

Travis to what people called

liked to think about anything

to the prom. She gave a lopsid-

the High Spot.

other than corn and replay

ed smile, and the ruffles on her

rock songs in his head while

bathing suit popped out with

the girls fished or chased drag-

her hip.

It was a place where

Johnathan had done all four.

land met rock and hung over

“Ah, come on Johnny.

the edge of the water. A rope

Why’d ya bring us up here?”

from an overhanging tree

Travis whined.

tempted kids to swing into the

close enough to the edge for a little fun. Travis passed a piece of bark between his feet. “Uh—”

Johnathan chuckled,

“Exactly. Me and my

lake. The view from the High

slapping Travis on the back.

friends’ve made that jump

Spot showed you all of Monte,

“To jump, kid. Why else?”

a hundred times—no—no, a

and the reflection of the sun

“No way. We’re not doin’

thousand times!” Johnathan

on the water looked like shiny,

that.” He rubbed the slap spot.

turned to the girls. “Ain’t no

flat throwing rocks skipping

“Someone could get killed.”

one gettin’ hurt. Cross my

across it. There were rocks

The girls’ smiles imme-

heart, hope to die.”

along the circumference of

diately dropped as their eyes

He rubbed his hands

Lake Monte—everywhere but

widened. Beth spoke up, her

together and said, “All right,

the beaches—and they poked

voice shaking, “That’s not true,

so who’s first?” Travis angrily

out like pecans in a pie.

right Johnny?”

crossed his lanky arms. Beth

“Alright ya’ll, here we

Johnathan smiled. “No,

bit her lip, and Cathy adjusted

are,” Johnathan said, gesturing

it’s not true. What ya scarin’

her swimsuit straps. Waves

to the rock. He never wanted

the girls for, Travis?”

from passing boats splashed

to take Beth and Cathy there before now. The High Spot was a place for girls with weed and

“There’re rocks down there. Someone could—” “How many times have

against the High Spot, drowning the lower rocks. “Come on girls! All sum-

bikinis and boys in old college

ya’ll made that jump?” Johna-

mer ya’ll been beggin’ me to

t-shirts with alcohol in their

than asked. He really didn’t

bring ya’ll up here, so who’s

cars. Teens either jumped,

care if Travis or Beth jumped.

gonna jump?” Johnathan

swung, drank, or smoked.

He just wanted to get Cathy

paused. “Cathy?” She played

Undergraduate Fiction

with the ruffles of her bathing

out her mumble of “ain’t no

suit.

lemon-licker” through gritted

tiful.” She smiled up at him.

teeth. She gave her anxious

It brought Johnathan back

poked her, she’d give in, and

best friend a small smile and

to the sunny, spring morning

if he could just get her close

climbed up the rock with

his mama caught him and

enough… “Good Lord!” he

Johnathan. The other two

Cathy skipping Sunday School.

shouted. “Bunch-a yella-bellied

followed to watch Cathy jump

Johnathan sat in the bed of

lemon-lickers!”

into the water.

his truck, one hand shading

Johnathan knew if he

Barely a second passed.

Together, Johnathan

“For sure, Monte’s beau-

his eyes from the sun, and the

“Hey!” Cathy yelled. “I ain’t no

and Cathy looked out over

other flipping a quarter. He

lemon-licker!”

the lake. The light and water

glanced up to watch Cathy

looked like a firework show.

every other flip. She stood in

Her face said it all: it was the

front of the honeysuckles,

most beautiful thing she’d

which grew up the side of

crossing his throwing arm over

ever seen. And, Johnathan was

the church’s chipped siding,

the other. Cathy’s eyes quickly

about to make her a part of it.

and picked flower after flow-

“Oh yeah, Cathy Ray?” he challenged. “Then prove it.” Johnathan smirked,

wandered through the leaves

“Pretty great, huh?”

er, pulling out the pistil and

of the trees. She took a big

he said, looking down at her.

touching the drop of nectar to

breath and exhaled. “Fine.”

Cathy gazed across the lake.

her tongue. She smiled after

Johnathan knew the glitter-

each one. Johnathan pictured

ing water called to her as she

the new bathing suit she had

watched little kids on the other

under her church dress and

Finally, there she was, the girl who refused band-aids. “Cathy Ray!” Travis objected. “Shut it!” she said. Johnathan could just make

side chase the tide created by motorboats pulling teenagers on water skis.

thought about the summer

you, Cathy Ray. I mean that.”

in front of them. A Heads or

As a boat zoomed by,

He chose Tails. Travis and Beth gasped

Tails game came to his mind.

she gave him that same flow-

as they watched that girl, who

Heads, he’d get up, taste a

ery smile. Johnathan let go

was not practically a wom-

honeysuckle, and kiss Cathy’s

of Cathy’s hand, and with

an, fall into the water and be

forehead. Tails, he wouldn’t.

blushed cheeks, he quickly

encased in Monte’s arms. They

His mama came out hollering

took off his cap, ran his fin-

gained enough courage to

at them before he could see

gers through his hair, and put

peer over the edge to watch

which way the coin landed.

it back on. Brushing off his

the splash, but then, Travis

nerves, he nudged her forward.

cursed.

Johnathan could have gotten more lost in that memory but shook it off instead. “All

“Now get goin’.” Cathy stepped to the

The most terrifying shriek came from the rocks. It

righty, Cathy Ray, go ‘head. I’ll

edge, looking about twelve

stunned Johnathan, but the

folla ya in.” He winked.

feet down at the rocks in the

wails that followed pulled him

water that she’d have to clear

to the edge to see Cathy strug-

vis warned again. She waved it

in order to not get hurt. Johna-

gling to keep her head above

off, but her hands went back to

than saw worry creep up her

the waves. Dirty, red water

fidgeting with her swimsuit.

face as she said, “Johnny Boy,

splashed around as if Monte

I don’t know about this. I don’t

had grown a strawberry patch

think—”

to surround her.

“Cathy, don’t do it,” Tra-

“Hey, you’ll be fine.” Johnathan grabbed one of her hands. Cathy looked up at him

Before Cathy could

She screamed. Beth

backtrack, as if second-nature,

screamed. Travis screamed.

with baby eyes. Squeezing her

Johnathan shoved her over the

And Johnathan froze like a

hand, he said, “I would never

edge, laughing as she fell. A

buck mount on a wall. He

let anything bad happen to

push for a slap. Heads or Tails?

didn’t even notice Beth fall-

Undergraduate Fiction

ing to the ground in shock

She broke from the

and over again as she contin-

and Travis yelling in his face.

trance of Cathy’s blood and ran

ued to scream. He couldn’t

Johnathan just stared at Cathy

away as Travis continued to yell

calm her. He couldn’t fix her.

Ray as she cried and cried and

at him. Johnathan grabbed

So, he picked her up and

cried out in pain.

his arms and squeezed hard,

started walking to shore. Cathy

looking eye to eye with Cathy’s

wrapped her arms around his

hurt her. The fourteen-year-old

brother. “Shut up! Shut up!

neck and buried her agonizing

girl with a soda cap bracelet

Shut up Travis! Go to the wa-

cries in his shoulder.

that matched his sisters. With

ter’s edge and wait for us!”

It was all his fault. He

eyes the color of the Kentucky

Johnathan didn’t wait

They reached the rocks where Travis waited. Johna-

soil, an image that got him

for him to answer before he

than carried Cathy to the

through every long day of

ran and jumped in after Cathy.

grass. Her brother eyed her

work. The girl who’d skip Jesus

He felt the cool, Monte wa-

legs and shivered. Johnathan

time with him just to go out-

ter welcome him. Johnathan

set her down and pushed

side and taste the honeysuck-

quickly broke the surface and

her wet hair to either side of

les. She’d hum as she let each

swam to the girl, able to stand

her face. Her eyes pleaded for

pistil fall to the ground…

where she had landed. He saw

some relief, and Johnathan

all the blood. He saw the deep

wished to switch places, just so

only horror movie shrills from

gashes on her legs. He saw her

the only scratch on his favorite

the belly of Monte.

misshapen left ankle. He saw

girl was the strawberry from

the bone poking out of her

that morning. When the air

There was no hum now,

“Beth! Go get our mamas and daddies!” Johnathan

right one. He saw the crippling

told his sister, who looked

fear in her eyes.

scared out of her mind. “Now, Goddammit!”

“I’m sorry, Cathy Ray. I’m so sorry,” he whispered over

felt cooler and the trees didn’t

threats in his face. Johnathan’s

He swung open the door and

judge him.

daddy pulled his friend off of

got in the pickup. It was sup-

his son, shouting at the man to

posed to have fishing poles

calm down.

and beach towels and two

Johnathan stepped away as Beth and the kids’ parents ran up. Mrs. Garrett

Mr. Garrett pushed the

girls in the back. He revved up

kneeled next to Cathy, mut-

boy’s daddy away from him-

the truck and started driving

tering things like “my baby”

self and pointed his finger at

before he slammed the driver’s

and “my poor girl” in between

Johnathan. “You’re s’posed to

door shut.

wiping tears from her own

be the man!”

eyes. Everyone but Johnathan

There was so much

Johnathan blared Van Halen as tears stung his eyes.

circled them. He continued the

noise. Mrs. Garrett bawled over

He screamed into the Ken-

apologies that he had start-

her baby. Johnathan’s parents

tucky oblivion as he sped down

ed in the water; he could only

shouted at Mr. Garrett, who

the gravel road and out of the

stare and apologize.

wanted to wring their son’s

Lake Monte campground. Mr.

neck for touching his baby girl.

Garrett’s words echoed as loud

Garrett yelled, “What the HELL

Beth held Cathy’s hand, and

as Cathy’s screams did. It was

HAPPENED?!”

Travis told everyone he was go-

supposed to be a joke, a game,

ing to call 911 on a payphone.

a get-back… Not anymore

said, “Johnny pushed her off

And Cathy Ray moaned in

though. Those were for kids.

the High Spot.”

excruciating pain. The sight of

Mr. Garrett was right, and his

her bones would not allow for

mama was wrong. He wasn’t

anyone to remain calm.

practically a man. At least, not

“What happened?!” Mr.

Without blinking, Travis

Still hypnotized by Cathy, Johnathan was surprised with a fist in his winking

“I’m so sorry,” Johnathan

eye. Mr. Garrett pinned him

said and ran off, past the trees,

against a tree and screamed

up the hill, and to his truck.

Undergraduate Fiction

anymore. With fields of goldenrod wildflowers on either side of

him, Johnathan decided it was time for him to be a man, the

eth.

bloody legs. Before Hammy left,

Johnathan received

one he should’ve been already.

Johnathan had written his

letters every so often from his

Because men didn’t push their

sister a letter, leaving out the

sister. It sometimes included

kid sister’s best friend into a

fact that he could die in the

well-wishes from his parents

lake scattered with rocks. Men

next couple of days. But he

but sometimes didn’t. After a

didn’t have crushes on little

did tell her that he missed

while, Johnathan didn’t even

girls with strawberries. And

her and their mama and dad-

notice. He only cared about

men, they weren’t lemon-lick-

dy, though it was only partly

Beth and Cathy. They’d man-

ers.

true. He didn’t miss his life

aged to stay tied at the hip

at home. His parents, espe-

with their fingers crossed be-

cially his mama, was furious

hind their backs.

●●● In a small town outside of Panama City, Johnathan

at his enlistment. His family

Cathy had needed

sat in a circle with his fellow

had not only lost their friend-

surgery after surgery, followed

infantrymen. They drank and

ship with the Garrett’s, but

by long months in a wheel-

smoked and sang old top forty

also their business with them.

chair. Last he’d heard, at the

songs, waiting for Hammy, a

Johnathan more than ever

start of her sophomore year,

black boy from Louisville, to

needed to help his family, but

she still walked with crutches.

come back with any last-min-

he needed to do something

Johnathan always wanted to

ute letters before the invasion.

more, to repay his debt to God

know how Cathy was doing,

That night, December 18, 1989,

or the universe or whoever

but he never asked. The inci-

their commanding officer told

ran things. He hadn’t been

them Daddy Bush ordered

to church since the first time

an advancement into the city.

after Cathy got hurt. Every

D-Day was December twenti-

whisper reminded him of her

dent created a rift between

But then, he heard his name.

lowed her gaze to Mr. Garrett

him and Beth, who for a long

“Stuart. Hey Stuart, yaw ga

lifting Cathy out of the van and

time wouldn’t speak to him.

one, man!”

placing her into the wheelchair

The first letter from her was a

Johnathan raised an

Travis held steady.

surprise, and he took that as

eyebrow and walked over to

an opportunity to rebuild two-

his buddy. He grabbed the

run over there and fall on his

thirds of the summer trio.

letter and threw his smoke to

knees and spew infinite apolo-

the ground, stepping on it with

gies, but instead, he just stood

rette in between his lips and

his boot. The envelope in his

there and watched Travis push

his camo sleeves rolled up

hands did not have Beth’s neat

her over to a group of girls

when Hammy came back and

handwriting. In blue chicken

from school. Johnathan hadn’t

started shouting names. The

scratch, “Cathy Ray Garrett”

seen her since that day at the

sun began to sink in the sky,

filled the corner.

lake, but he’d heard around

Johnathan had a ciga-

lighting the tropical vegetation

He froze like he did the

Johnathan wanted to

town that it would be months,

with orange and pink. Even

day he saw her roll up at the

maybe even a year, before

with all the conflict, Panamani-

community’s Jammin’ July

she’d be walking again. Some-

an sunsets beat out Kentucky’s

Jamboree in the Honey Crest

one said she had metal rods in

any day. “Gawd’s gift,” Hammy

High School’s parking lot. His

her legs; someone else said the

had said more than once. The

mama made him go to ease

Garrett’s went to Louisville to

girls would have loved them.

back into town life. As the

see a German doctor. Johna-

Garrett’s van pulled into the

than didn’t know what was

name after name, and Johna-

lot, he bought a cookie at the

true. He only knew that there

than paid more attention to

bake sale booth and sheepish-

Cathy was, across the parking

his squad’s reactions to seeing

ly smiled at an old church lady,

lot, broken because of him.

their letters than to his voice.

who only ignored him. He fol-

Hammy called out

Undergraduate Fiction

As if she had felt his

stare, Cathy met his eyes. Johnathan wanted to die.

throat. “Yaw good, man?” Johnathan looked up

on the damp ground against a jungle tree and turned on

But she didn’t look mad. A

from the letter and whispered,

the flashlight, putting it in the

very small part in the back of

“It’s Cathy’s.” Hammy was the

crook of his neck like how his

Johnathan’s mind told him

only one he told about her; he

mama does when she talks on

that maybe everything that

had a way of making Johna-

the kitchen phone. Johnathan

had happened could just be a

than feel like he could say

carefully opened the envelope

strawberry.

anything. Hammy was also

so he wouldn’t tear the pre-

the only one who knew that

cious note inside.

But it wasn’t. And like the time before, Johnathan

Johnathan didn’t have time for

ran away. He left her. He was

Jesus anymore.

a lemon-licker, no matter how

“Good Lawd,” Hammy

He pulled out a Polaroid picture with “July 4, 1988” written in the same blue ballpoint

much he didn’t want to be,

said, putting a hand on Johna-

no matter how many fields of

pen as on the envelope. It was

than’s shoulder. He didn’t say

wildflowers he drove by. He

a picture of two grinning girls

anything back. He just kept re-

could only think of one way in

in swimsuits and a boy in a UK

reading her name and address.

hat. Johnathan stared at the

which he could make a man of himself, the reason Americans celebrated his birthday every

“Maybe, yaw oughtta find a quiet spawt then,” Hammy said. “See whawt she say.”

year. Johnathan ran his

Johnathan patted his

thumb over her name. It had

friend’s hand and went back to

been a year and a half since

his pack to get a flashlight be-

the Jamboree.

fore walking off. He sat down

Hammy cleared his

picture with his warm, southern smile. One of the bottom corners of the picture had a hole

in it with a Coca-Cola bottle

a lot back here. My baby

sic. I miss Beth and I’s

cap dangling from a red string.

sister is already one! I’m

drives with you. I guess

Johnathan felt the grooves of

also walking without

that’s why I’m giving

the cap and chuckled thinking

crutches now. People

you the picture because

about the jokes he came up

at school and church

you probably miss it all

with to make fun of the girls

still like doing things

too. I don’t know when

for wearing this. Each one he

for me. Mama says I’ll

I’ll see you again. You

had kept to himself.

get a boyfriend out of

never seem to be home

the line of boys wait-

when you oughtta be.

ing to carry my books. I

Stay safe, Johnny Boy.

don’t know about that.

OK? The whole town

Anyways, I’m writing to

and everyone are pray-

you because as much

ing for you. Merry Christ-

as Daddy would hate

mas!

After Johnathan got the note out, he unfolded it and held it in the same hand as the photograph and the envelope. He relieved his neck by holding the flashlight in the other hand, pointing it at Cathy’s words. The lined paper looked like it had been ripped out of a composition notebook. He read the long paragraph of blue scribbles in her voice:

me saying, I don’t really like summers without you. I was angry that I couldn’t walk or that it hurt to try, but I was madder at you for leaving without a word.

Long time, no see, John-

Why’d you do that?

ny boy. How’s Panama?

