Pathfinder Magazine 2016 by Western Colorado University

Table Of Contents

Gallery

3-Dimensional . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2-7 Printmaking, Mixed Media . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18-23 Photography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32-41 Painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48-55 Graphic Design, Drawing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74-79

Literary Showcase

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8-9 Dead Dad Walking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10-11 The Maid of Orleans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Let it come to you . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Year in Review

Free Rider . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Theatre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Freecycle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dam it . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Slice o’ Western

14-15 16-17 62-63 64-65

Slice o’ Western . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42-47

Fiction

Burning Bodies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Another New Pool . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26-27 Blinded . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Closet Full of Terror . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30-31 Their Somatic Blue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56-57 Snow Shepherd . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58-59 Just One Kiss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70-71 Snow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72-73

Poetry

Reciprocation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Dreaming in Color . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Obsolete Keepsakes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 gettysburg steaming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 Siren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 March 1869 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Our Almost Future . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 We Would Break Up A Week After... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69

Note From the Editors Dear Reader, As editors we have had the pleasure of gathering outstanding pieces to share with the Western community. The selections featured are winning submissions from Flash Fiction, Scary Stories, Snow and Love Poetry writing contests held this academic year, as well as other stand-out submissions. The contests turned out quite a few submissions, and these exceptional pieces resonated with our editors.

A special thanks to all those who have bared their soul and submitted their writing. We hope you enjoy these pieces as much as we have. Managing Literary Editors

Donielle Carr

Ellie Watson

Design & layout by Bryan Clocker

Gallery

3-dimensional

1) Torrie Nickel Busted Clay 14”x8” 2) Greg Flynt Unstable Clay

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3) Kate Buscovick Rotational Slump Silver & Turquoise 2”x2¹⁄2”

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4) Christian Linton Mermaid Ring Sterling Silver & Amethyst

Gallery

1) Rebekah Davis Liz Sterling Silver & Stone 2) Rachel Bender Tree Clinger Petrified Wood & Silver 1¹⁄2”x2” 3) Torrie Nickel The Wasp Wood 16”x7” 1

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Elise Picard Bismuth Crystal Slave Bracelet Silver, Copper, Bronze, & Bismuth

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Gallery

Kate Buscovick Untitled Elk Ivory & Silver 1”x³⁄4”

3) Greg Flynt Corruption Clay

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4) Elise Picard Bismuth Crystal Broach Silver, Copper, Bronze, Bismuth 3”x2”

Showcase

Literary Editor

Showcase

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The Literary Editor Showcase allows Pathfinder to highlight the work of some of our student editors as chosen by an outside judge. This season’s showcase was co-sponsored by the Contemporary Writer Series, which brings emerging and established writers to Western’s campus for short residencies. Judge Katie Cortese visited Western’s campus in fall of 2015.

Pictured Left to Right: Marlida Mear, Marisa Cardin, Ellie Watson

Katie Cortese is the author of Girl Power and Other Short-Short Stories (ELJ Publications, 2015). Her stories and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in the journals Blackbird, Gulf Coast, Wigleaf, The Baltimore Review, the Rose Metal Press Anthology, and Family Resemblance: An Anthology and Exploration of 8 Hybrid Literary Genres. She lives in Lubbock, TX, where she teaches in the creative writing program at Texas Tech University and serves as the fiction editor for Iron Horse Literary Review.

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JUDGE

Katie Cortese

LITERARY E D I TO R

Showcase

Dead Dad Walking

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by Marlida Mear

When I was seven, my dad left forever. My mom didn’t find explaining the concept of death to her only child very appealing, so she told little me that my father had left, permanently. That was that. I thought that I already understood what death meant. I thought that it meant my dad wasn’t coming back, that he was somewhere else where he would be happy. *** When I was eight, my dad came back, and he didn’t look happy. He looked very sad, I thought, as I watched him cross the living room to sit in his large, squishy old armchair, the one my grieving mother still curled up and cried in when she thought I was asleep. I peeked around the corner and stared at my dad sitting in his armchair, his hands resting heavily on the worn arms. He looked sadder than I had ever seen him before he left. I remember his eyes were squeezed shut, and he had a pained, forlorn look on his face, although I didn’t understand why then. I watched, hidden, until suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. That night, when I told my mom, she kissed me on the forehead and said, “I’m sure you thought you saw

