Photography

VOL. 2 ROOTS & REFLECTIONS

Bulletproof Vest,

Photograph by Johnathan Johnson

Justice for Breonna Taylor

Photograph by Johnathan Johnson

Web of Paths

Photogram by Hannah Milton

TIDAL WAVES

I’m sitting on a beach on Lake defeated. I can feel how badly I need it goes when you’re eavesdropping; Tahoe, on the first day of what the an outlet, but I can’t find it here. I look don’t lie to yourself.) I even pull a book locals call “summer.” The sun is around one last time. Fuck it, I decide, out of my pack and open it as part of beaming, the girls are more than I’m going to the pub. my disguise. half naked, and I can’t decipher the I start packing up, and do one final To my surprise, as I tune in to the clouds from the pot smoke. It’s only 65 stretch before I hit the road. I stand up, rest of her wrath, I don’t find it hilarious. degrees, which is wild to me, because dust the sand off, and start making my Usually when shit like this happens, back home in Texas, we can fry an egg way to my car. When I look up, I notice when people lose their minds in public on the sidewalk on our first day of that I’ll soon walk right past the mother over something stupid, I piss my pants summer. and son. Being the polite southern with both laughter and joy. It makes I’m here for some scenic therapy fella I am, I take out my AirPods and me feel like, “Yeah, I may be having a as I try and reflect on my life up to this give them a quick “howdy hey” as I skid shitty day or whatever, but look at this moment. I know how I’ve been feeling, past. That’s when I walk right into the fuckin’ clown.” Then I feel better about but I need to put it on paper. I often inspiration I had been looking for. my situation, and ride off into the come to the lake for inspiration when The second I yank my ear buds sunset with the Full House theme song

I’m journaling. The scenery of Lake out, the smooth funk of Al Green is on blast. But not today. I am absolutely

Tahoe can leave me speechless at replaced by the mother screaming mortified. This lady is straight up times; it’s intoxicatingly beautiful. But bloody murder at her no-more-than Samuel L. Jackson-ing the fuck out of today, I don’t feel like rambling about its 7-year-old son. “I’m just so… fuckin’… this kid. And he just stands there and beauty. And today specifically, for the ANGRAAAAAY!!” is the first thing I hear. takes it for about three-and-a-half first time since the snow bent us over So naturally, I do as anyone else would minutes, before he bursts into tears. for the winter, it’s flooded with people. in this situation. I immediately stop in What ignited this woman’s tan-

People from all over the world visit my tracks, and without hesitation sit my trum is the fact that she forgot her

Lake Tahoe, which makes it a fucking ass back in the sand. I place my ear buds cellphone. She, in a very unnecessarily circus 365 days a year. It’s like Russian back in, pause the music, and get my hostile way, explains to the kid that roulette when someone speaks to you. metaphoric popcorn ready. (You how they can’t just disappear into the lake

Accents are a funny thing. Apparently even I have a thick accent, being from

Texas. I’m one of the last real cowboys if you can’t tell. As I’m looking around for something remotely relatable, I’m deprived. I see an ocean of teenagers playing beach volleyball, and young couples scattered across the shore.

I see an older couple in front of me trying to feed each other fruit, but they keep dropping it in the sand and giggling because they’re soused. I sadly note people of ALL ages doing fucking TikTok dances. Lastly, I see a mother and son, struggling to set up shop in the sand with a picnic basket, a canoe, a beach bag, and a bunch of toys. I can’t relate to that shit either, but at least it’s wholesome. I’m about to surrender my notepad for the second day in a row. I feel He Sees Us , Photograph by Holly Justus

Where Will We Go, Photograph by Rolando Galvan

RAISON D’ETRE

Poem by Mackenzie Guzek

In love and lust divided doth he stand with hands polluted red in Rembrandt’s wake, and should he prove to hold the faulty hand, his heartstring’s pluck a song shall never make.

For with conflicted eyes he breathes her waves her beauty holding depths he yearned to reach, but as the falling Sun calls hills his grave he shields her with the hindrance of his speech.

Yet Love loves not the concept of refrain; Nay, She relishes inside its conflict She grabs his hand and pulls him up from pain and reveals to her his shrouded convict.

Thus, even with his candle’s dimming flame his path grows warmer with her all the same.

All through my school days, I had a very minute sphere of friends. Making friends became a trauma and which even brings up the issue of trusts and truthfulness of motive. This might have the normal practice when anyone is trying to get to know someone new, but I took my vetting process which is mostly covert to unprecedented high levels because of my past experience. Some of my new acquittances would get offended. They bristled at my regimented pattern of living and could not put up with the unwarranted scrutiny, and ended up walking away.

The positive takeaway is my ability to adopt an independent lifestyle and the uncanny ability to decipher what I think is good from bad. I controlled all circle of my friendship accepting only who and what I wanted or needed, without having to explain my decisions. Well, in the negatives, I am certain I lost tons of potential good people who could not simply put up with they often unnecessary scrutiny from a fellow student or colleague. Writing these, I can immediately recall one or two old potential friends who later complained about how my attitude made them feel uncomfortable towards me and whom I would have loved to be friends with now.

After growing more mature over time, I have come to agree that there are more good than bad people in our world and most times people act according to specific experiences of life. I have come to realize that one must optimize situations to get the most out of it. Give everyone the benefit of doubt; never write off anyone knowing that people make mistakes all the time; be magnanimous with understanding that people have human limitations and imperfections and allowed that to always calibrate your attitude toward friends and people.