Didn’t you think I’d miss

I hadn’t even heard of it

you? Well I do. I miss

before now. You missed

you and your loud mu-

Undergraduate Fiction

With love, Cathy Ray Garrett Reading her words was almost like having her back. Like tomorrow he and Beth would pick her up from her house and head towards someplace. Not Monte. He never wanted to take Cathy back

there. Somewhere still outside

But Cathy didn’t need to know

to, but he could start letting

though. Somewhere he could

about anything he was doing

go. He could let the hushing

park and from the bed of his

in the army to forgive him. He

breeze and thick vapor of

truck, watch the girls explore.

had made it up to her without

Panama baptize him. He could

He’d play Heads or Tails again,

even realizing it. The guilt still

start picking the pine needles

and he’d pick Heads.

poked at his chest, and Johna-

out of his chest. He didn’t have

than sighed. There was one

to be a lemon-licker anymore.

more thing:

Johnathan could finally move

Johnathan noticed an arrow in the bottom right corner telling him to flip the page.

P.P.S. or P.S.S. or either

On the back, it read:

way, I know you’re also

P.S. if you haven’t learned from reading this because of that thick head of yours, I forgave you for pushing me and not saying goodbye. I did it a few months after you left. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her. After all this time, he thought he could make up for the childish thing he did by being a man.

not picking up on another thing. Forgive yourself, Johnny Boy. You know only lemon-lickers don’t. Can’t believe you out-stubborned me, but now it’s time to stop. Take care. She ended the letter with a drawing of a winking smiley face. He couldn’t forgive himself just because she told him

forward. No more running. He would be okay soon because Cathy was. God, that girl. Johnathan set the flashlight down. He folded the note back up and put it back into the envelope. And then he untied his very own soda pop bracelet, which felt more like a medal now, and put it in one of his pockets so he could feel

it with him during the invasion. Johnathan took another look at the picture and winked at Cathy Ray. In that moment, Johnny Boy tasted honeysuckles on his tongue.

Undergraduate Fiction

Overhang Luke Lemmon

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

e o

Undergraduate Fiction

y r t

t ua

97 Stacie Denetsosie Christopher Davis Emily James

No End to the Trail Stacie Denetsosie

“Prominent Seattle writer Sherman Alexie issued a statement Wednesday acknowledging that he’s hurt people over the years, addressing for the first time anonymous accusations of sexual harassment against him that have swirled on the internet for days. In breaking his silence, however, Alexie said he rejected “the accusations, insinuations, and outright falsehoods” made by another writer who, while not accusing him of sexually harassing her, ‘has led charges against me,’ he said.” – The Seattle Times

When my grandmother died with tubes down her throat, I deified you. Read your Indian scripture. Red God. The father of Blasphemy and Fistfights in Heaven. As with a bone, I scraped your pages clean. I, a rib from your side. Whistling marrow. It was then: I was fathered by you. I didn’t know at the time, you were like the man I called father. The man who wrung my mother’s neck and left her out to dry. As if you were a God. But you denied it all. Too busy whistling epistles. But Father, you are not God. Just an Indian with a white God’s appetite. Swallowing our red bodies whole, like red dried corn. It was then, I cast you out. Red heaven thundered. Fuck you father. I don’t need your false ceremony.

Graduate Poetry

Sinkulova, Prague in July Stacie Denetsosie

Walking out of a pub

I spotted a Czech. Sporting a Chief Sitting Bull shirt that read in white type Locals Only. We acknowledged each other The way American Indians do When we are far from home, With stoicism. But before he passed, He asked about our country, The only mother land we have ever known. My face betrayed me like a treaty, It was as if he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know, That our blood quantum Is the only thing the government Intended us to own.

Apricot

Stacie Denetsosie

I settled on my motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tongue as a word misspoken. She was impregnated with vowels and consonants Not of her own. I settled there. Apricot small, Wrapped in pinafore fuzz; Prickling the roof of her mouth. I heard her often out there. And Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll tell you, I was born, And reborn many times.

They say nothing is reality until it is spoken. Until at last, I swelled, Nine months heavy. Born as the word She never intended to say.

100

Graduate Poetry

101

Purple Grey Mackenzie Garrison

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

Stung while Sanding the House Christopher Davis

Scraping the paint off the house under the falling sun of a late June afternoon, sliding the sanding block across the weathered wood, cracked and splintered, grinding the old paint away in chips to make way for the new coat. Under the awning, a company of wasps, yellow-and-black-backed, antennae extended like the leafless branches of a tree in winter, stick their filaments together, turning wood fibers into pulp, working on their own house under the eve of mine. As I work closer, they hum into the air like little UFOs, circling in rhythmic flight patterns, warning me to fuck off. But I persist â&#x20AC;&#x201C; I could decimate them, if I wanted. My head surrounded with the zipping buzz of them, I work on â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a fool with too much pride of place. A needle-tipped-knife digs into my forearm, startling my pulse into beating bloody murder under my skin, a jutting volcano rising just above my wrist. I cock to swat it, taught my lesson by the tiny flying buggers, but something stays my hand.

102

Graduate Poetry

Hubris caught in my throat, I descend a step and work around them.

103

Having Cut Someone’s String on the Bus Christopher Davis

Three seats from the back door - where the vent indiscriminately blasts heat onto passengers – I sat, bouncing along the road in time with the other passengers on the Number 5 to “North Logan and Cache Valley Hospital.” A mundane passage. Pastry clouds perched outside the window, a fluid breeze tickles the grass, finches drifted between trees, gossiping eagerly. Until my eyes caught a frayed string reaching out from another rider’s jacket – one of those awful tweed things pseudo-intellectuals wear to impress the locals – suspended there like a handlebar moustache, unraveling my day. The bus passed Mount Logan Middle School, Green Gorilla Car Wash, and the abandoned One Stop Auto Sales lot. And still that string loomed there, a dangling shred of someone’s life. I couldn’t take it anymore – this was the Wild West, and that drifter had to be cut down. I had to act, a surgeon incognito.

104

Graduate Poetry

I took the miniature Swiss Army Knife on my keys and silently severed the twisted strand. The passenger got off just past the roundabout on Second North, having no idea his life had been slashed by a stranger recklessly close in a public place. The bus ambled on, and I held the severed string between my fault-lined fingers.

105

A Tick Off Christopher Davis

A twist and a switch are all it takes to drive her up the wall. The hand-whittled golden finch nestled just so up against a blown-glass heart on the bookshelf by the front door. The trout frame from Yellowstone on the kitchen counter, my brother and I pictured inside. The eight Russian nesting dolls positioned in a descending curve around the crystal brontosaurus on the bathroom sink. We desecrated them all. Weaving between her scattered piles of opened and unopened mail, cooking magazines, and hundreds of sticky notes-to-self, we’d swap and shift her little bits of happiness by degrees, as carefully as she’d arranged them – so she couldn’t see the speck of shelf uncovered in dust. We watched her from behind the couch. With only one foot in the door, she turns to the bookshelf and sees the finch turned eight degrees to the left of where she left it. “Christopher! Bryan! Not again!”

106

Graduate Poetry

She immediately sets about twitching each memory back in place, one degree at a time, as we crouch behind the couch, stifling laughs.

107

Surrogate Mother Emily James

The hours spent sitting chin to chest My head bowed on the crown of yours aware of your coos and cries Clues as to bounce or pat or sway Preparation for the sweet moment when your eyelids heavy finally close A deep breath So begins each meditation on the sleeping baby Wrapped around my middle your body heat breaking through cloth and skin warming my core I can feel my heart made tender by all the positions you pose Your hand sandwiched between my chest cheeks squashed head rolled back in deepest relaxation The longer we sit the more my stories tempt the meaning of your wrinkled brow an assumption – rapid eye movement means you’re dreaming projections – that was a smile. You are two weeks old. You are just being. Attention returned to the present moment your whole body rising and falling by your breath and mine So goes the meditation on a sleeping baby

108

Graduate Poetry

Tobacco Emily James

109

Walking home from the grocery store, the scent of cigarette smoke bites. Tobacco stings my nostrils more than winter’s cold. I can’t see him, but I know my neighbor is there. ‘Hi Kelley,’ I holler. ‘Is that you kiddo?” he asks. His toothless smile emerges out of the shed. The price of his habit. This relationship never asks. Formed by chance, the intersection of two people’s patterns. A simplicity of lives shared around two questions; How are you? How about this weather? This relationship teaches – It’s a miracle to just be there. For two people to meet For one to be open to speak. The other, willing to listen. It teaches that all we can hope to offer each other and ourselves is presence. “The other deer were now all gone, and in that moment it became clear that our mutual obsession — theirs and mine — with this lifeless form was, at least in part, born of the same need: to see these sunken eyes filled again with her kind and ancient wisdom.” - Joe Hutto

If, Like Mario, I Recorded the Poetic Emily James

I would listen over and over again to your silent tear that watered the grassland of Pierce Point when somewhere near Windy Gap, bellied next to each other on the ground, an attempt to convince the Tule Elk we were part of the landscape, so as to not disturb their course from fresh grass bunch to newly blossoming flower, I told you about Joe Hutto, the naturalist who lived for seven years with a herd of Mule Deer in Wyoming. In this silence is the twitch of the infant elkâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nose catching the scent of us as the wind shifted, the slight flare of its nostrils, sign of its curiosity, and how after he waited for so long on the periphery it was a young doe who first accepted Hutto. Each spring, as the deer migrated through, Anne would arrive at the edge of his yard, raise her head to his hand and invite him back to the herd. I would listen for hope, the parties of hikers trailing behind who upon seeing us prone and still amongst the elk followed our example and took a hushed seat and then, as if to reward our reverence the rise of the five-point buck who with grace

110

Graduate Poetry

withdrew from the company just as one spring, Anne appeared, but began to distance herself from Hutto and the other deer. As the elk continued their natural roam you took my hand and gaze as I told you that one day Anne walked away up the creek bed and laid for two days in a shady grove of willows, the herd circling round her, but who eventually had to continue their migration, including Rag-Tag, her oldest daughter. It was only Hutto, who as the sun set saw Anne try to rise a final time and stumble. Hutto who witnessed Anne give a final kick. Hutto who watched Anne lie still, dead.

111

t ua

n o ti

c i f

n o N

112

Undergraduate Fiction

113 Shaun Anderson Emily James

Alyssa Witbeck Alexander

Debriefed

Shaun Andersen

wandering eyes made me dif-

ing an appeal for naked desire.

my parents if I could switch

ferent.

Maybe changing to boxers was

from briefs to boxers. It took

me three years to overcome

surprised when I asked if

ty toward the other boys. If I

the shame and ask the ques-

they would allow me to

could wear their underwear, if

tion I yearned to ask every time

switch to boxers. Neither of

I could somehow be more like

I pulled on the too-tight briefs.

my older brothers ever made

them, maybe I could get closer

As far as I could tell, I was the

the change. They had gone

to them. Perhaps I would know

only boy my age who wore

through high school support-

what they felt like, lean and

briefs. I had noticed as I snuck

ed, unashamed. My dad insist-

mostly naked in their colorful

furtive glances around the

ed that briefs were “cool” when

underwear.

locker room to see what all the

he was young. My mom re-

other boys wore. To see all the

minded me she couldn’t read

other boys.

minds; I should have asked her

all who enter are required to

earlier.

wear entirely white clothing

learned to change in locker

as a symbol of the purity re-

room stalls, fear pulsating

a Mexican restaurant. I re-

quired to enter “The House of

through my mostly-naked

member my face burning, but

the Lord.” Every three months

boy body. I didn’t want to look

somehow the words forced

during my teenage years I

at the other boys anymore.

their way out of my mouth

would travel an hour-and-

I didn’t want to see that my

and sat at the table with us. I

a-half with the youth in my

underwear made me different.

like to imagine that it was the

congregation to visit the tem-

I didn’t want to know that my

courageous part of me mak-

ple. Inside, we were led to the

114

In ninth grade, I asked

In eighth grade, I had

Graduate Nonfiction

My parents seemed

I asked the question in

a way to address my curiosi-

In Mormon temples,

115

baptismal font and handed

house, I would hold the white

He asked it as I was changing

white jumpsuits that we would

briefs in front of me, bothered

into my pajamas, his eyes nar-

wear in order to be baptized by

by the fact that in this place—

rowed, glaring at my too-na-

proxy for those who had died

heaven on earth—I couldn’t

ked body. I made up an excuse

unbaptized.

enjoy the underwear I want-

as I pulled on my gym shorts.

ed. Instead, I stood in small

I mentioned the containers of

er room, by the baptismal

cramped stalls, folding my own

briefs in the temple, trying to

font, white briefs sat piled in

white underwear away into

argue that my underwear was

containers. I would carry my

a locker to pull on someone

holier because God had stacks

jumpsuit into the locker room,

else’s.

of underwear that looked just

In the men’s lock-

and then peruse the briefs,

In the temple we—that

like mine inside of his house.

stealing furtive glances over

is the other boys and I—all

The boy rolled his eyes, and

my shoulders, afraid the oth-

carried the same shame. We

laid down in his sleeping bag,

er boys would mock me for

all felt the need to keep our

rolling to face away from me.

using the temple underwear,

underwear, our bodies, our sins

As I climbed into my own

even though under our white

hidden from one another.

sleeping bag, I couldn’t stop

baptismal jumpsuits, we all

thinking about the combina-

wore identical white briefs.

Once, at a scout camp

tion of shame and elation I

With briefs and jumpsuit in

another boy—one I had seen

had felt as the other boy had

hand, I’d stand in line outside

in the temple—asked why I

surveyed my body.

the two small changing stalls,

always wore briefs. He actu-

until it was my time to step in,

ally used the words “tighty-

close the door, and peel away

whities,” but I can’t write that

every stitch of my own cloth-

word without my stomach

ing. Standing naked in God’s

trying to backflip out my body.

Home

The first pair of boxers I

wore were maroon with golden plaid. A nice conservative pattern. Safe. Delicious.

They rode up the back

of my thigh all day. I would wait until no one was looking and then I would grab the bunched up material through my jeans and attempt to smooth it back into place. It never occurred to me that boxers werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t supposed to do this. I never told my parents about the strangling material around my thighs. To acknowledge that what I wanted hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t turned out the way I wanted, would be to prove my parents right. They could lord it over me anytime that I spoke out for desire. They could remind me of the time that my desire had led me astray.

116

I went through high

Graduate Nonfiction

Mary Folsom

117

school in the cheapest boxers my parents could buy. I grew

used to the bunched up material under my jeans. I grew excited to climb into bed, where I could strip off my pants and lay in bed, my boxers no longer confined. My body no longer reminding me that my desires could make me uncomfortable.

The discomfort of the

bunched up material around my thighs was nothing compared to the discomfort of being seen in my white briefs.

Anytime I considered

complaining about the craved for underwear, I reminded myself of an eighth-grade

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

sleepover I had had with one

know that they should get

of the boys from my congrega-

redressed as quickly as possi-

tion and one of his neighbor-

ble. Once the t-shirt and gym

LDS mission, I went to the

hood friends. We had stayed

shorts were off, I looked myself

temple once more. This time, I

up late playing video games.

over in the mirror, taking in

was considered an adult. I had

As the night progressed,

my large, naked, pale thighs,

lied enough to convince every-

the two other boys steadily

my slender white arms. I didn’t

one that I deserved to enter

stripped, revealing more and

look great, but maybe joining

deeper into the sacred cham-

more of their forbidden bodies.

them in undress would help

bers. My parents had taken me

Eventually, the two sat on the

me feel connected somehow

shopping for the necessary

living room couch in nothing

to them.

white clothing a week before

but their boxer shorts.

I plunged into the temple. I

out from the bathroom, it was

was now the owner of a week’s

goody,” one of them had said,

clear by their faces that there

worth of two-piece white un-

as I sat in my gym shorts and

was something about the

derwear. Garments.

t-shirt, afraid to join them in

fully-naked thighs, the tight-

their position of teenage un-

ness of my underwear that

awareness of the garments

dress.

differentiated them from me.

because of my father’s will-

Their eyes widened in horror, in

ingness to wander around the

an hour of their needling, I

disgust, and then they quick-

house in his. His were white,

slipped into the bathroom,

ly looked back to the video

one-piece and uncomfort-

unable to handle their eyes

games. I ducked back into the

able looking. All garments are

watching me undress, like

bathroom, lesson learned, and

white, designed to cover every

somehow the way I was go-

quickly pulled my gym shorts

inch of skin from mid-bicep

ing to undress would let them

back on.

down to the knees. They act as

118

“You’re such a goody-

Eventually, after about

Graduate Nonfiction

Instead, upon stepping

Before leaving for my

I had grown up with an

a reminder of promises Mor-

Inside the temple I was

ning these new undergar-

119

mons make with God.

sent to a new locker room,

ments I had climbed out my

deeper inside, where I was

bedroom window to sit on the

intimate knowledge of the

guided into a stall and in-

roof in the middle of an Ala-

garments a few months pri-

structed to strip off my cloth-

bama rainstorm, naked. My

or when my roommate had

ing—like I had done in the

parents slept on the ground

made the transition from, I

locker rooms before pulling on

floor, and my bedroom faced

don’t know what kind of un-

the baptismal jumpsuit—and

away from the street toward

derwear, to garments. It was

emerge from the stall in the

the forest behind our house.

the first time I thought that

new sacred underwear and a

No one would see, I just sa-

maybe the garments could be

solid white smock.

vored the daring. Now God

sexy. His were two-piece and

cared about my underwear so

opaque enough to mask ev-

instructed that I was about

much, he never wanted me to

erything, but tight enough to

to make a covenant with God

take it off.

give my imagination an easy

that I would wear this under-

job. I knew that I wasn’t sup-

wear always, with three excep-

posed to be thinking about

tions: Sex, sports, and showers.

ing as a Mormon missionary.

how sexy the garments could

I felt entombed in the full-bod-

For two years, I knocked on

be, but stealing furtive glances

ied softness. I didn’t feel at-

strangers’ doors, pleading

of my roommate in his tight,

tractive or intriguing, like how

with everyone that I met to

white underwear reassured me

I remembered my roommate.

let me teach them about my

that maybe I could have a sim-

Instead, the garments hung

ilar sex appeal once I traded in

off of my body limp, oversized,

my cheap boxers for the holier,

and unappealing.