him, sweetie, but Daddy’s not coming back.” *** When I was eleven, my dad came back again. He showed up after school, standing with the rest of the parents. When I left the building with my classmates, he waved. I think he was wary then, not sure of what would happen, but I only saw my dad, waving happily like he had when I was small. I ran to him, because he was there. My mom was wrong. “Daddy!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him. I felt his arms tighten around me—warm, solid, real. One of the other parents told my mom, and my hand was forced. I had to tell her the truth. My mom, torn, put down a deposit for a therapist, who made sure I knew that my father wasn’t coming back. *** Yet he did, when I was fourteen. My mom and I were eating dinner, just the two of us, as we had gotten used to. We heard the knock at the door, and I froze with a forkful of peas halfway to my mouth. My mom and I made eye contact, silently testing each other to see who would get the door. I knew,

somehow, who it would be. I didn’t wait for my mom to ask me to get the door before slowly setting down my fork and moving down the hall. My dad was there, behind the door. He didn’t look a day older than I remembered him. “Please, Meg, I need to talk to you.” I was shaking, I remember, trying not to scream, not to alert Mom. “No. You’re dead,” I finally said, shutting my eyes and the door. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I told my mom it had been someone at the wrong address. *** I turned seventeen, and my dad came to visit. He came to the door of our new, smaller house in the middle of the birthday party. When he knocked, I opened the door unsuspectingly, expecting birthday guests. I registered surprise, briefly, then dismay, then I shut the door before either of us could say a word. I wondered if my mother would’ve seen my dad at the door. *** I graduated high school with no sign of my dad. I went to college and drove halfway across the country, thinking about what it would’ve been like to

Winning Selection have my dad in the car with my mom and I. I moved into my freshman dorm; I thought about the big, comforting hug that was missing after Mom’s, and wondered if he would’ve cried, too. On the first day of school, I thought I saw my dad, but it turned out to be a professor, who looked at me with a concerned expression. I avoided that professor for months. *** When I was twenty, I was halfway through the spring semester of my sophomore year. I spent an extraordinary amount of time in the library, and that’s where I was, surrounded by papers and snack wrappers, when I glanced out the window and saw my dad walk by. I left my piles of homework and hurried out of the library, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Dad?” I said quietly, but he heard. He turned and walked towards me cautiously. I think he wanted to explain. How does your dead dad come back to life? I discovered it didn’t particularly matter anymore. When he reached me, I hugged him tightly.

I was surprised at how much smaller he seemed. “I’m sorry, Megs,” he said. I only cried a little bit. *** We reached an agreement. He was there when I graduated college with honors. He was there when I wrecked my first job interview, and he was there when I got the next one. He was there on my wedding day, although we both agreed that he couldn’t walk me down the aisle. My mom did, and secretly, I was glad. He was there when it all fell apart, when I went home to my mom’s house and curled up in the old, well-traveled armchair to cry. After Mom finally went to bed after hours of comforting me with hugs and tea, he was there. He gave me a kiss on the forehead, and I felt like I was seven again. *** When I was thirty-six, my mom died suddenly, unexpectedly, devastatingly. My dad was there then too. I screamed at him. Terrible,

grief-filled, guilt-fueled rage. My mom was gone this time, and I knew it. “Mom isn’t coming back, is she? Not like you?” I finally asked, quiet, heavy. He shook his head, looking at me with sorrow. He was there, every day, for a week. *** When I turned thirty-seven, my mom had been dead for two months. I missed her hugs more than anything, missed the world we had built over the years. When my father knocked on the door, like always, I had been waiting tensely in the armchair, my foot nervously tapping the floor, a mug of tea ice cold next to me. My cheeks were wet with tears for myself, my dad. My mom. At the knock, I exhaled, letting go of a thousand breaths I hadn’t known I was holding, and opened the door. “Dad, you’re dead. This needs to stop.”

This story plays expertly with notions of presence and absence. The “dead” father’s occasional presence is more remarkable to the narrator than her mother’s constant presence simply because her mother was so invested in erasing the father completely from Meg’s life (and maybe memory). Meanwhile, the mother becomes almost invisible until her unexpected death when her absence makes her remarkable. I found the ending surprising in that the daughter eventually chose to make herself an orphan, as if to honor the fiction that her mother had invented and sustained for them, “the world [they] had built over the years.”

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Notes from Judge Katie Cortese

Showcase

The Maid of Orleans

My earliest memory consists of thread sliding through my fingertips and words painted on the box that held my needles; though still I cannot read them. I held the sharp pins till I molded a hilt and tempered the steel into a blade that I was more familiar with than anyone in the village. They called me a heretic when God reached out through the voices of the saints. I think even then I knew I had to be much braver than my neighbors. Who has time to be timid when we are fighting a war? The arrow of Les Tourelles tried to put a stopper in my throat and split my resolve. It must have forgotten I wouldn’t need my voice to fight. The sword in my hand speaks more than weak words or petty peace treaties ever could. The arrow of Paris tried to shake my foundation. It forgot the reason I had two legs was for if one of them failed. The leg that fell was already bent to the king who called me home, the other strained against the earth to raise me up again.