Nature’s Imperfect Symmetry

Photograph by Sonali Mittal

Respite

Photograph by Mary Holcomb

June 19th, Photograph by Johnathan Johnson from lip and blueish colors around my eyes, but I always blamed these on the darkness that I fell so in love with.

In the moment that I reached for that purple plastic bottle, I realized I was drowning. The safety of my situation turned to instant, intense panic. I could feel my entire body give into the emotions it had been suppressing for months. When he found me on the floor, sobbing over seemingly nothing, he knew what had happened. He had seen me cry before, but he had never experienced me fully in a state of vulnerability, visibly crushed by whatever I had on my heart.

He calmly asked me what was wrong, but my voice was so unstable and shaky that I could only push out more cries. It felt like all of my emotions had individual hands, and they were all clenching their fists around my throat simultaneously. I finally squeezed out the words, “I can’t do this anymore” and watched the color drain from his face. I watched the boy I had loved more than life completely crumble before me, and somehow that gave me the strength to rise and leave with my dignity. That was the day I finally came alive again. I’ll never know why my independence was within a bottle of shampoo, but I will never forget the moment I saw that reflection in the mirror and knew I had to leave. I will never forget the moment I saw the sun beaming through the surface of the water as my lungs were burning, and I made the conscious decision to reach for it. I will never forget the moment I broke through the water and felt the air flooding my lungs again. I will never forget the moment I sat in my small white Toyota and finally felt like I was breathing again.

My Hurried Choices

Photograph by Rolando Galvan

regret the idea of wearing sweatpants. Sweat was pouring off me. My own breath became suffocating and my clothes clinging to my body as they became soaked with sweat. My face was flushed and my skin was roasting under the warm clothing that I had foolishly thought would be a good idea. Chaplain Adams started to run circles around our group checking in on people to see if everyone was ok. He would slow down next to someone and give them little words of encouragement. When he came up beside me, I simply looked at his smiling face and waved him off. I said to him as he paced ahead of me, “You like this too much.” Twenty-eight minutes after we had started, I never thought I would have liked the ground so much. I laid on the cold concrete parking lot that we had started from. I must have laid there for 10 minutes at least, just trying to catch my breath. After struggling through my first 5k run I asked the chaplain, “How can you be so cheerful and ecstatic to be running at such a time and for so long?” I will never forget his reply. He told me, “Running is my way of abandoning everything and

devoting myself entirely to the act of running. It allows me to forget all the things going on in the world around me.” Early in my career as a U.S. Navy sailor I had difficulties with the stress associated with becoming a sailor. Although my first few runs were forced upon me for the sake of PT, I began to realize that in fact it was a way to escape the world in a sense and just put my mind at rest. I made it part of my daily routine. Although I did not wake up at 0400 like the chaplain, running in the morning gave me the wakeup that I needed to make it through the day. My decision to make running a part of my life made me feel very proud of myself. The endorphins released during running bring about a feeling of euphoria and general well-being. My health and life changed drastically after that day. That day 12 years ago started something that became a part of who I have been for the years to follow. Through perseverance and dedicated you can achieve things that you would not have believed possible. Small events in your life can make huge and drastic impacts on your life. Stay strong and keep hustlin’! TCC: TRINITY RIVER CAMPUS

NonfictionCONTROL by Courtney Lockwood

Most of the memories from my youth are sporadic and hazy, but some of them are as clear as day—for instance, a sunny spring afternoon when I was six years old. I was wearing white sandals that didn’t fit well. Those sandals flew off my feet as I sprinted with all my might through my childhood neighborhood, chasing after my mom’s speeding car while my dad clung to the roof. I never saw those sandals again. There’s also the time I was eight and awoke from a dream by my mom. She hastily scooped me into the hallway of our pitch-black house.

Shaking with panic as my mom and I quietly hid, I asked, “What’s happening?” and she explained a man was peeking through our windows looking for her.

Chaos was the norm in my life growing up. Neither of my parents were the best suited to raise children, but they gave it their best attempt. Luckily, I always had the constant grounding presence of my paternal grandparents. They were there whenever I needed them most to provide stability and shield me from the storms that my parents created. That is until my mom got custody of me and moved us almost two hours away. I felt trapped. I knew then I would eventually have to escape her.

Mom wasn’t all bad; she could be a lot of fun sometimes. She was the cool mom who liked to drive her sports car as fast as she could. She relished going dancing and playing pool in trashy dives. It all seemed so fun as a pre-teen along for the ride, unless

father, who despite was who he was, made her realize there was more to life. My father is who broke the spell she was under. She cried and cried and I just sat on the floor behind the table, listening. It was almost as if she had a speaker and it was only her and I in that room. Teddy shook me back into reality and asked me if I was okay. I looked at him and nodded.

I reflect back on this time in my life because it was such a life altering moment. I learned a major lesson from my mother’s mistakes. As I got older and understood where we were and why we were there, I realized she had messed up for me. God taught me that drugs weren’t going to be for me. He made that loud and clear and I didn’t even have to experience it firsthand. To this day, I have broken that cycle. I broke that generational curse of addiction. I proudly stand next to my mother as she still fights her battles. I am her support system. I was there for her when I was seven and I’ll be there for her until I am seventy.

Finding Southern Gothic, Photograph by Mary Holcomb

The Ruins Over the North Sea, Photograh by Mary Holcomb

T R I N I T Y

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Roots & Reflections

2021 Literary Magazine