I had gained a more

sacred garments.

As I emerged, I was

A month before don-

I spent two years liv-

religion. All this time, my body

There’s a piece of mis-

that Satan show himself.

remained hidden under the

sion folklore that circulates

“Take off your garments

garments, and those hidden

among Mormon missionaries

to make it a fair fight,” Satan

under slacks, white shirts, ties,

around the world. Two mis-

replies.

name tags, sweaters, and suits.

sionaries are walking down an

In the handbook of missionary

alley when a man stops them.

rules that I carried everywhere,

“If you come back here

I circle around that demand. Satan wanted to see this missionary naked. The

I was given a page and a half

at midnight, you can fight with

missionaries who share this

of instructions on how I should

the devil himself,” the man

story always gloss over that,

wear the new sacred under-

says.

focusing instead on the fact

wear:

The missionaries don’t think this man is crazy. Instead,

removes his garments, the fog

“Wearing the temple

one of the missionaries de-

overcomes him instantly and

garment is the sacred

cides that they have to come

kills him. His more hesitant

privilege of those who

back at midnight to put a stop

companion, who keeps his gar-

have taken upon them-

to Satan. The other missionary

ments on, remains unscathed

selves the covenants

tries to resist, but is ultimately

and must report that his com-

of the temple. The

too weak and gives in.

panion is dead.

garment is a constant

120

that when the missionary

At midnight the two

I want to stop the other

reminder of these cov-

missionaries return to the alley,

missionaries when they tell

enants. When properly

and there’s a large foggy pres-

this story and ask about the

worn, it provides protec-

ence waiting for them. The

naked body in the alley. The

tion against temptation

missionary who has decided

power Satan has to convince

and evil.”

he can fight the devil steps

the man to undress and the

toward the fog and demands

image of the naked man in the

Graduate Nonfiction

121

alley are far more interesting

two-piece garments

either entirely or par-

to me than the power of the

are used, both pieces

tially, the garment for

garments.

should always be worn.”

activities that can rea-

While the part of me

sonably be done with

that wants to be a good mis-

There were rumors of

the garment worn prop-

sionary reminds myself that

missionaries that lived nearby

erly under the clothing.

I would never listen to Satan

who would get home after a

Nor should you remove

if he asked me to take off my

long day of proselytizing and

it to lounge around your

garments, there’s a quieter

strip naked to unwind at the

quarters. When you

part of me that envies the na-

end of the day. My face flushed

must remove the gar-

ked man in the story.

every single time I imagined

ment, you should put

these shameless naked men.

it back on as soon as

“Endowed members

None of my roommates were

possible. “

should wear the gar-

rule-breaking nudists, al-

ment both night and

though one of my roommates

day, according to the

would get home at the end of

when I got out of the shower

Instructions given in the

the day, take off his shirt and

and wrapped my towel around

endowment. You should

unzip the front of his slacks. I

my waist while I brushed my

not adjust the garment

tried not to enjoy the sight of

teeth, did my hair, slathered on

or wear it contrary to in-

him in a tight white undershirt,

deodorant, enjoying the feel-

structions in order to fit

his white underwear sticking

ing of my body in the steamy

different styles of cloth-

out of the front of his loosened

ing, even when such

slacks.

clothing may be generally accepted. When

“You should not remove,

There were mornings

open air. I didn’t want to pull

next to the hamper. I argued

the garments back on quite

that my underwear was close

yet. I repented every single

enough to the hamper. She ar-

I returned from my mis-

time I savored the sensuality of

gued that it would be a shame

sion and began to speak more

my own body, afraid that Sa-

if I got to the judgment day

openly with my friends and

tan would appear in a cloud of

and was told that I had almost

family about the way my body

steam right there in the bath-

made it into heaven.

responded when I looked at

room and consume me.

made it so. I had let Him.

other men, the way my mind “As you carefully follow

fantasized about touching

“The garment should

these principles, you will

other men. My mother made

never be left on the

be guided by the Holy

it clear that I was right to be

floor. When garments

Spirit in considering

ashamed of these feelings.

need to be washed, they

your personal commit-

God did not want me to dwell

should be placed in a

ment to wear the gar-

on my lust for men. God want-

laundry basket or bag

ment. This sacred cove-

ed me to marry a nice wom-

until they can be prop-

nant is between you and

an. My mother told me that

erly washed and dried.”

the Lord, and the proper

God wanted my future wife

wearing of the garment

and me to be married inside

is an outward expres-

of the temple. Husband and

manded me once about my

sion of your inner com-

wife identical in their commit-

treatment of the garments be-

mitment to follow the

ment to wear their garments,

fore my mission. She had come

Savior Jesus Christ.”

identical in their devotion to

My mother had repri-

into my room to talk to me and had seen my garments from the previous day crumpled up

122

Graduate Nonfiction

Mormonism, identical in their My underwear was entirely God’s business. He had

devotion to God. I couldn’t comprehend

why God wanted me to have

flesh against my own.

nearly identical underwear

I drove to Walmart the

123

carded to the floor, I fought the urge to pick them up and fold

with my future partner, while

first night of the break, check-

them. Instead, I left my prom-

He simultaneously insisted

ing over my shoulder as I ap-

ise to God heaped on the floor

that everything beneath the

proached the underwear aisle,

and pulled on the lime green

underwear must be so dras-

afraid I’d run into someone

boxer-briefs.

tically different. No one could

who knew me, someone who

provide me with answers that

knew that I had made prom-

could facilitate changes in my

ises with God that I would

desires.

wear the underwear that He expected me to wear. I hurried

A year after my mission

to self-checkout so I wouldn’t

I had my college apartment

need to hand my broken

to myself for the Thanksgiving

promises to another person,

weekend. A week earlier I had

and then sped home, desper-

driven madly over icy roads in

ately anticipating stripping off

the middle of the night, hop-

the garments in favor of this

ing to drive myself off the road.

new craved for underwear.

Hoping to die. I had given God

everything, even control over

was closed behind me, clothes

the kind of underwear I wore,

fell to the floor as I tore open

and he wouldn’t take my wan-

the underwear bag. I hun-

dering eyes, my curiosity about

gered for the chance to wear

the bodies of other men, my

this new, this chosen, under-

hunger for the feel of muscled

wear. As my garments fell dis-

The minute the door

Drowned by Blue Emily James According to the Centers for

ing when walking to the bath-

Disease and Control Preven-

room, fell and hit my head.

tion, one out of every four peo-

A classmate in my poetry writing workshop included a mod-

ple, age 65 or older, falls each

The use of crystals and stones

ified line from Eavan Bolan’s

year. Of those who fall, over

for healing, protection, and

poem Atlantis – A Lost Sonnet.

800,000 are hospitalized, most

ritual extends to the beginning

Upon reading it, I found myself

commonly as a result of head

of the human race. The oldest

inexplicably crying.

injury or hip fracture. For those

legends and lore about crystal

who do not suffer injury, many

magic date back to the lost

become afraid of falling.

city of Atlantis whose evolved inhabitants used crystals for

Just before starting graduate

many physical, practical, and

school, my 88-year old grand-

cosmic purposes.

mother flew by herself from

the old fable-makers searched hard for a word to convey that what is gone is gone forever and never found it. And so, in the best traditions of

her assisted living facility in

Wassily Kandinsky, father of

Arizona to see the new house

abstract art, believed that

I had bought in Utah. Despite

colors had spiritual energies.

all of the measures I took to

“It is evident … that color har-

help with her mobility – a step

mony must rest only on a

stool to help her climb into

corresponding vibration in the

Endocrinology is the study of

bed, night lights in each room,

human soul; this is one of the

hormones and their actions.

a handrail in the shower – it

guiding principles of the inner

Various organs and glands

was me who, early one morn-

need.”

throughout our bodies are

124

Graduate Nonfiction

where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name and drowned it.

125

responsible for the secretion

That my period is still irregu-

sahasrara – root, sacral, solar

of our hormones. Because

lar? Why, although I feel cold

plexus, heart, throat, third eye,

hormones usually control

all the time, I often feel warm

and crown chakras.

regulatory systems in the body

to other’s touch? She asks if I

including homeostasis, metab-

have ever gotten my thyroid

I met my partner of two years

olism, and reproduction, the

checked.

through the Buddhist medita-

endocrine system is critical for healthy functioning.

tion group we both attended. Chakras, the Sanskrit word

After finding ourselves at a

for wheel, are circular energy

challenging point in our rela-

As an active teenager, my

bodies that direct life ener-

tionship, I no longer felt safe

mom (a nurse), baffled by my

gy for physical and spiritual

within our spiritual commu-

serving size would often warn

well-being. Although there are

nity. I began attending a local

me, “Emmy, appreciate that

similar subtle energy philos-

satsang centered on Yogic and

you can eat that way now.

ophies among many spiritual

Hindu teachings. Each week

Someday your metabolism is

traditions, most researchers

one of the yogis, Mahendra,

going to slow down.” Always

believe the chakra system

leads an ancient chakra med-

very thin, I was 17 before I got

began in India as a classifi-

itation believed to help cool

my period. Months would pass

cation of esoteric anatomy to

these energetic centers, laying

before the next one came. I

outline how energy is chan-

the foundation for an enlight-

am now 26 years old, 5’ 10’’

neled throughout the human

enment experience, a moment

and weigh 135 pounds. I ask

body. In the Hindu tradition,

of higher seeing.

my mom why it might be that

there are seven chakras of the

even though I eat a ton and

energetic body: the muladha-

have become significantly less

ra, svadhisthana, manipura,

active, I don’t gain weight?

anahata, vishuddha, ajna, and

The thyroid gland is butterfly shaped and located in the neck. Responsible for producing two hormones that regulate the metabolism, thyroxine (T4) and triiodothyronine (T3), the thyroid plays an important role in the conversion of oxygen and calories into energy. Under the control of a peanut size gland at the base of the brain, the pituitary, T3 and T4 levels are impacted by the Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH). The normal range of TSH levels is 0.4 to 4.0 milli-international units per liter. Levels falling above four suggest a hypoactive thyroid, whereas readings below 0.4 suggest a hyperactive thyroid.

After months of extreme exhaustion, freezing through the summer, and falling a few

126

Graduate Nonfiction

Abandoned Sydney Thomas

times, I finally followed my

127

momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s advice and had some

blood work done to check my thyroid. When my lab work came back, my TSH level was 0.08. Upon sharing the results with me, my doctor asked that I come back and have blood drawn a second time. The first reading had been so low she was suspicious that it was a lab error.

In the book The Field Guide to Getting Lost, Rebecca Solnit writes:

The world is blue at its edges and in its depths. This blue is the light that got lost. Light at

Undergraduate Art Honorable Mention

the blue end of the

tance. … ‘Longing,’ says

a PURELY PHYSICAL

spectrum does not trav-

the poet Robert Hass,

IMPRESSION, one of

el the whole distance

‘because desire is full of

pleasure and content-

from the sun to us. It

endless distances.” Blue

ment at the varied and

disappears among the

is the color of longing

beautiful colors. … But

molecules of the air, it

for the distances you

these physical sensa-

scatters in water. Wa-

never arrive in, for the

tions can only be of

ter is colorless, shallow

blue world.

short duration. They are

water appears to be the

merely superficial and

color of whatever lies

Each time Mahendra leads the

leave no lasting impres-

underneath, but deep

chakra meditation, he reminds

sion, for the soul is un-

water is full of this scat-

us that the vishuddha, or

affected. … The second

tered light, the purer the

throat chakra, represented by

main result of looking at

water the deeper the

the color blue, can be translat-

colors: THEIR PSYCHIC

blue. The sky is blue for

ed as exceedingly pure.

EFFECT. They produce a

the same reason, but

corresponding spiritual

the blue at the horizon,

In his book Concerning the

vibration, and it is only

the blue of land that

Spiritual in Art Kandinsky

as a step towards this

seems to be dissolving

wrote:

spiritual vibration that

into the sky, is a deeper,

128

the elementary physical

dreamier, melancholy

To let the eye stray over

impression is of impor-

blue, the blue at the

a palette, splashed with

tance.

farthest reaches of the

many colors, produc-

places where you see for

es a dual result. In the

While visiting a friend over

miles, the blue of dis-

first place, one receives

the winter holiday season, we

Graduate Nonfiction

129

drove from her home in South

geometric shape, the torus,

picture plane. In contrast, blue

Bend, Indiana, up to Mystic

is formed by rotating a cir-

recedes, moving away from

Beads and Earth Ware in Niles,

cle around a central axis, like

the viewer. Whereas yellow is

Michigan with her 18-month

the circular path that the sun

expansive, blue moves within

old baby, Morel. As we first

follows in the sky. Physicists

itself. Because of this concen-

began to browse, I was drawn

have found that many of the

tric turning in on itself and

towards a case filled with blue

foundational flows of energy

the inclination of blue towards

pi stones. I’ve always had an

in the universe are toroidal

depth, Kandinsky deemed

affinity for circles, but blue has

and that at their center the

blue the heavenly color, con-

never been my color. Despite

entire system comes to a point

taining the power of profound

this, I’m working on trusting

of ultimate balance and still-

spiritual meaning.

my intuition. As I asked Ray,

ness — in other words, perfect

the store owner, what type

centeredness.

of stone they were and its

The field of nuclear medicine gained public recognition

meaning I was interrupted

At the core of Kandinsky’s

in 1946 when scientist Sam

by Morel who came pattering

soul-oriented theory of color

Seidlin published an article on

towards me shrieking, his pre-

are two interrelated opposi-

the successful treatment of

langue expression of desire.

tions: warm versus cold and

a patient with thyroid cancer

Ray laughed and said, “Man,

light versus dark, captured

by administering the patient

weren’t those the days when it

in the colors yellow and blue.

with a high dose of Iodine-131.

was okay to just shout?”

Defined by Kandinsky as an

A radioactive isotope, when

earthly color with a materiPi stones, also known as donut

al parallel to human energy,

stones, are circular in shape

yellow moves towards the

with a hole in the middle. Their

viewer, outward from the

absorbed by the thyroid, I-131

be an artist, but couldn’t see

Shafica Karagulla states:

destroys malignant and grow-

how to make a life out of that,

ing cells. However, because of

so he pursued science because

In general, our studies

its radioactive properties and

it was more stable. When the

have shown that the

consequent emission of gam-

reading was done, Jessie swiv-

endocrine glands are re-

ma rays, it was later discovered

eled in his chair and picked up

lated to the seven ethe-

that when administered in low

a large plastic canister. After

ric chakras. Certainly,

does, the uptake of Iodine-131

releasing a central latch, he

the intricate relationship

by the thyroid could be mea-

reached in and withdrew a

among these chakras,

sured and compared to aver-

cup, holding a small, clear plas-

as well as those on

age absorption levels helping

tic vial. Inside the vial was the

other levels, bear a close

to diagnose the degree of

pill of Iodine-131 for me to take.

resemblance to the

hyper or hypothyroidism.

Extending the cup to me he

functional interconnect-

said, “Make sure to only touch

edness of the endocrine

I sat with a probe pushing

the vial and not the pill so that

system.

against my neck so that Jessie,

there’s no risk of the pill break-

the nuclear medicine tech-

ing. We’d have a big mess to

The Vishuddha, or throat

nician, could take a baseline

clean up if it did. People don’t

chakra, is thought to be the

reading of the iodine levels of

think well of nuclear medicine

center for communicating

my thyroid. The assumptive,

these days. We tend to be wary

our truth to the world. It is

but friendly sort, Jessie asked

of and dismiss energy we can’t

about giving voice – or music

me if I was a student at the

see and don’t understand.”

or sound – to our inner heart,

university. I said yes, a master’s

and in turn hearing what the

student in creative writing.

In The Chakras and the Hu-

world has to reply. According

Jessie told me he wanted to

man Energy Field, author Dr.

to Dr. Karagulla, the throat

130

Graduate Nonfiction

131

chakra is usually about six

house without my knowing,

(3) hyper functioning thyroid

centimeters in diameter but

saw the essay there and read

nodules, noncancerous lumps

becomes much larger in the

it. Despite using the essay as a

on the gland that produce

case of those who use the

tool to clarify my own feelings

excess hormone. Thyroid nod-

voice a great deal. He believed

and perspective, to look hon-

ules are fairly common, usually

the self is transmitted from

estly at my own responsibility,

smaller than one centimeter. It

the brow chakra, where it is

my partner called it slander.

is unknown why some end up

conceptualized, to the throat

She pleaded, “Please don’t let

growing and becoming hyper-

chakra, where it is vitalized.

anyone read this.” The essay

active.

The throat chakra serves as a

pivots on a moment when my

bridge between our emotional

partner said, “There’s no room

The linguistic origins of the

and spiritual realms.

for expression.”

color blue are still unknown. One guess is that blue de-

As my relationship with my

Hyperthyroidism is typically

scended from a Gothic word

partner continued to degrade,

caused by one of three rea-

meaning to beat, “the color

I wrote an essay trying to make

sons; (1) Grave’s disease, an

caused by a blow.” The present

sense of how two thoughtful

autoimmune disorder in which

spelling of the word in En-

people with such love for each

antibodies usually used to

glish dates back to the 1700s

other could be caught in such

protect against viruses and

and described that which was

unhealthy and harmful cycles.

bacteria mistakenly attack

“lead-colored, blackish-blue,

During the revision process,

your thyroid (2) Thyroiditis, the

darkened as if by bruising.”