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ELLIE WATSON

Notes from Judge Katie Cortese I was taken right away with the diction that sets this piece in a former era, and with the notion of a needle as a sword with a “hilt and tempered steel.” The comparison was surprising and apt, especially when it becomes a real sword wielded for the honor of a higher power later on. The speaker’s voice drives the poem forward inexorably from Joan of Arc’s humble beginnings as a seamstress to a tempered humility as she simultaneously bends her knee to king, country, and God, but strives still “to raise [herself] up again.”

Honorable Mentions

Let it come to you When the sun sets, the fields glow but when that cold moon rises they look like they’re on fire. Six miles deep on the navy highway and still you make me feel like home shadow drenched and trembling like we weren’t about to leave this. Take me to the shore where the salt burns high the sun fell asleep and I can’t feel the mountains anymore.

MARISA CARDIN

This poem captures the wanderlust of anyone who has ever dreamed of shedding a place that’s soured for a fresh start in new surroundings. What struck me in particular about this piece, in addition to the high keen of a desire to go where he or she “can’t feel the mountains anymore,” is the way the same descriptors were applied to the two different locales with stunningly different results. The plains on fire become burning salt by the shore, and the cold moon transforms into a dead sun. The poem is smart and efficient in the way it consumes its own materials.

Design & layout by Erin Diller

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Notes from Judge Katie Cortese

Year In review

Western Return from Canada and Wyoming

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by Dustin Eldridge

The Western Mountain Sports Freeride Team recently returned from competitions in British Columbia and Wyoming. A crew of 20 athletes, coaches, and media team members started the trek Jan. 20 and returned early on the morning of Feb. 1. Rhianna Borderick, originally from Aspen, Colo., is a freshman in her first year of collegiate competition. “We left campus around 3:30 p.m and drove straight to Canada through the night. That was a trip,” she said. “I felt like I was still dreaming [when we arrived]. I woke up in a new world. It was a cool experience to go to sleep in a familiar place and wake up somewhere completely new. It was beautiful.” Snow greeted the Freeride team as they rolled up to the misty Kootenay Mountains of British Columbia. Despite spending 20 hours in cramped vans and getting little sleep, all of the team members donned their gear and headed straight up the chairlifts at RED Mountain Resort. Sophomore skier Tucker Volbrecht is in his second year of competition with the Mountain Sports Team. Volbrecht admitted that conditions for this trip were top notch. “We got super lucky with a storm at RED Mountain,” Volbrecht said. “It was definitely good conditions for a comp. It was the best season in ten years [at RED] is what I heard on the chairlift.” The team had two days to enjoy the snow prior to competition and the clouds lifted for the first part of competition. This is rare in the moisture-ridden Koo-

tenay Mountains, and the fog obscured the venue for the rest of the competition. In freeride competition, skiers and snowboarders are judged on their ability to navigate ungroomed, extreme slopes based upon the criteria of line choice, fluidity, style/energy, technique, and control. “Standing at the top of the venue you could see the fog rolling in all day. As soon as the guys had to run it was fully socked in,” Volbrecht said. The event then switched to a split judging format where the judges are placed on different segments of the competition venue.

Photo by Banks Kriz

Many Western athletes qualified for the finals day at RED, which was struck once again by thick fog. The Western Freeride Team had a strong showing with snowboarders Dustin Eldridge, Zach Bare, and Josh Hirschmann taking 2nd, 4th, and 5th respectively. Tucker Volbrecht earned 5th in Men’s Skiing. Rhianna Borderick and Elle Truax took 4th and 5th, respectively, in Women’s Skiing. From Canada, the team travelled south down to Grand Targhee, Wyo. The team explored the small ski area on the first day, and competition began the sec-

ond. Once again, the clouds and fog rolled in making for tough visibility on the venue. Despite this, the Western competitors thrived in the soft snow that fell throughout their time at Targhee. “Targhee was spectacular. There was so much snow, and the venue had so many options. You could really get creative with your line,” Borderick said. “There was a day where only the ski men competed, and we just went out for a rip, and it was really good powder. It’s a fun little mountain.” The Western team also had a strong showing in Targhee with many athletes making it to the finals day. “First run; the goal was to just stay on my feet. I wanted to ski something that would be a lot of fun, and I ended up doing pretty well,” Volbrecht said. “The second day, I decided not to change anything, because the scoring wasn’t going to be much higher.” Volbrecht was awarded for his consistency with 3rd place overall. Western had a large presence on the various podiums with Zach Bare taking 1st in Men’s Snowboarding, Tucker Volbrecht taking 3rd in Men’s Skiing, and Rhianna Borderick taking 5th in Women’s Skiing.