I had my essay spread out

inflammation of the thyroid

on my living room floor. My

for unknown reasons causing

partner, intending to leave a

excess thyroid hormone to

kind surprise, stopped by my

leak into the bloodstream or

This perhaps comes from the

Sculptors, painters, and artists

the necklace, the weight of the

Old Norse bla, “livid or lead-col-

were known to carry Sodalite

stone, its color, the intention

ored,” captured in the expres-

for inspiration. The Sodalite

of balance, union and wisdom,

sion black and blue, common-

crystal stone has a long-held

resting on my throat.

ly heard today as blue in the

association with the color of

face or to be “livid with effort.”

the heavens. The densest and

There are two treatment op-

the most grounded of the

tions for growing, hyperactive

A few weeks after my visit to

blue stones, a deep dark blue

thyroid nodules. The first is

the nuclear medicine depart-

of the night-time sky, Sodalite

radioactive iodine ablation in

ment, my doctor shared with

is believed to aid in develop-

which the patient receives a

me the results of my tests.

ing intuition and to stimulate

high dose of Iodine-131 that de-

They confirmed that I have a

latent creative abilities.

stroys harmful cells. Although

significantly over active thyroid

the most common side effect

as a result of a large nodule on

As Ray helped me lace some

of ablation is the destruction

the left side of the gland. Two

cotton cording through the

of healthy thyroid cells leading

and a half times the size of an

hole in the stone I’d selected,

to hypothyroidism, research

average nodule, mine is grow-

showing me how to tie two

has shown that some patients

ing and will cause my condi-

knots that would slide along

develop aggressive thyroid

tion and symptoms to worsen.

the cord allowing me to take

cancers later in life as a result

the necklace on and off, he

of the radiation. The second

Dating back to ancient civi-

finally told me that the stone

treatment is a thyroidectomy,

lizations, the Sodalite crystal

I had been so drawn to was

the surgical removal of the

meaning is linked to the ethe-

made of Sodalite. Since put-

gland. Given the location of

real energy that promotes the

ting the necklace on, I’ve not

the thyroid in the throat and

highest form of self-expression.

needed those knots. I still wear

its proximity to the larynx, the

132

Graduate Nonfiction

primary risk of this second

133

for Disease Control and

treatment is the accidental

I can’t ignore how this process

Prevention. “Import-

severing of the vocal cords.

of diagnosis has paralleled the

ant Facts about Falls.”

Loss of voice.

journey to my naming that I

https://www.cdc.gov/ho-

have a deep longing to have a

meandrecreationalsafe-

It feels significant to me that

voice. I worry in having a sur-

ty/falls/adultfalls.html

both of the long-term treat-

gery that cuts out the physical

ments for my thyroid condition

part of my body that, in its own

Raphaell, Katrina. Crys-

entail the removal of the phys-

type of shouting, has efforted

tal Enlightenment: The

ical correlate to the spiritual

to the point of physical disease,

Transforming Properties

center of my body governing

that I am enacting my own

of Crystals and Healing

expression. When I talk to my

form of drowning.

Stones. Aurora Press,

doctor about the two options,

(1) The use of … of the crystals:

1985, pp. 8.

he advises pursuing the sur-

In this attempt to extricate

gical route, a left hemithyroid-

myself, it is the preserved

need.”: Kandinsky, Was-

ectomy. “One way or another,”

bridge that gives me comfort.

sily. The Art of Spiritual

he says, “if you want to be well,

That there is a connection be-

Harmony. London, 1930.

you have to get this out.” If the

tween body and spirit, a path-

surgery goes well, he will only

way for what is of the mind

healthy functioning:

have to remove one wing of

to take form in the world and

Hinson, Joy, Peter Raven

the organ, preserving the isth-

that there is a route for me to

and Shern Chew. The

mus between the two wings

speak.

and enough of the gland that

Notes

it will function normally with-

(1) According to the … afraid

out additional treatment.

of falling: The Center

(1) “It is evident … the inner

(1) Endocrinology is the … for

Endocrine System: Basic Science and Clinical

com/health/tsh (2) The world is … the blue

(4) Hyperthyroidism is typi-

Conditions. Elsevier,

world: Solnit, Rebecca.

cally … and becoming

2007.

A Field Guide to Getting

hyperactive: Mayo Clinic.

Lost. Penguin Books,

Hyperthyroidism (over-

2005, pp. 29-30.

active thyroid).

(2) Chakras, the Sanskrit … above the head: Dale, Cindy. The Subtle Body:

(3) Physicists have found …

(5) The linguistic origins … “the

An Encyclopedia of Your

words, perfect centered-

color caused by a blow.”:

Energetic Anatomy.

ness: Cosmometry. The

Brren, Faber. Color: A

Sounds True, 2009.

Torus – Dynamic Flow

Survey in Words and

Process. http://www.cos-

Pictures. From Ancient

roid Stimulating Hor-

mometry.net/the-torus--

Mysticism to Modern

mone (TSH): Sargis,

-dynamic-flow-process

Science. Citadel Press,

(2) The thyroid gland … Thy-

Robert M. MD, PhD. How (3) At the core … profound spirYour Thyroid Works. Endocrine Web, 2015,

itual meaning: (3) The field of … of thyroid

1963, pp. 114. (5) The present spelling … “livid with effort.”: Etymolo-

https://www.endo-

function: Wikipedia. Nu-

gy Online. Blue (adj 1).

crineweb.com/condi-

clear Medicine. https://

https://www.etymonline.

tions/thyroid/how-your-

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/

com/word/blue

thyroid-works

Nuclear_medicine

(2) The normal range … units

134

True, 2009, pp. 262.

(4) The Vishuddha … has to

(5) Dating back to … of the heavens: “Sodalite: The

per liter: Health Line.

reply: Dale, Cindy. The

Harmonizer.” Energy

TSH (Thyroid Stimu-

Subtle Body: An Ency-

Muse: Inspirational

lating Hormone) Test.

clopedia of Your Ener-

Crystal Jewelry. https://

https://www.healthline.

getic Anatomy. Sounds

www.energymuse.com/

Graduate Nonfiction

sodalite-meaning (5) The densest and â&#x20AC;Ś the nighttime sky: Raphael, Katrina. Crystal Enlightenment: The Transforming Properties of Crystals and Healing Stones. Aurora Press, 1985, pp. 153. (5) There are two â&#x20AC;Ś removal of the gland: Mayo Clinic. Thyroid nodules. https:// www.mayoclinic.org/ diseases-conditions/ thyroid-nodules/diagnosis-treatment/drc20355266

135

Moments of Impact

Alyssa Witbeck Alexander I. Salchow

my double salchow appeared

than any other jump. Most

I fell in love with figure skating

graceful. In one video, I execut-

times I fell, I landed on my

all over again the first time I

ed fast footwork before imme-

elbows. A skinny middle school

landed a single salchow—the

diately jumping into the air for

student with bony arms, gi-

first full rotation jump.

a double salchow. The jump

ant goose-eggs bulged from

happened naturally.

both arms. Other times when

When I landed a double sal-

I fell, my right blade sliced my

chow, my passion for skating

Mine and Luke’s first conver-

leg, cutting through my span-

solidified. In all my years of

sation occurred on the front

dex and tights underneath it,

skating, I never fell on a double

porch of my college apart-

leaving bleeding slashes open-

salchow in a competition—

ment. He maintained eye

ing my calf. With time, holes

even when I first learned it. Ev-

contact with me. What music

covered my tights and pants

eryone at the rink nicknamed

inspires you the most? He

so much that others said they

me a cat because I always

asked. During that first conver-

looked like a cheese grater

landed on my feet. Even times

sation, we talked about music,

ran over them. Still, I refused

when I rushed the jump take-

God, and politics. We talked on

to throw those tights or pants

off or opened my arms too ear-

that porch for two hours.

away.

ly, I almost always pulled out a II. Toe-loop

Some skaters opt to wear butt

A toe-loops is the second hard-

pads, knee pads, or elbow pads

Watching old skating videos, I

est jump in figure skating. I ac-

while learning new jumps.

saw my body tense up before

quired the most bruises from

Almost every day I left the ice

I threw most of my jumps, but

practicing double toe-loops

bruising, bleeding, and aching.

landing.

136

Graduate Nonfiction

I fell over and over and over

He asked. Let’s do it right now.

again. I refused to wear pad-

III. Loop

ding.

I consider loop the most tem-

asked. Yes! It’s so bright out here!

137

After a minute, I agreed.

peramental jump. Unlike the My legs hold over thirty scars.

other edge jumps that use

Despite my coach’s well-

When I bleed, I never bandage

the momentum of the free

known intensity, she saw

the injury. My dad often com-

leg (the leg that isn’t touching

moments that I pushed my

ments that if I leave the wound

the ice), the free leg should

body too hard. Even when I

open and bleeding, it will scar.

remain still during the take-off

dealt with shin splints, tendon-

I like the scars though. They

of a loop. If a skater messes up

itis in my ankles, and swollen

feel like art.

before take-off, it is significant-

bunions on my feet, I refused

ly harder to compensate for

to jump less. If I fell too many

the mistake in the air than for

times in a row with a hurt

other jumps. The first time I fell

body, my coach yelled at me to

on a jump in a competition, I

stop. Enough! She shouted.

fell on a double loop.

I’m fine! I responded.

Luke only ever saw me wounded. It took the majority of our time dating for my broken ankle to heal, so he first knew me crippled. Every morning

No, she said, her voice stern.

before class he came over to

I forgot my sunglasses in the

Breaking your body won’t help

my apartment, gently rubbing

hotel room! Luke said. Honey-

anything. Go home for the

my swollen ankle and working

mooners in Florida, I wanted

day.

through my assigned physical

anything but stopping by the

therapy exercises. After busy

hotel room. Let’s run back and

mornings, he helped me with

grab those. I stopped walking,

therapy at night. Did you do your physical therapy today?

nervous. Do you really need them? I

I tried to keep distance from

months after mine and Luke’s

Don’t kiss him because that

myself and the center of

wedding day. For the first cou-

means I “asked for it.”

the room: the bed. The bed

ple month of our marriage, he

seemed too large for the

raped me almost every day—

It never left a mark. I wonder

space, making it impossible to

usually multiple times. He

how my legs would look if a

avoid. I took a step too close.

never raped me more than six

scar formed every time Luke

Luke smiled while he lunged

times in a day, but he reached

touched me without my con-

at me, arms wide. He pushed

that point a time or two.

sent.

me onto the bed, stripping me IV. Flip

of my clothes. Wait! I plead-

For a while, Luke convinced

ed. Please stop! I’m hurting! I

me that our marriage fall-

Of all the jumps, I loved flip

thrashed my limbs around and

ing apart resulted from me

the most. I could get the most

tried to sneak out from under

not sacrificing my body. He

height. Both toe-loop and flip

his body.

showed me scriptures to prove

use a toe-pick for take-off, and

Come on, he said. I’ll feel so

that I needed to sacrifice. He

the non-picking skate must

much better afterward. I kept

cried, expressing that he hated

glide on an inside edge. A pri-

resisting but gave up after a

himself and his body, and that

mary difference between the

few minutes. I laid limp while

there was only one way to fix it.

jumps is that the take-off and

he moved my body into dif-

Still, I tried to make the assault

picking legs are opposites.

ferent positions. At the time,

end. After a couple months

I thought I hated sex. It took

of marriage, I learned tricks

It was always difficult for me to

a long time for me to realize I

to avoid rape so that it only

land my double flip consistent-

hated rape.

happened a few times a week.

ly, but I was never timid when I

Don’t walk past the bed. Don’t

practiced. I skated fast into the

change clothes in front of him.

jump, and even when I fell over

I filed for divorce less than four

138

Graduate Nonfiction

139

a dozen times in a day, I never

much as me?

me didn’t help; it made my

slowed down when I skated

Yes.

jumps worse. While using the

into the next one. The feeling

harness, I struggled skating

in the air exhilarated me so

A harness sits above most ice

on deep edges because of the

much that I barely noticed the

sheets. Skaters strap the har-

confining nature of the odd

pain of falling.

ness to themselves and coach-

device, so I often jumped off a

es pull them into the air. Using

flat edge.

One day I faced Luke on the

a harness helps the skater feel

That’s it. My coach said after

couch, crying, telling him that

the rotation—having a coach

another failed attempt on the

I never felt loved or special or

there to pull allows the skater

harness. We’re not using this

important to him. He rarely

more air height. The coach can

anymore. We never used the

asked how my day went, and

also pull on the harness while

harness again.

with puffy cheeks, I explained

the skater crashes down—an

how I know it seems silly, but

attempt to ease their fall.

did our marriage matter to

Pairs figure skating first inspired me to skate. As a little

him? I don’t know if I can do

I despised using the harness.

girl, I watched pairs Olympians

this anymore, I said. I can’t

The harness allows the skater

practice in person, immediate-

take it. Luke explained that if

to gain minimal speed, and

ly mesmerized. However, see-

we wanted to make it to Heav-

the skater must jump along

ing the man throw the woman

en, we must stay together.

the narrow track the harness

into the air seemed to me like

Any two people can be mar-

follows. My coach strapped

cheating. Instead of perform-

ried and make it work, he said.

me up to the harness, but

Are you saying that you could

every time I jumped, she ei-

marry anyone off the street

ther pulled too early or too

and learn to love them as

late. Having my coach pull

V. Lutz

ing flip jumps on her own, the

In elementary school, my

male skater helped launch the

A figure skater always com-

neighbors asked me, Do you

woman into the air. I wanted to

pletes a lutz jump in the corner

want to play?

skate by myself, without help.

of the ice. The easiest way to

I can’t, I often replied. I have

ensure skating on the outside

skating.

Stansbury Park, the town Luke

edge is by jumping at a certain

grew up in, surrounds a lake.

angle in a specific corner.

The winter before mine and

It took nearly ten years before I landed it.

Luke’s wedding, we visited

The double lutz is the highest

his parents and skated in his

level jump I ever landed. Near-

Before Luke and I married, he

backyard. Luke preferred not

ly ten years into my skating

asked me if I loved him more

to skate with me at the local

career, I landed it. My coach,

than skating. Yes, of course, I

ice rink, but he tried the sport

a woman often either expres-

told him. He asked me to sac-

out in his backyard. While we

sionless or screaming in rage,

rifice skating for him if it ever

skated, I avoided practicing too

lifted her arms in triumph.

came down to it.

many jumps or spins. I didn’t

Finally! I yelled. In exhaustion

I just want to know you love

want Luke to feel bad or think

and victory, I bent over, resting

me more, he said. I kissed him.

I was showing off because I

my elbows on my knees. Pant-

I love you more.

skated better than him.

ing. Luke’s mom gave up her

Luke loved to ballroom dance.

In high school, boys asked me,

dream of being an artistic

When we skated, he took my

Do you want to go on a date?

painter when she became a

hand and tried to dance with

In middle school, my friends

mother. Luke tells me how God

me—the closest I ever came to

asked me, Do you want to go

wants women to be mothers

pairs skating.

to a movie?

and good wives. In order to

140

Graduate Nonfiction

fully achieve that, she must

when my coach yelled at me.

sacrifice everything else.

You should never fall on an

141

again.

axel, she said after I fell on an

axel. She threw her gloves on

fooled.

The axel is the only figure skat-

the ground and kicked the wall

ing jump with a forward take-

with her skate.

ing without you. …

VI. Axel

off. Named after the man who

You almost had me

Told me that I was noth-

You said that I was

first landed it, Axel Paulsen, the

I told Luke he abused me. It

done,

axel requires one-and-a-half

makes people stronger, he

revolutions in the air, landing

responded. He told me taking

and now the best is yet to

on a backward outside edge

moments of trials and even

come.

on one foot. Aspiring skaters

abuse as a blessing allowed us

dream about learning the axel

to become more God-like—the

I practiced during empty

since the first time they step

ultimate goal. I kept shaking

sessions—a way to claim the

on the ice. For a lot of skaters,

my head. What are you talking

connection between my body

landing an axel takes an entire

about? I repeated over and

and the ice. Often, I left the

year from the time they first

over.

rink in tears. Sometimes I cried

try it. Although most skaters

But you were wrong

with joy—relived that my life

hear the difficulty of landing

After the divorce, I decided to

was better. Sometimes I cried

an axel, my coach told me that

perform in a show. In my early

in pain from dark memories.

actually attempting it causes

twenties, I skated less than I

more figure skating hopefuls

used to. But I decided to skate.

to quit than anything else.

I performed to a song that,

I cried on the ice sometimes

for me, spoke about overcom-

but not from falling. Only

ing abuse and learning to live

Skating, the center of what I truly love, held a space for me to heal. To allow my body to do things that I wanted it to do. To fall, but to fall without someone pushing me.

I performed on the same ice I grew up on. I could pick out scratches on the walls and tell a story about their origin. I could point to places I landed jumps for the first time.

Stepping onto the ice to perform, a spotlight flooded me. While I waited for the music to start, I closed my eyes. The music began, and I sang aloud with the wordsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;even though nobody could hear me over the music.

142

Graduate Nonfiction

Urban Michelle Jones

143

Graduate Art First Place

n o i t

c i f

144

Graduate Fiction

t ua

145 Alyssa Witbeck Alexander Cree Taylor Brady Maynes

Pink Carnation

Alyssa Witbeck Alexander Ella got her first

town. She glanced at the

petals tripled in size and

tattoo—a tiny pink car-

flower on her ankle and

wrapped around her calf,

nation on her left an-

smiled, then climbed into

hugging the giant muscle

kle—three weeks after

the dark blue minivan she

in her leg and never let-

she miscarried her first

and her husband, Damen,

ting go.

baby. When the tattoo

preemptively bought

artist poked ink into Ella’s

when they first married

skin, she refused to look

a few years before. In the

away from the machine.

back of her mind, a small

sat at a sewing machine

The tattoo machine mes-

part of her hoped that if

for the first time. Her

merized her; her eyes

she stared at the flower

first project was a pair of

followed the needles as

long enough, it would

pajama pants, created

they left traces of pink

come to life. She imag-

from white fabric with

each time they rose from

ined the flower growing;

pink flowers standing in

her body. She stared at

its stem lengthening

identical rows across the

her ankle and the slow

down her heel and crawl-

print. The domestic role

spread of ink covering the

ing along the bottom of

seemed so natural for her

white of her skin as the

her foot, small leaves tick-

tiny hands. The needle

tattoo grew. A little over

ling her big toe so much

thumped up and down,

an hour after she walked

that it took all of her

in and out of the fabric,

in, Ella left the small—and

self- restraint not to pull

a smooth rhythm, while

only—tattoo shop in her

off her shoe to scratch it.

her hands gently pushed

southern Arizona home-

In her imagination, the

the fabric through the

146

Graduate Fiction

In fourth grade, Ella

machine. A quick look at

shopping bag, then

don’t start wearing a

the pants exposed the

pulled out a set of three

bra now, people will

crooked stitching on the

pastel colored bras.

begin to notice your

hemline.

Each of them had a tiny

breasts.” She paused,

Her mother, Ella’s sew-

bow at the bottom of

which Ella took as a

ing teacher, sat next to

the elastic band.

way to signify the hor-

her. Sewing connected

“I don’t want to

147

ror of someone paying

mother and daugh-

wear those!” Ella gasped.

attention to her chest.

ter deeper than their

Subconsciously, she

“Listen, needing a bra is

shared hazel eyes or

looked down at her most-

a sign of maturity. How

busty chests. Since she

ly flat chest, unsure what

about we also take this

was a toddler, Ella knew

to think of the budding

as a sign that you’re

she would one day

peach-colored lumps.

ready to learn to sew?”

become a seamstress,

Ella’s mother sat on the

Through her bright red

just like her mother.

bed next to her. Ella

cheeks, Ella smiled.

She never questioned

couldn’t maintain eye

it; she justwaited until

contact with her. She’d

younger, Ella often

her mother thought

never talked about boobs

watched her mom as she

she was old enough

or bras with anyone be-

worked and imagined

and ready. The day Ella

fore.

herself doing the sewing

learned to sew was the

“Ella,” her mother

same day her mother

said, “wearing a bra is

bought her her first

part of being a wom-

training bra. Her moth-

an.” Ella glanced at her

er came home with a

again. “Listen, if you

When she was

herself one day. When

Ella, as a ten-year-old girl,

on their own machines

to catch her mother ad-

finally learned the skill,

with only yards of fab-

miring a skill passed from

she believed that if she

ric between them and a

mother to daughter. How-

never stopping sewing

cross-stitched quote on

ever, her mother rarely

she could drape her body

the wall that read, “Happi-

glanced at Ella without

and stop signs and traffic

ness is a full bobbin”. Ella’s

some prodding. Occasion-

lights and cars and hous-

mom

ally, Ella held up her work

es and entire buildings

always wore her hair in a

to show her mother, who

with her work, blanket-

tight ponytail when she

nodded only when the

ing them in her stitches

sewed. Ella wore her hair

stitching looked clean.

for the world to see. She

in a ponytail when she

She nodded rarely. Ella

spent entire afternoons

sewed, too. A little natu-

began to reconsider her

and evenings sewing, and

ral light snuck through

ability to blanket the city.

a few weeks later, she

the small window, just

Standing in her bathroom,

wore her own handiwork

enough to remind them

Ella wrapped the used

to sleepover parties with

how cloudless the town

pregnancy test in single-ply

her friends. “I made them

was almost year-round.

toilet paper and threw it in

myself,” she told her peers

Ella liked to see the rays

the garbage, her fingers

before they even asked

of light stripe her hands

with Christmas tree colored

about her pajamas.

when they sat in its path.

nails shaking. Positive. She

Her mother bought

For the most part, the two

grabbed the towel closest

Ella a sewing machine for

remained quiet. Ella often

to her—an old brown one

Christmas that same year.

glanced at her mother to

on the nearest hook—and

The two sat side-by-side in

watch her sew. She hoped

held it against her mouth

the sewing room, working

148

Graduate Fiction

and screamed. The towel

149

stifled the sound, but Ella

knew it was impossible.

to “get into character,”

still heard her own shriek.

Still, she lifted her sweater

would be home within

She pulled the towel away

in from of the bathroom

the next hour or so and

from her face and laughed.

mirror, examining her

she wanted to have her

A girly, giddy giggle that

stomach to see if any extra

project done before he

reminded her of the first

fat around her mid-section

got home as a way to

time Damen ever kissed

was already visible. After a

tell him the news. She

her. For several years, she

few minutes of inspection,

sewed a small Christmas

knew this could happen—

Ella dropped her sweater

stocking—it took her less

she wanted it to happen!

so that her stomach was

than half the time to sew

The spare bedroom never

covered again, combed her

the baby stocking than it

became a storage room

hair into a tight ponytail,

took to sew the match-

because she and Damen

then fluffed the towel and

ing ones she made for

knew it would eventually

put it back on the rack.

Damen and herself last

be used as a nursery. She

Ella rushed into

winter.

always stayed away from

her sewing room,

Maybe it was silly to sew

sushi and alcohol, just in

cleared many half-com-

a stocking for an unborn

case she was pregnant

pleted sewing projects

baby, but Ella didn’t care.

and didn’t know. Now it all

off the table, and re-

The baby, she knew,

felt too soon. She craved

placed the space with

deserved perfection: a

sushi more than she ever

soft, ruby fabric. Damen,

stocking completed nine

had. She reached her hand

a math teacher at Sun-

months before birth, a

toward her stomach, sud-

nyside High School,

denly certain she’d felt the

who wore round glasses

baby kick, even though she

nursery decorated in

cessory. A city with turf

sandal beneath his foot.

traditional baby colors, a

lawns instead of grass

Ella tripped.

diaper bag stuffed to the

and firecracker bushes

“Stop it,” Ella spat

brim with the most nec-

planted next to houses,

after the fourth time.

essary—and desired—

all landscaping required

“You’re so annoying.”

supplies. Ella always

heat and sun tolerance as

“You’re annoying,” he

knew her future meant

resilient as the tanned-

grumbled back and

motherhood. In particu-

to-leather citizens. The

stepped on her heel

lar, a mother who sewed,

temperature rose well

again.

cleaned, cooked (follow-

100 degrees in the sum-

ing in her own mother’s

mer, so Ella and her four

footsteps), and whose

older brothers spent

yelled and turned to swat

child would eventually

most summer afternoons

her brother with the back

attend, on scholarship,

during their teenage

of her hand. He ducked

an Ivy League school

years at the communi-

and Ella, tripping over her

(something her mother’s

ty’s outdoor pool down

soggy sandals fell, hands

children never did). She

the street. Their sandals

first, into a neighbor’s cac-

just expected a few more

squished under their

tus. She wailed and stared

years to prepare.

heels when they walked.

at her hands, tiny needles

More cacti grew

On their way home

“I said, stop it!” Ella

covering her palm and

one day, her oldest

sticking out from between

than trees in Ella’s neigh-

brother walked directly

her fingers. In some plac-

borhood. Blooming

behind her, then sped

es, traces of blood bub-

flowers hid the prickles

up just enough to trap

bled beneath the needles.

of the cacti, a subtle ac-

the rubber heel of her

150

Graduate Fiction

“Oh, come on,” he said. “You’re fine. You sew with needles every

151

way, one morning in late

and saddening him with

January, Ella just knew.

the news. Body limp on

“Dear god,” she

the floor of the tub, she

day. It’s not like you’ve

whispered. Her hands

cried. Her blood ran down

never had needles stuck

curled around the small

her legs, watered down

in your skin before.” She

rolls in her stomach, a

from the shower, before

glared, her hands direct-

meager attempt to cease

swirling down the drain.

ly in front of her chest,

not the inevitable pass-

She watched what she

palms up, the sun al-

ing of the embryo, but

viewed as the remnants of

ready drying out the nee-

the horrible cramps. She

her momentary mother-

dles and the blood. She

found blood—far more

hood disappear, the deep

walked home by herself

than she could prepare

red fading to almost an

and held her hands face

herself for—moments

orange when the pow-

up the whole way, the

later. She turned on the

erful water pressure ran

needles too deep for her

shower water and lay on

through it. In that mo-

to pry out on her own.

the floor of the tub, her

ment, Ella felt as if she

morning cup of decaffein-

lost not only her baby, but

ated coffee left forgotten

her plan. Although the

and cooling on the kitch-

baby was a surprise, the

her baby before she saw

en table. The red curls of

moment Ella dropped

the blood. Call it moth-

her hair tangled under her

the pregnancy test in the

er’s intuition or acute

shoulders. She grasped

garbage, her life was now

awareness of abnormal

her full, naked chest and

cramping, but either

covered her mouth to

_ Ella knew she lost

avoid waking Damen

her baby’s. She sewed as

ing a finger painting she

a mother; she painted

created of a night sky and

idea,” she said. “But did

the spare bedroom pastel

mountain scene. Blues

you know there are lots of

colors as a mother; she

and purples bled into

different kinds of artists?”

spent time with Damen

each other on the page,

She said that someday

as a mother; she talked

with tiny breaks of white

Ella would grow up and

with her own mother as

that symbolized stars.

have a baby, and mother-

a mother herself. Within

Her father shot her a

hood was the most beau-

a few minutes, she was

quick thumbs-up before

tiful art in the world. “May-

just Ella again. She already

leaving the room. A busy

be,” she said, “you can use

missed being something

man with a wife and five

your artistic drive toward

else.

children to provide for on

something a little more

his paycheck alone, most

practical. Something that

conversations between

will help you when you

childhood, Ella loved

them happened while

grow up and create that

art. Especially draw-

he traveled between the

most beautiful art.” Ella

ing; she doodled all

living room and the ga-

bit her bottom lip, unsure

the time. Even then,

rage to head to the office.

if her mother really knew

Ella had talent. Her

After her father walked

how to identify the most

first-grade school

away, her mother smiled

beautiful art in the world.

teacher saw it in her

at Ella through tight

Despite Ella’s age, she

and Ella saw it, too.

lips—the way she smiled

knew that art took forms

when Ella helped her fold

that neither Ella nor her

ist when I grow up!” Ella

laundry but created lop-

mother even realized ex-

told her parents, display-

sided piles.

isted. Her school teacher

Beginning in

“I wanna be an art-

152

Graduate Fiction

“I think that’s a nice

told her class about paint-

Ella traced one of the

away a greasy curl stuck

ing, sculpting,

flowers with her pointer

to her cheek and kissed

sketching, and photog-

finger, then nodded.

her forehead.

raphy, then emphasized

that the list went on and

She usually made

153

“Of course,” he said. “I can’t wait to be a dad.”

on. It seemed silly that

it to the toilet, but one

Ella leaned her head into

motherhood claimed a

morning, two weeks

her husband’s shoulder,

monopoly on being the

after she learned of her

comforted by his warmth

most beautiful art. Still,

pregnancy, she missed.

at the reality of father-

Ella set the painting on

Ella knelt on the floor,

hood. They sat like that,

the couch, not worrying

leaned her head against

their close bodies loosely

if the cushions smeared

the bathroom wall and

forming the shape of an

the tacky paint of the

stared at her puke on the

“M,” until the smell of her

stars. Her mother kissed

already off-colored shag

own barf made Ella gag

her head, disappeared

carpet. Damen walked

again. Plunging for the

into the spare room and

by but paused when he

toilet, she closed her eyes

came back cradling

inhaled the putrid scent.

to avoid watching digest-

white fabric with pink

He groaned a bit as he

ed food and stomach acid

flowers. The fabric in-

dropped stiffly to the

plop into the water.

trigued Ella. She loved

ground and sat next to

flowers. “One day,” her

her.

mother explained, “this

Ella remained a vir-

“This baby will

will help you when you

be worth it, right?” Ella

become a true artist.”

whispered. He pushed

gin until she and Damen

married. Her parents,

She deleted all 62 images

stick onto her teeth. “And

devout Christians, dedi-

of wedding dresses she’d

he smiles looking down

cated much of Ella’s child-

saved online to use as

at you for living your lives

hood to teaching her the

inspiration, each of them

in his name.” They kissed.

importance of saving her

lined with lace. Her wed-

Their families threw rice. A

body for her lifelong com-

ding dress had ruffles and

few pieces caught in the

panion. She agreed with

beads and no lace. She

folds of Ella’s pure white

them, but less because

knew Damen would like it.

veil, drawing attention to

she believed in the Chris-

“The Lord brought

the off-white tones of the

tian view of virtue and

you two together today,”

small grains. Ella noticed a

more because she valued

the priest said while he

tint of red on Damen’s lips,

her natural peacemaker

married them. The small

but she decided to keep

tendencies. She also tried

church house managed

that detail to herself.

not to test the wrath of

to fit a large crowd, made

“Am I hurting you?”

a god, just in case. Ella

up mostly of Ella’s parents’

Damen asked that

married at 23. She and her

friends since Ella’s mother

evening the first time

mother spent the months

took it upon herself to cre-

they tried sex.

before the wedding sew-

ate the guest list. Damen

ing the white gown she

used a handkerchief from

wore for the ceremony.

his suit pocket to wipe

She regretted wearing

“You’ll look beauti-

his eyes, which Ella found

the fancy (non-lace)

ful in anything, but I

sweet and sentimen-

lingerie with the red silk

sure hate lace dress-

tal. Ella bit her lip, then

buttons. It seemed whor-

es,” Damen told her.

quickly stopped in fear of

ish to go from a church

“Okay,” Ella said.

spreading extra poppy lip-

house while dressed in

154

Graduate Fiction

“A little,” Ella said.

155

white to the bedroom

Crimson thread wrapped

and stoic, like her own

covered in scarlet, de-

around each individual

father—were incapable

spite her new marital sta-

button so tight and thick

of. He leaned his head

tus. She pictured a god

that it completely hid

against the door frame

condemning her to hell-

the actual button from

of the kitchen, his eye-

fire for immediately rush-

Ella’s view. If Damen no-

lashes dark from the salt

ing to the bedroom, the

ticed her distractedness,

water that swam under

priest shaking his head in

he did not say so.

his eyelids. The blue of

horror if he knew where

the couple he just mar-

The baby only sur-

his irises contrasted with his dark lashes. With

ried had gone, and she

vived in her womb for ten

each blink, Ella stared

imagined Damen would

weeks and no one out-

at his eyes, devastated

flick his eyes away from

side of Ella and Damen’s

that pain caused the

her in disappointment

immediate families knew

beautiful and vivid colors.

if she asked to wait until

of the pregnancy. Ella

Damen cried loudly. His

tomorrow. Ella felt the

gripped Damen’s hands

wails reminded her of

flower between her legs

while she told him the

the time her father scold-

tighten, resisting. She

news.

ed her as a little girl for

focused on the silk outfit

“I’m sorry,” she

sticking her tongue out

on the floor near the bed,

said, and she took the

at her mother and she’d

noticed how perfectly

fault for somehow letting

responded in sobs. She’d

even the line of buttons

the baby slip from her

hidden under her pink

was along the front and

body. Damen cried in a

determined that it must

way that Ella assumed

be machine-made.

men—traditionally strong

princess bed, buried her

“You have one tat-

glanced at her ankle

face under the rose cano-

too and now you want to

and imagined the flower

py, and promised to be-

be a tattoo artist?” Damen

stretching onto her right

have so well that nobody

asked Ella. He pulled back

foot, spreading across her

would ever scold her ever

from the hug. “Do you

body so that both legs

again. Ella tried to picture

know how to draw?” Ella

were covered in vines and

Damen cradling himself

looked down and nodded,

petals. She liked the idea

in his childhood bed but

realizing that perhaps she

of having garden legs.

couldn’t when she real-

never told Damen about

Part of her—a bigger part

ized she’d never asked

her ability to doodle.

of her than she initially

him the color of his com-

“I love sewing,” Ella

realized— wanted to help

forter.

told him. “But art is

carnations grow on oth-

my dream.”

er people’s ankles before

she grew another human

“I’m a seamstress,” Ella told Damen,

“I thought moth-

inside herself. She wanted

“but I want to be a tat-

erhood was your dream,”

more flowers on herself,

too artist.” She hugged

Damen whispered. Ella

too. Flowers that weren’t

him and explained how

finally looked Damen in

afraid to bloom.

she convinced the artist

the eye.

who tattooed the car-

“Damen,” she said.