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Freeriders

Design & layout by Robin Butler

Year In review

The Backstage Life An Inside Look at Western’s Theatre Department

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By Marisa Cardin

In a school as close-knit as Western, it’s not unusual for faculty and students alike to head down to the Studio Theater to see the current productions that are being shown. However, oftentimes the audience is unaware of exactly what goes on backstage, and all the work that Western’s students are putting into these shows. Preparation begins months before the show is ready to be performed. Soon after the auditions are held and the cast of the show is chosen, the Director meets with the heads of the other departments such as costume/makeup, lighting/sound, as well as the Stage Manager and Assistant Stage Managers. During these production meetings, the de-

tails of the show are worked out. “The most challenging thing about being a costume designer is finding out what the director wants, what the actor is comfortable with, and how you can give it an original touch,” Jenny Cirkovic, who has been working in Western’s costume shop for the last two years, explains. “Usually one or more of those things must be sacrificed, but it’s very rewarding when you can incorporate all three and see the actors succeeding in costumes you either created or picked out.” Brittney Pearson, who has worked both as an actress and a technician since her freshman year, says: “I think the most challenging thing with working behind the scenes of

a production is loving it enough to not need recognition for it. Yes, we get our names in a program, but that is about it. You have to love being a technician even knowing that your name may never be in lights. That also becomes what is so rewarding about it. You find something that you can give yourself to, and there is no inhibition. You can fall in love with the set, props, make-up, whatever. You can give yourself to something you enjoy. You are free,” Brittney explains “plus, you get to rock all black! Who doesn’t love that?” Josiah Miranda-Troup, member of the Peak Board and Stage Manager for the upcoming production, Dead Man’s Cell Phone, speaks of

the reward that comes from finally seeing a show go live, regardless of if you’re on stage or off. “If you aren’t entirely aware during a performance, the fluidity of the show could easily be ruined because you weren’t ready to call a cue, or a prop wasn’t where it was supposed to be, or someone was late for an entrance. It’s a lot of pressure, and the people backstage are appreciated in a different way than the actors are,” he says.

“On the other hand, it feels pretty great to hear the applause at the end of a show, even though the audience isn’t clapping for you directly, the actors were successful because of the work you did. Even if you’re doing something small backstage, you’re helping create the experience for the audience and you’re crucial to the running of the show. You can feel important and useful even if you’re only keeping the prop table organized and back-

stage clear. In the theater, everyone is important.” The next time you go to Western’s Studio Theater to enjoy one of Peak’s productions, keep in mind the effort that students and faculty put into making sure the show runs just right. They are, after all, a huge part of the team!

Design & layout by Robin Butler

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“It feels pretty great to hear the applause at the end of a show, even though the audience isn’t clapping for you directly, the actors were successful because of the work you did.”

Gallery

printmaking

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1) Thomas Berry Mind Lithograph 20”x15”

5) Bryan Clocker Questions for the Soul Lithograph & Intaglio 17”x11”

2) Bryan Clocker Conflict Within Watercolor & Intaglio 10”x8”

6) Thomas Berry Spirit Lithograph 20”x15”

3) Erin Diller Misty Mayes Intaglio 15”x10”

7) Erin Diller Of a Sleeping Cowboy Intaglio 7”x5”

4) Ashley Plunkett Timework cat Intaglio 10”x8”

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4 5

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Gallery

Jordan Wilbanks Ingenium I Reductive Relief 11”x15”

Jordan Wilbanks Ingenium II Reductive Relief 11”x15”

Jordan Wilbanks Saprophyte I Reductive Relief 11”x15”

Jordan Wilbanks Saprophyte II Reductive Relief 11”x15”

Alex “Pepper Jack” Jacobson Disconnect Resin, Graphite, Oil & Spray Paint 17½”x24”

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Mixed Media

Gallery

2 1

Austin Searle Fragments Oil & Intaglio 30½”x24”

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Alex “Pepper Jack” Jacobson Good Golly Miss Mixed Media 24”x18” Torrie Nickel We Are What We Eat Acrylic & Ink 21”x15”