“Okay then.” He paused. “When you

nation onto her ankle

“I want both.” Ella rubbed

learn how to tattoo, I

over six months prior to

her right foot against

want to be your first

allow her to work as his

her left ankle, stroking

client.”

apprentice.

the pink carnation. She

156

During the few

Graduate Fiction

157

weeks Ella had a baby

ey?” Joan said, smiling.

to tattoo a grapefruit. The

inside her, she sewed

“You always have some-

heaviness of the tattoo

three baby blankets.

thing going on!” Ella

machine surprised her,

As a seamstress, she

nodded at Joan but chose

perhaps more from the

wanted nothing but

not to tell her about her

power she felt holding it

her best work for her

pregnancy. Joan usually

than its literal weight. She

unborn child.

asked Ella detailed ques-

tried to keep the machine

tions about her sewing

steady, the way profes-

blankets,” she told the

projects. This time, Ella

sionals did, the same

elderly cashier, Joan, at

scooped the fabric into

way she tried to keep her

the fabric store when she

her arms immediately

hands steady when she

bought the material. It

after paying, not giving

sewed. The needles on the

never took Ella long to

Joan a chance to say

tattoo machine, ink flow-

pick out fabric for her proj-

anything else. Clutching

ing from the tip, stabbed

ects; Ella knew each aisle

the fabric with one hand

into the grapefruit flesh,

of the store like a sibling.

while brushing the stray

then released and the

Each piece of fabric felt

hairs that consistently

needle met air again. Ella

like a loved one. Despite

slipped out of her messy

imagined the needles

the number of fabrics

ponytail from her face

exhaling when they sep-

in the store, Ella noticed

with the other, Ella left

arated from the grape-

them all. She knew how

the store. She’d never had

fruit, the heads pointed,

the needles of a sewing

a secret before. She liked

staring at the ink they

machine pierced through

it.

“I’m sewing baby

each texture. “Are you now, hon-

Ella first attempted

left before immediately

through the grapefruit.

night of their wedding.

dropping into the fruit

Ella pulled her head back

She pulled her hair in

again, burrowing down.

from the fruit, taking

front of her shoulders,

The needle on her sewing

in the whole citrus and

hoping it would at least

machine dove the same

not just the minuscule

hide some of her chest

way, slicing through the

segment of skin the line

that the silk lingerie ex-

fabric and leaving trails

of needles pressed into.

posed. Damen, shirtless

of thread in its wake.

A tiny pink flower blos-

with folded arms, avoid-

Watching the thread

somed on the grapefruit.

ed looking her in the eye.

weave through the fabric amazed ten-year-old Ella;

Both Ella and

They sat on the bed in their hotel room for the

the speed of the needle

Damen wanted kids.

night, located just a

overwhelmed her. Some-

Each of them wanted

few miles south of their

times, Ella sewed without

a big family, but Ella

hometown. The desert

looking at the tracks of

craved a family more.

paintings on the wall and

stitches the machine cre-

Ella’s mother gave birth

wooden bedpost gave

ated. When she reached

to five children; howev-

the room an outdoorsy

the end of her fabric,

er, she still struggled to

feel. Ella hoped the hom-

she looked at the ladder

conceive. Ella expected

iness would help her and

of stitches, each stitch

to struggle to get preg-

Damen feel less nervous.

linked to the stitch before

nant, too.

Sex, they knew, was a

and after it. The needle

“I don’t think we

cultural expectation for

weaved them together.

should use birth con-

the wedding night. At

The needles of the tattoo

trol,” Ella told Damen the

the reception, multiple

machine laced the ink

158

Graduate Fiction

people winked at Damen,

then whispered amongst

to Damen about sex, she

the silky red set she

themselves when they left

realized she’d never really

wore on their wedding

the line. Ella pretended

talked to anyone about

night. Even there, she

not to notice. She realized

it. She associated talking

only wore the outfit

now that she and Damen

about sex for pleasure

three times—when

had never talked about

with dirtiness and consis-

Damen requested it.

sex. She picked at a loose

tently avoided the topic.

Each time she tried to

string on the comfort-

Ella saw conception as the

keep her body hidden

er. Six inches separated

primary purpose of sex, so

under the covers, em-

the couple at their clos-

avoiding birth control felt

barrassed by the way

est point. Ella sat on her

like an act of welcoming

the bralette accentuat-

knees while she talked.

in religious grace. Regard-

ed her chest.

“We shouldn’t

less of if Ella was ready

159

tempt fate,” she reasoned.

for a baby, if God (or her

“What if when we try to

mother) knew she wasn’t

weeks since Ella lost her

have a baby we can’t be-

doing anything to stop

baby. She added creamer

cause the pill messed up

pregnancy, sex felt purer.

to her coffee and watched

my hormones or some-

It had been three

They never used

the white splash into the

thing? Or what if God ex-

protection in their two

brown of the drink, mar-

ists and wants us to have

years of marriage pri-

bling before the colors

a baby now?” She blushed

or to Ella’s pregnancy.

settled into a warm tan.

a little talking about it,

During those two years,

She paused, then poured

even though she was with

Ella never bought any

her now husband. Not

lingerie; she only owned

only had she not talked

a few extra drops in, anx-

as she drove down the

ployee thanked Ella re-

ious to watch the white

street. Today, she only

peatedly for her kind do-

swirl in with the tan again.

waved at people she

nation and remarked on

Sipping from her mug,

thought knew her name

the careful stitching and

she looked at the three

and not just her associ-

soft fabric. Ella nodded.

newly-made blankets

ation with her mother.

laid over the arm of the

Nobody saw the blankets

special,” she agreed. She

couch. Ella set down her

in the passenger seat.

walked back to her van,

mug, licked the coffee res-

She sat in the

“They are pretty

stepped in, and closed

idue from her top lip, and

Goodwill parking lot for

the door. Ella pulled out

picked up the blankets.

several minutes. She

of the parking lot, made

In a town Ella spent

stared at the blankets,

a right, and drove toward

her whole life living

admiring the clean stitch-

the tattoo shop down the

in, she knew most

ing but not touching

street.

people she drove

them. The first blanket

past.

she made sat at the top of the pile. It was white

Perhaps more accu-

with pink carnations.

rately, most people she

Finally, Ella scooped up

drove past knew Ella’s

the blankets and walked

mother and recognized

them into the building

Ella accordingly. Most

to donate. They smelled

of the time, Ella waved

like the pine-scented car

and honked at each per-

freshener Ella kept in her

son who recognized her

van. The Goodwill em-

160

Graduate Fiction

161

Framed Christopher Davis

Graduate Art Second Place

Bottleneck Cree Taylor

HELEN was a woman of prin-

her plans for the day, thank

and decorations donned ev-

Him for allowing her to wake

ery shop window, chalkboard

also a woman of habit. Every

up yet again, and then pro-

signs announcing the day’s

morning she woke up at 5:30

ceed to offer pleadings for

specials blocked sidewalks.

am—not a minute before, not

her living loved ones. Years

ciple and integrity. She was

a minute after. She turned

Helen and Nelson

ago this prayer included her

stepped onto the road in order

husband, Nelson, her mother,

to avoid knocking over a sign

lamp, posed atop a hand-cro-

her half-sister Anita, and her

announcing soup, salad, and

cheted doily in the center of

daughter Janet. Since then,

a sandwich for $7.99, when he

her nightstand, knelt by her

death had blown a cold mist

ripped his hand out of hers

bed for exactly five minutes,

over her family and now her

and shoved her into the sign

and spoke with God. She liked

pleadings focused on Janet

like a linebacker forcing the

and Anita only.

quarterback out of bounds.

on the macramé embossed

to call it speaking with God instead of praying because

When her Nelson

Helen was aghast. Such a

that was how she interpreted

passed on two years ago,

thing was completely out of

the action of prayer. Besides,

Helen’s life froze in place. They

Nelson’s character. From the

“I’ll speak to God about this for

were walking hand-in-hand

snow-moistened sidewalk she

ya, honey” sounded a lot more

down Main Street in their tiny

turned and looked his way,

town. It looked like a scene

but he wasn’t there. Instead,

from a Coca Cola commercial:

she was greeted by two bright

snow floated down from the

white lights and the snakelike

mother’s homemade rag

sky as if angels were scratch-

hissing engine of a delivery

rug, she would tell God about

ing their heads, holiday lights

truck. The rhythmic clicking of

sincere than “I’m praying for ya, honey.” Kneeling on her grand-

162

Graduate Fiction

163

the hazards paced Helen’s rac-

mostly offered up words of

it was the first summer Janet

ing heart as she gathered her

gratitude for her. And Janet

had openly defied her. In front

parcels and rose gingerly from

was still here, still young, still

of Anita, no less. Janet had

the sidewalk. Blood stained

healthy and living. Helen knew

asked Helen to remove the

the snow a deep, Christmas

Janet still needed God; there-

sunflowers because she said

red and her elbow hurt.

fore, she used the majority of

it felt like they were mocking

her God conversation to talk

her father’s death with their

death appropriately, offered

about Janet and to plead with

cheerfulness. When Helen

soothing platitudes to Jan-

God to rescue her very kind,

insisted on leaving them, Janet

et, and moved forward. Who

well-meaning soul even if Jan-

screamed, ran outside, and

was she to argue with the will

et’s actions didn’t quite match

began tugging them out of

of God? The Lord giveth and

what Helen knew for sure she

the ground, rage swallowing

the Lord taketh away. He took

really thought and really felt on

her in a flurry of dirt, tears, and

her Nelson away, and now

the inside.

golden flower petals. After a

Helen mourned Nelson’s

Helen was given the marvel-

A switch flicked on

glance at Anita, Helen took

ous opportunity to narrow

inside of Janet when Nelson

control. She turned on the gar-

her conversations. Those who

died; if Helen had noticed it,

den hose. The baptism of cold

died were already with God, so

she chose to ignore it. The

water caused Janet to collapse

she didn’t need to talk about

summer before his passing

into the flowerbed, her long,

them anymore. They were fine.

Nelson planted sunflowers in

coarse hair tangled with petals

Nelson was fine. They were

the back garden as a gift to

and mud. Helen knelt beside

happy. At least according to

Helen and a homage to her

how Helen saw things. Anita

disposition. The summer after

was still here—a good wom-

his passing stood out vividly

an, a kind woman—so Helen

in Helen’s memory because

her and lifted her fatigued,

ty-five minutes doing her daily

such that she needn’t apply

listless body into an angry em-

calisthenics. Unlike her be-

too much makeup, just a touch

brace. When she let go, Janet

loved Nelson—may he rest in

of rouge to each cheek and a

lunged for the flowers, so Hel-

peace—Helen expected to live

swipe of mascara to help her

en was forced to restrain her.

a very long life, and because

eyes pop. At five-foot-seven,

After an emphatic slap to the

she expected to do it, it would

she was just tall enough to be

face, Helen quarantined Janet

surely come to pass. Bending

a commanding presence, but

to her room until she could

her body this way and that,

not so tall that it was difficult

be more civilized. “This is not

she followed an exercise rou-

for her to find suitors. Today,

the behavior of a lady,” Helen

tine Janet helped her find on

Helen’s undertones were a bit

chided. “Stay in here until you

YouTube. Touching her toes,

more tarnished, her skin more

figure out how to get over all

lunging side-to-side, running

weathered, but she had the

of this. You aren’t a child. It’s

in place, these were the things

same sharp eyes and—thanks

been almost a year.” She didn’t

that would keep her body and

to the calisthenics—the same

like to discipline Janet in this

mind fit and active.

athletic build.

way, but it had to be done. Hel-

In her younger years,

At 6:00 am, Helen com-

en dealt with pain in the same

Helen was what most would

pleted her longevity exercises,

way her mother —may she rest

call an attractive woman. Her

doffed her clothes, donned

in peace—had dealt with pain:

brown but not too brown skin

her shower cap, and climbed

she simply chose to happy it

shone with a hint of gold and

into a lukewarm shower. There

away. It would do Janet a world

was only complemented by

wasn’t enough hot water for

of good if she could do the

her sharp, grey eyes. She was

both Helen and Janet to take

same.

always very stylish and stayed

comfortable showers and

true to her onyx-colored, natu-

Helen found a cooler show-

ral, coily hair. Her beauty was

er a much easier price to pay

Her oblations complete, Helen spent the next twen-

164

Graduate Fiction

Scream than the inevitable shouting that burst from the bathroom

Michelle Jones

when Janet arrived to find all of the hot water used up. The thought of another conflict with Janet was enough to work Helen up. She quickly reached for her lavender body wash and let its soothing properties envelop her in fragrant felicity. She sighed, remembering advice her mother gave her once: “Pick your battles wisely,” she had said while shakily sweeping up glistening shards of amber. “Some arguments ain’t worth what they will do to your relationship.” So, in the spirit of harmony, Helen practiced artful salutary neglect with Janet. After all, as she saw it, most things weren’t important enough to talk about. Especially if those things could lead to

Graduate Art Third Place

165

contention. Helen’s home was

and tucked tightly into the

cotton button up blouse. After

a safe-haven, a refuge. Words

mattress. Aside from the

glancing at her feet to make

were a far better casualty than

nightstand that held her bed-

sure her toenails were paint-

a happy, peaceful home.

side lamp, To Do List, and the

ed, she sat down on the edge

family Bible, the only other

of her newly-made bed and

bing herself down with a

piece of furniture was a rickety,

gingerly slid her wind-eroded

generous amount of cocoa

uncomfortable rocking chair

feet inside a pair of dark brown

butter, Helen’s entire morning

waiting quietly in the corner.

leather sandals. She pulled a

routine was nearly complete.

Helen had knitted a white

turban spattered with bold

Showered, shined, pressed,

afghan and draped it over the

yellows, purples, and reds over

and polished, she cautiously

back. She didn’t sit in the chair

her coils and took her To Do

made her way from the bath-

very often anymore, but when-

List off of the nightstand. After

room to her compact and cozy

ever she happened to glance

taking a moment to ponder

bedroom. Helen felt safe there.

at it she swore she could see a

she wrote down her three

Walls the color of springtime

much younger Helen rocking

goals for the day: 1) Call Anita

snowmen enclosed pieces of

back and forth, back and forth

and ask about the children; 2)

furniture Nelson had made as

to comfort a restless baby girl.

Tidy the house—focus on the

a wedding gift for Helen. The

Now, Helen was lucky if Jan-

spider webs above the kitchen

full-size log bed resting under

et spoke two words to her let

cabinets; 3) Be patient with

a single window took up al-

alone came to her for comfort.

Janet and show her love.

At 6:30 am, after rub-

most the entirety of the room.

Helen dressed in sim-

Her list complete, she

A patchwork quilt—a wedding

ple but complementary items

took a deep breath, sighed a

gift from Helen’s mother–lay

of clothing: lightweight khaki

cheerful sigh, and made her

folded neatly across bleach-

cargo capris, a loose-fitting,

way out the door. The clock

white sheets, starched, ironed,

three-quarter sleeve, white

switched from 6:59 to 7:00

166

Graduate Art Honorable Mention

am. As usual, she was right on

After a tentative yet

167

died that Helen realized how

schedule. It was time to wake

cheerful knock on Janet’s

essential he was to their small

Janet for school.

heavy wooden door, Helen

family. He was the bridge, the

pushed it open, allowing a soft

understanding, sturdy bridge

glow to spill in from the hall-

that joined two islands on a

seventeen years old, Helen still

way. The door creaked on its

tumultuous sea. Now each

felt it was her duty to get her

hinges, a problem Helen al-

island stood alone, looking at

up for school each day. There

ways said would be fixed really

the other from across the way

was no need for noisy alarms

soon, but really soon came and

and wondering when another

or flashing lights to ruin the

went and still the door was

bridge would reconnect them.

silence of the morning and she

creaking. In all honesty, Helen

Nelson would have had the

knew Janet preferred being

had no idea what to do or who

door fixed ages ago. He wasn’t

awoken in a more loving, more

to contact about the creaky

like Helen.

kind way. About six months

hinges –Nelson had always

after Nelson’s passing, Janet

taken care of those things be-

ing is here. It’s time to get up

decided to play grown up. “I’m

fore–but it was a nice element

and welcome the day.” She

a big girl, Mom. I can get my-

of inconspicuous security. Hel-

greeted Janet this way every

self up for school.”

en wasn’t sure if Janet knew

morning because it was the

she used the creaky door as a

way Helen’s mom had greet-

are lucky to have a mother

tracking device, a subtle way to

ed her every morning and she

who cares enough to be so

monitor Janet’s comings and

didn’t want to lose the tradi-

involved in your life.” And Janet

goings, and Helen never asked.

had to comply because Helen

With Nelson gone so many

said so. It was how things had

things were left unsaid and

always used to be.

undone. It wasn’t until Nelson

Eventhough Janet was

But Helen insisted. “You

“Janet, dear, the morn-

tion. Janet rolled over just as

made sure the door stayed

gotten Nelson’s eyes. She was

Helen flipped on the overhead

shut. If she couldn’t see the

beautiful, brown, slim, and

lights. The small, square space

mess, then it wasn’t there, ru-

desirable. And it was Helen’s

was illuminated in damp,

ining the peace of the house.

job to keep her safe and com-

yellow light. Janet had been

From how little Janet

pliant.

in this room since she was a

withdrew from the semi-bright

baby, and the walls still held

light, it was obvious to Helen

quite reach her eyes, Janet

the milky yellow paint color

that she had been pretending

stated, “Alex is picking me up

Helen and Nelson had picked

to sleep.

for school today.”

out for the nursery. A twin-

“I’ll get started on break-

With a smile that didn’t

Helen had never liked

sized bed replaced the crib in

fast,” Helen said. “See you in

Alex. She looked over Janet’s

the center of the room which

twenty.” She started towards

head and through the solitary

sat under its only window. It,

the kitchen but hesitated

window. Was it big enough

too, was home to a family heir-

when she saw Janet’s mouth

for that sweaty, nervous boy

loom: another one of Helen’s

open and then close abruptly.

to climb through? There was

grandmother’s quilts, this one

Janet propped herself up on

condensation on the window

bearing a pinwheel design. The

her elbows and began blink-

that kept her from seeing into

floor was covered in piles of

ing very, very slowly, her deep,

the back garden.

clothes and old papers. Helen

coal-colored eyes connecting

even thought she saw an old

with every object in the room,

amidst the honking of a car

piece of pizza being squished

before linking with Helen’s

horn, Janet rushed out the

by the desk chair, toppled over

sharp gaze. Anita was always

door wearing a sunshine yel-

in a rush. Lately, Janet refused

bringing up the fact that Janet

low crop top and—what did

to tidy so the room was in con-

could pass for a young version

she call them? —mom jeans.

stant disarray. To cope, Helen

of Helen, if only she hadn’t

A belt of brown skin compli-

168

Graduate Fiction

Thirty minutes later,

169

mented the look and caught

Helen is cheerful. Helen is

Helen’s eye when it was too

happy. All is well, all is well. She

feel like going to school today,

late for her to say anything

smiled with her lips. It was only

so we’re just driving around

about it. Missing Helen’s hot

a little skin, it was just break-

looking for some other shit to

breakfasts had become anoth-

fast, they were just sunflowers.

do.”

er unwelcome habit of Janet’s.

The familiar honking of

Janet smiled, “We didn’t

Helen’s slap reverberat-

a horn caused her to snap her

ed from Janet’s cheek through

head towards the road just in

the narrow opening between

was 8:15 am and she was al-

time to see Janet, smiling and

red-brick houses lining the

ready fifteen minutes behind

waving to her from the pas-

streets like soldiers at ease.

schedule. She hated being

senger seat of a rusted-out,

“You will go to school, Janet,”

late, even when she was sim-

olive green, two-door, Honda

Helen said through pointed

ply behind her own schedule

Civic like a beauty queen on

finger. “Have Alex take you,

because it was rude, improper,

parade. She was with Alex and

and we’ll—” Another slap

and disrespectful. Helen was

they were not at school. Helen

equally as hard echoed once

always kind, even to herself, so

ran to catch them at the next

more down the street. This

being late negatively affected

stop sign. Tauntingly, Janet

time Janet stood triumphant.

her generally positive attitude.

stepped out of the car and met

She walked briskly, pumping

a winded Helen in the middle

smiled. “I won’t go to school.”

her arms, swinging her hips

of the crosswalk.

Then she slid across the hood

HELEN was walking. It

from side to side, clenching

“What... do you think

and unclenching her fists. She

you are... doing?” Helen stood

tried to maintain her usual

tall, resting her hands on her

cheery disposition when she

head in order to catch the

saw neighbors on her route.

breath that had escaped her.

“No, Mother.” Janet

of Alex’s car and into the passenger seat. They drove away

leaving Helen in the middle

the neighborhood, looking for

because he was hiding some-

of the street. She stood there

anything to distract her.

where in Canada. Helen found

until an irate woman in a black SUV beeped her back to reality.

Helen and Nelson

his lack of loyalty shameful and

moved to Springville in 1975,

she didn’t even speak to him

right after they married. His leg

at Nelson’s funeral thirty-five

sidewalk she continued her

had been badly injured in the

years later.

stroll at a much slower pace.

war and he used a cane to help

Her hand rubbed her red-

him get around at the ceremo-

down the narrow streets of

dened cheek, gingerly trying

ny. The cane made him look

her middle-class neighbor-

to remove the stain imprinted

weak, yet regal. She was proud

hood, settling on house after

there by Janet’s disrespectful

of him for his military service,

house, remembering scandal

hand. Somewhere to her right,

even though she didn’t under-

after scandal. Their quaint,

a bird chirped. Somewhere

stand why America had gotten

square, brick outsides with

to her left, she heard a lawn

involved in the first place. After

well-clipped lawns and shin-

being mowed. She couldn’t

being medically and honorably

ing flowerbeds feigned peace

breathe. She stopped walking

discharged, he was awarded

and prosperity, but thanks

and sought refuge on a nearby

a Purple Heart and given a

to Anita, Helen knew what

bus bench. After sitting down

monthly pension which Hel-

happened inside each one.

she mentally added another

en still lived off of today. The

Number 404 had a mysteri-

item to her To Do List: wash

ceremony was small with just

ous male visitor arrive every

these pants with disinfectant.

Nelson, Helen, Helen’s mother,

day at 8:30 am, right after the

She sat as if supported by a

Nelson’s parents, and Anita of

man of the house’s car turned

broomstick. Shoulders back,

course. Nelson’s brother, Le-

towards work at the end of the

head held high. Like a lady. She

Roy, was a draft dodger and

lane. Number 401 muffled the

let her eyes wander around

couldn’t make the wedding

sounds of three crying children

When she reached the

170

Graduate Fiction

Helen’s eyes wandered

171

who watched their drunken

unclenching her fists. What

father use their mother to

am I going to do? Janet. Janet!

relieve his disappointment in

Her perfect, obedient child had

Helen and Anita nervously

himself, her screams echoing

now begun to treat Helen as

awaited Janet’s return from

late into the night, bouncing

the juvenile, blatantly ignoring

a day of gallivanting around

through Helen’s brain, forcing

Helen’s attempts to maintain

town with that ridiculous boy-

her to recall deep purple cir-

order and control. This had to

friend. As was customary in

cles around her own mother’s

be the boy’s fault. Alex, the too-

Helen’s home, she had a plate

eyes, red drops of blood drip-

dark brown boy from the other

of hot chocolate chip cook-

ping from her lips and nose

side of the tracks. Helen knew

ies ready for when Janet got

like Christmas lights, amber

he was trouble from the min-

home, something her mother

colored glass scratching mis-

ute she laid eyes on him. My

had done for her when she

ery into the wallpaper. Helen

Janet would never treat me

was a young girl. The ritual was

didn’t dwell on 401 for long.

this way. Helen needed some

a highlight of Helen’s child-

And now her home, number

perspective. She had failed

hood, a tradition worth passing

410, always so perfect and pink

in her ambitions. Her life was

on. For years, Helen and Janet

was shrouded in its own con-

ruined, forced through a paper

sat at that table, enjoyed des-

troversy.

shredder, and now she must

sert, and engaged in conver-

fix it. Helen knew exactly what

sation that became more and

Helen couldn’t calm down

to do. With new resolve, she

more shallow after Nelson’s

and, now that she had rested,

continued her walk. Instead of

passing. When it seemed like

she was really late. She took

turning right at the willow tree

the conversation would shift

a deep, cleansing breath and

to head for home, she took a

attempted to relax her trem-

left. She needed back up. She

bling hands by clenching and

needed Anita.

This was a bad idea.

IT WAS 4:00 pm and

from the surface, Helen would

and Anita’s white father had

Anita. She couldn’t lift her eyes

quickly end it, stand up from

given her a complexion similar

to meet Janet’s pompous gaze

the table, and look for some-

to that of a sandy beach and

and decided instead to con-

thing to clean.

the confidence to believe it

centrate on a hangnail on her

was her divine role to interfere

index finger that had recently

be home soon, then?” Anita

in everyone else’s business. All

begun to cause trouble.

asked. “I have a world of things

of the neighbors called her the

to do today Helen. I want to be

Light-Skinned Gossip.

“So she is going to

here to support you, but I can’t wait all day.” “She will be home soon,”

Janet entered quietly through the front door. It was 6:30 pm. Anita eagerly beck-

Janet took a large, suspicious bite out of her cookie. “They taste better warm,” she said. Helen started, “They

Helen said, more to reassure

oned to Janet to join them,

were baked fresh this after-

herself than to reassure Anita.

holding out the plate of cold

noon, and had you been home

“Janet wouldn’t dare be late.

cookies and gesturing to a seat

on time—”

She knows what I expect of

directly across from her.

her.”

Politely, Janet heeded The two women gos-

“Never mind that,” Anita interrupted with a brush of her

her request and reached for

hand that resembled swatting

siped about the neighbors

a cookie. “Where’s the milk,

a mosquito. “We are just glad

while they waited. Anita was

Mother?” she asked. Helen

that you’re here now. Your

especially good at gossip and

rose quickly from the table,

mother and I had something

was able to speak with author-

poured Janet a glass, set the

we wanted to discuss with

ity on the private family affairs

glass down on the table, re-

you.” Janet took a loud sip of

of every family in the neighbor-

turned the milk to the fridge,

her milk and Anita used it as

hood. Anita loved private fam-

and sat back down next to

an invitation to continue.

ily affairs. Their biracial mother

172

Graduate Fiction

“I hear you have a new

173

boyfriend. Alex, isn’t it?” Janet

her long-awaited bundle of joy.

you? You’re my only niece

didn’t respond. “I have seen

She and Nelson gave up trying

and I want you to be safe and

him before running around

to get pregnant after five years

cautious. Alex is a senior, he’s

the streets with his gang of

with no luck. She stopped

graduating next month, and

friends, but he hasn’t taken

taking hormones, stopped

you’re only a junior. Do you

an interest in you until lately,

making sure she had been in-

really feel this relationship is

correct?”

jected with fresh sperm when

worth your time and efforts?

Again, Janet said noth-

she was ovulating, stopped

Aren’t there other things you

ing. She reached for a second

bringing it up with her doc-

could pursue?”

cookie and rolled her eyes

tor, stopped discussing it with

towards her mother. Helen

Nelson, and focused on her

“Like what, Aunt Anita?” Her

resisted the impulse to smack

knitting. Knitting had been her

mouth was full. Cookie crumbs

her hand away from the plate.

baby before her long-awaited

disobediently spattered her

Instead, her eyes remained

dream had come true. Now

crop-top and Helen’s compa-

glued to the hangnail on her

the 17-year-old version of that

ny-only table cloth.

index finger, her teeth gnawed

dream sat across from her eat-

at the inside of her bottom lip.

ing cookies and visibly upset.

Janet’s pretended positive

Janet’s face purpled behind

reciprocation quickly present-

her half-eaten cookie.

ed some ideas. “You could look

Helen thought back to the day she first realized she was pregnant with Janet. Nau-

Anita glanced quickly at

This time Janet spoke,

Anita, encouraged by

into a club or volunteer work

seated, she sprawled out like

Janet’s exposed midriff be-

at the animal shelter. Heck,

melted chocolate spilled onto

fore continuing: “Your mother

you could even work with your

the bathroom floor. Helen be-

said she has been trying to

gan to view the intersection of

reach you, but with no success.

tiles as plus signs, announcing

You know I care for you, don’t

mother on her gardening.” “That’s a good idea.” Janet smiled coldly over her

“Janet! Stop!” Helen was hysterical.

Helen didn’t speak. She looked helplessly at the

“Your—” tug “—garden-

last-living remains of her Nel-

half-empty glass of cold milk

ing, Mother!” Janet continued.

son scattered across the lawn

and swallowed the remains of

“I’m helping you with your

and cried. Panic crept its way

her third cold chocolate chip

gardening!” One after anoth-

into the tips of her toes. Slow-

cookie. She set the glass down,

er, the long green stems were

ly, steadily it rose like the tide,

rose from the table, headed

forced from their soft home

chilling her and turning her

towards the backyard and

and thrown purposefully to a

flesh into chicken skin. She be-

Helen’s garden. “I could help

grassy grave. Out they came

gan to adjust her clothes. To fix

Mother with her gardening.”

and away they went like the

something that had no choice

Anita and Helen clambered

rising and falling of the sun;

but to yield to her. The panic

after her.

Helen dodged the flowers as

continued to rise, submerging

she made her way towards

her chest in fear. She sighed.

“What are you doing, Janet?” Helen called. “I could help Mother with her gardening. I’m helping you with your garden-

Janet, not quite knowing what

“No. I won’t.”

she was going to do once she

Surprised, Janet reached

reached her. As Helen approached

down, yanked the last sunflower from dirt, and pointed the

ing,” Janet repeated. She had

her, Janet stopped mid-tug on

roots like a shotgun at Helen’s

reached the sunflower garden

the final sunflower and smiled

tired face.

and, like before, was tugging

at how much she was able to

each flower out by the roots.

get done in the garden in such

said. “It’s time you realized that

Helen rushed into the yard,

a short amount of time.

your life isn’t perfect. You have

leaving Anita to observe the chaos from the doorway.

174

Graduate Fiction

“Are you going to hit me, Mother?” she asked.

“Bye, bye sunshine,” she

me to thank for that.” Janet dropped the flower at Helen’s

175

feet and pushed past Anita,

fanning herself with a mag-

locked her door, turned out

who stood gaping in the door-

azine. Helen sat on the floor

the light, and lay face down

way. The slam of her bedroom

doing her homework while

on her bed, using her pillow to

door tore through the air like a

news about Europe and Jews

cancel the noise that she an-

gunshot and Helen’s optimism

lulled her mother to sleep.

ticipated would come from the

died as if blasted away with

The banging of the front door

front room at any moment.

the final pull of the trigger.

jolted them both back to real-

First, there was the in-

ity and Helen’s mother’s eyes

quiry about dinner. “You know

darted towards the clock on

how tired I is after work, Ellis. I

12-years-old, her father beat

the wall. She had lost track of

musta fell asleep there on the

her mother for the last time.

time. There was no dinner. She

couch. It won’t take long to

He had returned home from

was still in her housekeeping

have you suppa ready.”

JJ’s Pub drunk, disappointed

uniform. The enormity of their

at the Brown’s loss and deter-

circumstances was manifested

“Dora I done told ya now. I

mined to lay with his woman.

in her harsh whisper to Helen,

want my suppa ready soon’s

WHEN Helen was

Next, came the yelling.

Helen’s mother was tired from

“To your room, baby. To

I get home! I ain’t gotta be

her long day of cleaning hous-

your room.” Obediently, Helen

waitin’ on ya to do what I mar-

es on the other side of the

gathered her belongings and

ried ya to do!”

railroad tracks. Their old, floral

rushed out of the living room.

sofa enveloped her wide body

The guilt of leaving her mother

shove into the wall of the living

in a false blanket of protection,

there alone to take shot after

room that shook the house

the top three buttons of her

shot of her father’s locked-

like a rattlesnake’s tail warning

black and white housekeep-

and-loaded fists was overcome

ing uniform loosed to let in

by her relief at not having it

the draft she was creating by

be her turn this time. Helen

Then there was always a

of impending danger, sorrow,

Peeking around the corner

heirlooms in tow. Six months

and a painful recovery.

into the living room she saw

later, Anita was born. Hel-

the reason the tables had

en’s mother raised them like

turned. Her mother, poised

full-blooded sisters, but Helen

and confident, pointed her

knew the truth. Anita was too

give me a minute, you give me

father’s shotgun directly at his

light-skinned.

ten minutes and you gon’ have

chest. Her father, with an arti-

a nice hot suppa right there on

ficial look of confidence on his

TWO days after her sun-

the table now. Please!” A slap.

face, stood about six feet away,

flowers were murdered, Helen

Another shove. The crash of

on the other side of the room.

pushed open the bathroom

That was always followed by the pleading, “Ellis, Ellis please! You

either a liquor bottle or a lamp.

“I swear, you open yo’

door anticipating her daily

The screaming. The pleading.

mouth again Ellis and I gon’

lukewarm shower only to find

And—wait, there was some-

shoot the words right outta

Janet there, sprawled across

thing new this time. Helen

there.”

the floor like melted chocolate,

took the pillow off of her head

“Now, Dora --” And she

relieving herself of last night’s

and sat up on the edge of her

did it. She shot him. Helen

dinner. She was wearing a

bed. It wasn’t her mother’s

screamed as her mother’s

baggy, dark blue Boys II Men

pleas she was hearing; it was

shoulders released themselves

t-shirt over a pair of red and

her father’s.

of a heavy load. She was crying

green checkered boxer shorts,

when she dropped the gun

clinging to the toilet in antici-

put that away befo’ you hurt

to the floor, smiling when she

pation of another overflow.

ya’self.” Was that desperation

made her way over to Helen

she heard? Helen crept to-

to offer comfort, and laughing

side Janet and pulled strands

wards the bedroom door and

joyfully as the two boarded

of her curly hair away from her

tiptoed down the hallway.

the bus for Kansas City, family

face, glued there by beads of

“Now Dora. You gon’

176

Graduate Fiction

Helen knelt down be-

177

glistening sweat. “Janet, dear,

clenching and unclenching

packed her small carpet bag

what’s all this?”

her fists and contemplating

with a few items of clothing

what she would need to do

and her treasures: her To Do

hand away and gestured to-

to fix all of this. And suddenly

List, her lavender body wash,

wards the almost empty trash

she couldn’t remember why

the quilt her mother had

can. A tiny plus sign winked at

she had decided to stay there

given her, her grandmother’s

Helen when she looked over.

in the first place. The home

homemade rag rug, and the

“We should go see the

that had once provided her

family Bible. Leaving her cred-

doctor,” she said, rising from

with freedom and security

it card on the kitchen table,

the floor and heading to the

had metamorphosed into

she quietly freed herself from

sink to dampen a cloth. “Their

four unrelenting barricades,

the tiny prison she no longer

offices open at eight.”

preventing her from living life

considered home. She was

as she saw it. The routines in

crying as she walked to the

away from the toilet seat and

which she had once found

bus stop, smiling when the

glared at Helen. “There’s really

peace now forced themselves

driver asked where she was

no need, Mother. The test tells

upon her and clung to her like

headed, and laughing joyfully

us all we need to know. And

a parasite. The daughter she

as she looked out the window

the puke. Congratulations,

loved so dearly and deeply had

to wave goodbye to the home

Grandma. Now please go away

died with her Nelson and been

she once loved. And there

and leave me alone.”

reborn as a stranger whom she

was Janet, still in her pajamas,

thought she no longer loved

running manically towards the

of those issues to revisit later in

but rather cared for out of a

bus. The driver waited for her

the day, Helen left Janet alone

sense of --what? duty?