4) Ray DeAngelo Taco Bronson Mixed Media 16”x13” 5) Liz Grindle Vanity Bare Ink, Acrylic, Magazine paper 42”x48”

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by Zoe Henderson

his living room, pressing all of his weight onto the glass of his window, ten stories up. His hands were tensed next to his head, knuckles white and bloodless. The way he was leaning his whole self into the window, pushing it with his hands, I think maybe he wanted the glass to shatter, wanted to know the adrenaline of watching the ground rise up to claim him as he dove for it. I had rested a hand on his back, felt his skin, just a little too hot, felt the frantic pounding of his heart. He had turned, pressed his mouth to mine. I was terrified of him then, scared that the flames would jump from his tongue to mine, start me burning too. He made burning alive look like ecstasy. I was terrified by how much I wanted it.

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Hollis was nothing if not an inferno. When he first kissed me, his mouth tasted like old fire and metal spoons, like he had fired a bullet through the roof of his mouth and its flavor had become part of his essence. A bullet lodged in the brain would have explained some of his crazy. Hollis was a fire cracker trapped in a meat suit. The flames were eating him up from inside, starting low in his belly, weaving their scorching hands under his lungs and around his ribs, coiling their trembling fingers around his heart. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d like to think that when he pushed needles into his arm and poured alcohol down his throat he was just trying to put out the flame, stop the burning. I once came across him standing in

Design & layout by Max Mulleneaux

Poetry

Reciprocation I threw an overused love letter through your window with a brick in the key of g-sharp before unlocking your front door with the key of a flat promise you never planned to keep.

The scent of broken silence flooded in, like late rainy mornings over coffee and sugar-coated truths, soaking bedsheets into bad dreams. Dim breeze flickered streetlight reflections through curtains, casting shadows of doubt.

Jay Ytell

Shattered glass crashed like a cymbal of untimely endings. The crescendo of tearstained pages tied tight to clay fired straight through brittle panes resonated memories of bored teens taking entertainment into their own hands in the form of musical sticks and stones.

You woke to find me tearing up the note. You watched as I swept sharp shards under the rug. I left you with blood-stained carpet, and an open window to the real world. I deserved every laceration; you every blood stain.

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You changed your locks, and I started throwing bricks through my own windows so I wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t forget how it felt to love you. Design & layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Fiction

Another New Pool

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by Frederick Slyter

We live in a nice neighborhood. The city is not too far away, but we are not so close as to have to worry about the noise, chaos, or crime. Our quiet little community sits on the edge of the forest, with a nice little gate to keep lost travelers from wandering down our road by mistake. All of our houses are simple two-story configurations with uniform paintjobs and uncluttered yards. Our fences are in good working order, and everyone parks their car in the driveway overnight. Ours is the kind of neighborhood where nobody ever forgets to put the trash out every Thursday morning, and we pride ourselves on keeping our grass under two inches tall. A little more than half of us have aboveground pools in our backyards; we do not have one at our house though. Our community is very important to us. Our newest neighbors, the Johnsons, moved in six months ago yesterday. So it was no surprise when Bob Watson and his wife Patty came over to visit. Still, Patty gave us a small bag of cookies out of the cloth grocery bag she was carrying. Those kinds of little, thoughtful actions are what tie our community together so absolutely. While she handed the goodies to my wife, Bob asked us over to his house next Saturday. “We tried to give them the benefit of doubt,” he said. “We waited for them to get themselves situated. They just don’t seem to fit

in.” I nodded and my wife said she also agreed. “We’ll see you Saturday at the usual time.” We agreed and wished them a good night. *** We all arrived at the same time Saturday. Bob’s house sits in the very middle of our neighborhood. We have always met there. As a group, we set up some folding chairs and then closed the garage door when we were done moving around so much. We did not need to waste too much time on small talk so we did not. We had each already decided, but we still made the final decision as a group; we always have. Everyone hated the neighbors. They were horrible people, the worst sort. They were not like the rest of us at all. They did not mow their grass every week, they had pink flamingos on their porch, and they even had a tire swing tied from a tree. Their kids were always laughing and screaming in the yard and their television was much too loud after dark. Their dogs barked through the day and night. At least they drove a hybrid, but that did not excuse the obnoxious bumper stickers. Bob had a handful of coffee stirrers in his hand. “Jim, we believe you have the short stick from last time.” “Here ya go, Bob.” Bob turned his back and mixed the short one in with the rest of them. Then less than half of us stood up; one from each eligible house. One by