Janet pushed Helen’s

Janet peeled herself

Deciding this was one

in the bathroom and took a seat on the edge of her bed,

So, while Janet finished up in the bathroom, Helen

to catch up. Janet clamored up the steps and made her way towards Helen with the coordination of a baby giraffe. “Mom,” she said. “I’m pregnant. I need your help.” Helen picked up her carpet bag and followed Janet off the bus. Hand-in-hand, they made their way back to the house that Nelson built with the rosy glow of the sunrise to illuminate their path.

178

Graduate Fiction

179

Backlit Christopher Davis

Graduate Art Honorable Mention

A Strange Occurrence Brady Maynes

On the Walkers’

Walker’s face greets me. A

James tells me Jake

front porch steps, seafoam

grin blooms onto his face.

loves soccer. He tried bas-

green paint peels like the

“Mrs. Ashbrook!”

ketball last year but the oth-

strings on a banana, but it’s

“How many times

er kids were ball hogs. Sarah

their front door that pulls

have I told you and your

swims and runs track. Her

my attention. It’s sky blue

lovely wife to call me Mary?”

favorite events are the hun-

and brand new, in con-

“Only if you call us

dred meters in both. I ask

trast to its surroundings.

James and Vera—it’s only

if Jake or Sarah take piano

I ring the doorbell, know-

fair,” Mr. Walker says, grin-

lessons. James says both

ing the wait may be a long

ning again, faint wrinkles

gave up after their teacher

one. The Walkers always

showing on his cheekbones. moved.

run everywhere, whether

“James then. I want-

“I play the piano—over

that’s to the grocery store

ed to drop this off for Vera. I

sixty years now. If either Jake

or to one of the kids’ soccer

heard she hasn’t been feel-

or Sarah want to start up

games. That’s something

ing herself.” I hand James a

again, I would love to teach

the younger generation

freshly made pumpkin roll,

them.”

needs to work on, slowing

gently covered in plastic

down so they can enjoy life.

wrap for the walk over.

For some reason in the back

“You know Vera well.

of my head, the name of

This is her favorite. Thank

those banana strings nags

you, Mary,” James said.

at me. I’ll get it eventually. The door opens, and Mr.

180

Graduate Fiction

“And Jake and Sarah are doing good?”

“Jake really enjoyed playing. Could you teach a lesson next week?” “That would be great. That gives me time to shake the rust off.” I wiggle my fingers like I’m playing the

181

piano. James laughs, and

I smile and wave back. Mrs.

I think. Both of William’s

I can’t help but smile. I ha-

Johansen tries to corral her

brothers suffered one just

ven’t taught anyone in at

five kids inside. I have the

last year. We weren’t pre-

least ten years but it’s some-

urge to walk over and tell

pared for a stroke. Our three

thing I’ve always loved. I say

her to let them play, but she

kids jumped on planes and

goodbye before I walk down

appears particularly fraz-

rushed home, and William

the stairs.

zled this morning. I hear

passed a few hours later. At

faint shouts of “clean your

least we were together.

“Oh, I like your new door. It’s a good color,” I say,

room” and “clean the bath-

turning back to James, but

room” and decide to leave it

begs me to sell the house

he’s already inside, clos-

alone. Her husband doesn’t

every time we talk on the

ing the door behind him-

seem to be much help. On

phone. He married and di-

self. What a good family. I

my evening walks I can usu-

vorced young, lives in Cali-

hope Vera feels better soon.

ally spot him in the garage

fornia and calls me once a

drinking from a mug. I don’t

week. He’s slightly on the

see him now.

pudgy side, mostly around

As I walk home, I admire the different stages of flowering trees lining the

I make it to my little

Our oldest, Calvin,

his belly. He gets that from

street and growing in my

home. William bought it

William. His thick dark locks

neighbors’ yards. This time

for us after he retired and

leave little doubt that he’ll

of year really is beautiful.

spruced it up. He always

have a full head of hair his

My own peach trees should

kept the yard immaculate,

whole life. “Malcolm has a

flower from their buds any

right up to the day of his

full basement you can live

day now. Mr. Hansen takes

stroke. Only sixty-seven.

a break from mowing his

Heart attacks run in his

lawn to give me a wave, and

family—high cholesterol,

in, and you won’t bother his

much to Channing, Ohio.

should find someone to

family.” I listen to his spiel,

With a population of fifteen

walk with you so you’re not

but I never go farther than

thousand, most residents

always by yourself.”

writing down the number of

find they can’t stick around

yet another realtor.

for more than a few years.

Malcolm calls less

I wave my hand in distaste.

It has enough for me. Most

“They all act so old.”

often, though he agrees

people groan about the

“You’re seventy-three!”

with Calvin. “The kids would

prices at a local grocer, but

“Yes, seventy-three.

love it. They don’t get to see

supporting a local grocery

you enough, and someone

store always makes me feel

needs to spoil them.” Mal-

like I’m helping the little

versation. Over the next

colm is more convincing

guy. The one thing Chan-

few days of her visit, I know

but I just can’t leave our

ning can boast about is the

Hazel wants to bring up

house. The last time Hazel,

fact that it sits exactly be-

moving in again but doesn’t

the youngest, visited she

tween Columbus and Cin-

want to push.

offered to move in. She lives

cinnati.

the closest to me, just three hours away in Indiana.

I ask Hazel about her

Not dead.” This ends the con-

The front porch doesn’t have any steps

work. She seems to enjoy

leading to the front door.

it, most of the time. Hazel

William planned the rest of

that Haz. You won’t find

knows I’m trying to change

our lives at this little house. I

anyone to date in Channing.

the subject and pushes for-

say little, but it’s perfect. Not

And if you did, you would

ward.

much to clean, no stairs to

“I can’t have you do

never leave. Only old ladies

“You’re just so alone

trip down, and no basement

like me find themselves

here. Do you spend any time

to hoard useless things. Just

stuck here.” There isn’t

with anyone your age? You

two bedrooms, one and a

182

Graduate Fiction

half baths, a kitchen, and a family room. William had

a page or two. I wake up when my

183

having heard this conver-

sation almost daily for four

said I could paint and dec-

book slips out of my fingers.

years. I read next to him

orate the house however

I instinctually squint over

in my rocking chair, hold-

I wanted. Decorating isn’t

at William’s side of the bed.

ing his hand whenever he

one of my strengths, but I

Six years after his death

wasn’t using it to threaten

knew those shocking white

and I still look for his steady

a ref or point at a player.

walls had to go. Too much

comfort. The loss hasn’t

Whenever I read in my chair,

white.

gotten easier. Duller is more

I still rest my hand on the

accurate. The evenings are

arm of his recliner, empty

ish soup for dinner, fresh

tough. I expect his presence

these last six years.

carrots from my meager

in the recliner I gave him for

garden, small red potatoes,

his retirement. He watched

it crosses my mind—I hadn’t

celery chopped exactly the

the news, commenting

cleaned the dishes after

right size, and tasty but mild

how the politicians never

making the pumpkin roll.

chicken broth. I change into

got anything right. He’d flip

I can’t stand dirty dishes

my pink-and-yellow-flow-

to the sports channel and

in my sink or on the kitch-

ered nightgown and slip

beam as his Browns were

en counter. I have to wash

into bed. I like to read a little

highlighted once again.

them, or I will think about

before I turn in complete-

“The NFL forcing the own-

them all night. Cleaning

ly. Lately, I’ve been reading

ers to sell in 2014 was their

dishes has always been a

Mary Higgins Clark’s The

best decision in decades. In

kind of therapy. I can think

Lost Years. I enjoy it but

just four years my Browns

usually fall asleep before

are contenders. I think this

getting through more than

is their year.” I would smile,

I ate a simple Dan-

I sit up straight when

about anything or nothing.

self. William had bought the ways. I close my eyes, not

Shortly after William died,

colored icicle kind. I’d told

wanting to see the dead

my children bought me a

him they looked silly be-

grass rush at me faster than

dishwasher, saying it would

cause icicles aren’t colorful.

it ever should. I black out.

make things a little easi-

Now, I fondly clip the lights

er. “You’re not getting any

in place, my heart warming

younger,” they’d said and

with thoughts of William

white and my view blocked

then quickly added, “even

puttering around the yard,

by a tan curtain. To my left,

though you look younger

fixing the sprinklers or pull-

Malcolm sits in an off-white

every day.” I only used the

ing weeds. I couldn’t reach

chair scooted as close to the

dishwasher when all the

the last stretch of the roof,

hospital bed as possible and

kids were home. Our little

so I slowly place my foot on

holds my hand.

house became crowded

the words “not a step” on

“Malcolm,” I say. He

those days but that’s what

the top of the ladder. The

must have zoned out be-

made it great.

ladder is a little wobbly but

cause I startle him.

The next morning,

not enough to frighten me. I

*** I wake up covered in

“Thank goodness

I decide it’s time to hang

reach and clip the last of the you’re awake,” he says. “Cal-

Christmas lights. After last

lights. I nod and step down

vin and Hazel are talking

night’s musings some hol-

but can’t feel the next step.

with the nurses. You really

iday cheer felt necessary. I

I panic as my foot searches

frightened us.” Malcolm

pull William’s ladder out of

desperately for something

stares at me wide-eyed and

the garage and set it up in

solid. My shaking forces two pale. He has always been my

front of the house. Calvin

of the ladder’s legs off the

worrier. He’s thin, though

would have a fit if he found

ground, and with me seven

not by choice. He could eat

out I put the lights up my-

feet in the air, it falls side-

a whole Thanksgiving feast

184

Graduate Fiction

185

and not need to unbutton

Something about teaching

bend even if they could

his belt. Taller than William

piano to Jake? I’ll get the

have repaired the broken

and me, he stoops when

doctor so he can talk you

bones. They apparently tired

he passes under doorways,

through it all.” Malcolm hur-

for eight hours to repair the

though he isn’t quite that

ries off to find the doctor. I

damage, but it was too ex-

tall.

barely have time to exam-

tensive.

“What is this thing

ine the strange appendage

“We were going to

attached to my body, Mal-

before the door opens and a

simply amputate, but you

colm?” I ask. I vaguely recall

short man walks in. He nods

were persistent about need-

coming to in the hospital

when he sees I’m awake and

ing an arm when you woke

and seeing Malcolm deep

alert. My three kids follow

up after our unsuccessful

in discussion with multiple

behind with somber expres-

attempts. I’d say you’re

doctors. Malcolm had said

sions on their faces.

pretty lucky. That’s the new-

something about my arm

“Did your son explain

est model of robotic arm.

being irreparable. Too many

what we had to do?” he

The fingers are carbon fi-

bones had been broken,

asks, pointing at the new

ber. You won’t be breaking

and too many nerves and

addition to my body. I shake

them any time soon. Your

tendons had been ruined.

my head as I struggle to

fine motor skills will be

I could either lose the arm

take my eyes off of my new

top notch, and there’s little

completely or replace it.

arm. The fall from the ladder

therapy needed to get use

I think I said something

shattered the bones in my

to the arm. The best thing to

about teaching piano and

arm in more than a dozen

that I would need an arm.

places, and the tendons

“You were pretty insistent about needing an arm.

were severed, meaning my arm or fingers wouldn’t

do is just practice using your

It’s a thing of beauty

a few days, mostly at Calvin’s

new arm.” I nod and thank

in its own way. Pearl white

insistence. Hazel is sleeping

him.

plastic covers intricate wires

at my house and staying

and hydraulics. The fingers

with me most of the day.

“Eventually, you will be able to get a skin to cover

and arm joints work better

“Let me at least stay

the arm, but for now you’ll

than my old hand ever did.

a few days until you settle

have to get used to seeing

The doctor said the fingers

in. Please!” She sounds so

some robotics whenever

were carbon fiber. I’d heard

earnest, I agree without pro-

you look at your arm.” I nod

the term before but nev-

test. It will be nice to have

again, and the doctor leaves.

er knew how beautiful it

someone around the house

My kids all find chairs and

was. The sleek black weaves

for a while. Hazel asks me if

scoot in close, telling me

grab my attention for sev-

I’m okay.

how worried they’ve been.

eral minutes. I wonder how

Malcolm insists I move into

they make carbon fiber.

had them replace the other

his basement, and Hazel

I turn the wrist and bend

arm too. This one works so

once again brings up mov-

each joint of each finger,

well.”

ing in with me. Calvin simply amazed at how quickly ev-

“Maybe I should have

Hazel narrows her

stares, most likely working

erything responds. The fin-

eyes and tells me not to joke

through what he wants to

gers and arm make gentle

about stuff like that.

say. I shake my head, shut-

whirring sounds when they

ting down any moving-away

move. It’s quiet enough

after Hazel unpacked her

talk, and tell them I’ll be fine

that I should get used to it

things in one of the spare

once I can go home. I then

quickly.

rooms and had fallen asleep

lose myself examining my new hand and arm.

186

Graduate Fiction

Later that afternoon,

curled up on the bed, I’m in the hospital for

the doorbell rings. I walk

through the family room, thankful for something to

beaming at me. “Me too. It’s very

place my fingers on the

187

ivory keys and take a deep

do. When I open the door,

soothing.” It finally dawns

breath. I gently press down

Jake Walker’s young face,

on me that Jake is here for

each finger on my robotic

pink from the cold, greets

his piano lesson. I forgot to

hand. I feel them slip in all

me.

call his parents to tell them

directions. I reposition my

what happened. I tell Jake

fingers, bending them so

cold.” Jake nods, and I mo-

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to

their tips sit properly on the

tion for him to come in. My

play the piano anymore, but

keys. This time I focus all my

arm whirrs as it moves, and

I can try. Jake shrugs, eyes

attention on each finger. I

Jake’s eyes latch onto the

still on my arm as it moves,

sigh as each finger slides off

brilliant robotics. Jake snaps

and follows me to the piano

the key it’s on.

out of his trance and stut-

in the cozy front room.

“Hi Jake! You look

ters out an apology. I shake

I pull the piano bench

Well, this isn’t going to work. I can’t feel the keys

my head, and a warm smile

out so Jake and I can sit

and can’t tell how much

breaks across my face.

down. His long legs easily

weight I’m using. I tell Jake

reach the pedals. The lid

I’m going to need some

Pretty neat, huh?” Jake nods

that covers the keys squeaks

time to practice before I can

again, and his eyes return to

as I lift it and slide it back. I

teach him. Jake nods and

my arm. I move it around so

need to oil the hinges on

scoots off of the bench.

Jake can see the mechani-

the lid. I stretch out my arms

cal joints make their precise

and wiggle my fingers. Jake

movements.

smiles at the clicks my fin-

“I would stare too.

“I like the whirring. It’s a cool sound,” Jake says,

gers make when I move them so quickly. I slowly

“Have your dad call

me. We’ll work something

“Hi Mrs. Ashbrooke—

“Once he stopped

out, I promise,” I say as Jake

sorry—Mary. Jake just

shouting, Jake said you still

opens the front door.

barged through the door

want to teach him. Are you

screaming you have a

sure? Is that possible?”

“Okay, Mrs. Ashbrooke. Bye,” Jake says and closes

robotic arm. Is that true?”

the door.

James’ voice is quiet, as

incredible. Or as Jake prob-

if my robotic arm is a big

ably said, cool. Give me a

home, bursting through his

secret and he wasn’t sup-

few weeks and send Jake

front door, and shouting

posed to find out.

over again. I think I’ll have it

I imagine him running

at the top of his lungs, out

“Yes. I don’t know if

“Well, the arm is quite

figured out by them.”

of breath, “Mrs. Ashbrooke

you saw or heard but I fool-

has a robotic arm!” I smile

ishly decided to put up my

as I picture the look of un-

Christmas lights myself, and hanging up. I smile and re-

masked shock and disbelief

the result is in fact a robotic

turn to the piano. The cher-

on his parents’ faces.

arm.”

ry-stained mahogany is still

A few minutes later,

James apologizes again and thanks me before

James says he’d heard perfect after all these years.

my phone rings. I slowly

about an ambulance at my

Though I haven’t played

make my way to the kitchen

house but never found out

since William died, I still

table and pick it up. James’

what it was for. He said how

dust and polish the beau-

name greets me on my

sorry he was about my arm

tiful varnished wood every

phone’s screen, and I an-

and how he didn’t reach out week. William bought it for

swer.

sooner. I wave my robotic

me with his first Christmas

arm and the whirring re-

bonus. His work with the

one clear their throat and

minds me James can’t see

Department of Natural Re-

take a deep breath.

me. I tell him not to worry.

sources never made us rich,

“Hello?” I hear some-

188

Graduate Fiction

so I cherish the piano, ensuring it would last a lifetime. I sit down at the piano again and let out a small sigh. I leave my other hand in my lap and urge all my attention and energy into my carbon fiber fingers. I almost shout with elation when they don’t slide around. The clacking sound, however, is an even bigger problem. I’ve only had this mechanical wonder a few days, but I’d already grown fond of the gentle whirring and the carbon fiber’s pattern that captivates my mind. I know I’ll have to wear a skin over my arm if I’m going to play the piano. I sigh again and go to wake up Hazel. Might as well take care of it now. There’s no use waiting.

189