one, we took turns drawing a stick. This time, I was the one to draw the short one. I put it in my shirt pocket. We did not even discuss it afterwards. After a few handshakes and several congratulatory nods, we all just returned our chairs and went home. *** We all moseyed over to Jim’s house just before noon on the day of the barbeque, and arrived at the same time. Jim already had the grill fired up and nearly ready. We set our dishes on the picnic table with the others and joined in some random small-talk about the weather, new politicians, and the city. Sam even brought some of his homemade sausages over and his wife brought her famous potato salad. The Johnsons showed up eight minutes late, but we went ahead and welcomed them to the barbeque just as politely as if they had been on time like the rest of us. The instant the Johnsons showed up, their children immediately began to run around the yard bumping into things, knocking into people, and somehow screaming at the top of their lungs the entire time. Mrs. Johnson was not carrying a dish to contribute, but joined the other wives near the picnic table anyway. Mr. Johnson was wearing blue jeans and a polka dot polo shirt when he joined us near the open garage. He stood out like a sore thumb next to our pastel polos and corduroys.

swimming pool, and I shot all five of them in the back with a portable nail gun. After they fell in, I just fired randomly until they all stopped moving. Then Bill and I walked towards the Johnsons’ house while the wives started to get things ready for lunch. After we killed the dogs, Bill and I carried them over and added them into the hole. I returned the nail gun to the open garage and joined the other husbands filling the hole in. We stopped when Jim called for lunch. We had a nice little picnic. We chatted about the local sports team and had a minor discussion about a new restaurant in the city. After we finished eating, the wives cleaned up the picnic table and worked together to wash the dishes and even cleaned the grill and put it back in the garage. Meanwhile, Jim helped the rest of us fill the hole in the rest of the way. He and Bob made sure the yard was level before we put his tools back in the garage. Then we all went home. *** By the time the pool company came over Monday morning to install Jim’s new aboveground pool, the same

model that others in the neighborhood had acquired, we had taken down the tire swing and removed the pink flamingos from the porch. We put their car in the driveway and removed the bumper stickers. Now the house blends in with the rest of ours. The whole community has benefited now that they are gone. The neighborhood is much more peaceful. There are no dogs barking at night anymore and no more kids screaming all day. We all take turns mowing their lawn and washing their car. Sue collects the mail and Bill grabs the morning paper. Patty goes over once a week to tend the flowerbeds. It will be a while before Sally will even be able to put the house back on the market, fully furnished. We are a small community. We always have been. Every few years we get a little bigger and we make some new friends, and that is nice. Some years we get a little smaller. We are a community, neighbors, friends. The police have not once come knocking on any of our doors. We do not even need a neighborhood watch. We have been together for a long time. Almost all of us have pools now. And thanks to the short straw, I have earned the chance to get mine next.

Design, illustration, & layout by Jeff Ismert

VOL. 24 2015-2016

“Now that everyone’s here, I’ll throw some burgers on the grill,” Jim announced. Sally took Mrs. Johnson over to a big hole in the yard, and began to talk about the new pool she and Jim were having installed on Monday. “We hired a group of laborers to dig the hole. We didn’t want a large contracting crew tearing up the rest of the yard with their big machines. We confirmed with the pool company just this morning. They’ll be here first thing Monday to install the pool.” My wife had to practically chase the children to convince them all to come check out the spot for the new pool. It was Bill, on the other side of the hole with Bob, who got Mr. Johnson to join his family next to the edge. “Johnson, what do you think of this hole?” “It looks a little deep for a standard six-footer. But everyone else around here has aboveground pools, so this’ll be the only one down in the ground. Makes it unique.” “Well, some things do change around here from time to time. What do you think, kids?” Then, the whole family looked down in the hole dug out for the new

Poetry

Dreaming In Color

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We lay under the dancing sun, our fingers floating in the light. I try to dream of pillows, ghosts, or white marble skin but instead I open my veins to show you what’s inside because every single molecule of oxygen pressed into my lungs takes me in a different direction. My mind is a vast plain filled with echoes of light and snow so real I can taste the cold’s breath on my tongue. A vast plain full of filmy white colors and Xanax for breakfast and even though my heart’s exploded into millions of bright butterflies all that’s left is to dream of a future covered in a blanket of snow, quiet, except for the faint humming from the thousands of tiny hearts surrounding me.

Danny Hopkins

Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

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Why is it that weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been fooled into believing that our lives will flash before our eyes when we are faced with moments of extreme peril? Whoever made that nonsense up needs to know that it is not actually your life, and it might just be french fries. It happened as I was driving one day. There was no ice on the roads, only copious amounts of snow covering nearly everything else. The sun was shining so bright. Too bright, and I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t see that I had veered out of my lane. Thankfully, it was a ditch that caught me and not some other car. As I regained my sight, I saw the impending ditch and thought about french fries. I wondered why some people will dump out their whole carton before hunkering down. Why not preserve the precious heat? I had lived on this earth for forty-two years. I had a husband, two daughters, and was an award-winning cello player. But as I slammed into the ditch, all I thought of was french fries.

Fiction

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she heard the closet open with an ominous croak.

A Closet Full of T e r r o r by Tyler Strosnider

“Nobody’s in your closet, Little Bird.” Her head peeked through the nest of blankets with one beady eye.

Come on, back to bed you go. We’ll make cookies after school tomorrow.” She sniffed and ran her sleeve over her face. “Promise?” “I promise.” Janet solemnly extended her pinky, wrapping it around Pavonine’s. “M’kay.” Janet tucked Pavonine to bed, kissed her forehead, and made a show of checking the closet again, checking it was latched. “Goodnight, my Little Bird.” She turned off the lights and shut the bedroom door. Pavonine cast one distrustful eye towards the closet and settled down. The old-fashioned clock on the wall ticked its way towards midnight. Her eyes started to close.

“You didn’t check, how do you know? Janet Dupree sighed, obeying the ritual that all parents know. Padding over to the closet, she grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. Trails of wind caused clothes to flutter and flap. “See? No monsters, only clothes and toys. Now come on, let’s get some sleep.” She huffed, throwing the covers off, “But there was.” Sounds of fluttering and Janet sighed, “Come on, Little thumping erupted from Bird, mommy has to be up by four toher closet morrow.” She walked over to the bed and started tucking her in. and a high chirruping voice “But there was! It was flapping and called from beyond the door scratching and whispering my-,” “Paaavonine!” “Pavonine Aves Dupree go to She inhaled, about to scream, but bed!” Silence reigned supreme as the the memory of Janet’s anger and remnants of Janet’s outburst echoed refusal to believe stung her. She into memory. Tears welled up in remained silent, and pulled the covers Pavonine’s eyes and one began to roll to her chin. Strange lights crept from down her cheek. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. under the closet and along the floor.

Again the voice came “Paaavonine!” and the door began to rattle shaking in its frame. The clock struck twelve, a bird erupted from the little door in the clock and signaled midnight. The lights went out and the rattling and flapping stopped. The latch clicked. Pavonine’s heartbeat thundered in her chest. It seemed so loud that she began to fear it would drown out the sound of the monster’s approach. Her fears were not realized. Even as her heartbeat crashed in her ears

she heard the closet open with an ominous croak. A shadow erupted from the closet to the flutter-flap of wings as a shadow raced towards her bed. A terrified squawk escaped Pavonine as she yanked the covers over her head. A futile attempt at protecting herself. Her terror so intense she couldn’t breathe and… A gentle hand rested on her shivering form “Pavonine, my baby, my little Cuckoo, it is time to come home. Come meet your real family. We’ve all been dying to meet you.” Design & layout by Bryan Clocker

VOL. 24 2015-2016

“There is a monster in my closet, Mommy.” Pavonine was huddled under the blankets swaddling herself in a shell of cloth.

Gallery

photography

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2 1) Jack Thibodeau Irwin Digital Photography

2) Ray DeAngelo The Night She Arose Photograph from long exposure

3) Thomas Berry Hand Rolled Photo Collage 9”x24”

4) Skyler Stanley Mani Stones in the Himalaya Digital Photography 4000x6000px

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Gallery

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1) David Maroney Cloud Swept Digital Photography 9”x14”

2) Bryan Clocker Grand Tetons Digital Photography 8”24”

4) Jack Rudolph Dysphoria Photograph 8¹⁄2”x11”

5) Shelby Deutsch Wrinkled Digital Photography 11¹⁄2”x8¹⁄2

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3) Dustin Crowner The Swarm Photograph

Gallery

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2 1) David Maroney Monarch Snow Blower Digital Photography 9”x14”

2) Roberta Marquette-Strain Untitled Digital Photography

4 3) Roberta Marquette-Strain Untitled Digital Photography

4) Kira Patillo Morning Light Photograph 17â&#x20AC;?x22â&#x20AC;?

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Gallery

1) Jack Thibodeau Kiwi Digital Photography 2) Skyler Stanley Phewa Lake, Potchara Digital Photography 3541x5753px 1

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4) Thomas Berry Use a Skate, Go to Prison Lithograph 18”x24”

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3) Dustin Crowner Smooth Sailing Photograph

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Alexandra Clopper Ohio Creek Road Digital Photography

Alexandra Clopper County Road 818 Digital Photography

VOL. 24 2015-2016

A Slice O’ Western Amigos

The Amigos Club welcomes all people of any background to learn and promote Latin American Culture to establish positive feelings toward Latin Americans on campus, and in the Gunnison Community. During the year, members of the Amigos Club host various events on/off campus which include Carnaval, Pachanga, Dia De Los Muertos, Chili Cook Offs, and other cultural events. Amigos embraces their culture, and invites others to join in their celebrations. Article: Alyssa Magalong, Photo: Mia Cordova

Asian Pacific Islanders Club

The Asian Pacific Islanders Club (APIC) welcomes all people of any background to learn and promote Asian/Pacific Islander cultures in order to unify all through diversity. During the year, APIC members enjoy learning and sharing their knowledge of these cultures through food, entertainment, and language. They host Bistro Hours, an Annual Luau (their biggest event of the year), and other cultural events. Article: Alyssa Magalong, Photo: Richard Hererra

Cheerleading

The Western Cheer Team promotes school spirit and pride in the community. The team is made up of several dedicated and energetic girls that cheer Western’s team sports, including football and basketball. Not only do they bring the crowd together, they also support other Western Club Sports. The team spends many hours participating in a variety of activities, such as community service and fundraisers. Go Crimson and Slate!

Article: Molly Montoya, Photo: Zoe Henderson

Christian Challenge

Christian Challenge is a Christian club that meets on Western’s campus. Anyone of any (or no) religious background is welcome to attend. Their weekly meetings provide a great opportunity for students to grow in their faith and knowledge of God and the Bible. They do this through a time of worship through songs, Bible teaching, and prayer. Games, fellowship, and food are all provided at club meetings. Article: Morgan Aragon, Photo: Christian Challenge

Climbing Club

One of the greatest aspects of the Gunnison Valley is the fact that the landscape has more to offer to Western’s students than most campuses. Any outdoor activity that one can think of is available in the valley. Western’s Climbing Club is designed to take advantage of our unique environment. The club is open to all Western Students, regardless of climbing experience, offering a place to learn or improve climbing skills for a one-time membership fee of $40. The Climbing Club has weekly meetings/climbing practices in the Field House climbing gym, and makes regular trips to exciting outdoor climbing destinations such as Indian Creek, UT, and Shelf Road, CO. Article: Jay Ytell, Photo: Louissa Rozendaal

Dance Team

The Dance Team, part of Western’s Club Sport’s Program, offers all interested students the opportunity to practice and perform. The team consists of both beginners and experienced dancers looking to extend their skill range. Practices at the Mountaineer Field House include lessons on general choreography (such as basic leaps and turns). During their regular season, practice is held five times a week for two hours. They primarily perform their routines at Western football and basketball games. In past years, they have performed at Leadership, Engagement And Development (LEAD) program events. Article: Stephanie Colton

Gamer’s Guild

Gamer’s Guild enjoys a wide variety of card games, board games, and video games. They hold regular events at the University Center throughout each semester. They also organize occasional special events and raise money for charity. All of their events are a great way to hang out, have some fun, and meet new people while playing some of your favorite games. Bring something new and teach others to play! They culminate each academic term by hosting their own convention, “Gunnicon.” Gamer’s Guild is open to all students interested in sharing a passion for games. Article and Photo: Brett Nielsen

Intramural Sports

Intramural Sports gives students opportunities to get out and play. The organization is a student-run program from top to bottom, employing an all-student staff from referees to the director. The program offers a variety of leagues and tournaments for students to participate in including indoor soccer, basketball, volleyball, pickle ball, and more. Leagueand tournament- winning teams earn championship t-shirts and campus bragging rights. With annual participation coming close to 900 students, Intramural Sports has become a popular campus activity. The recent construction of the Mountaineer Field House has facilitated expansion of intramurals in the past couple of years. Article and Photo: Sam Ferrera

KWSB Radio

KWSB, Western’s radio station, has broadcasted to the entire Gunnison community since 1968. The station plays a wide variety of music, ranging from classic rock, to reggae, to alternative, and also broadcasts football games, hosts talk shows, and much more. The station is unique to Western, not just because it is one of the last few student-run and led college radio stations, but also because they have up-to-date industry-standard equipment, perfect for anyone who would want to go into the field of broadcast journalism. KWSB works alongside the Communication Arts classes and creates PSA’s for different events and departments. KWSB radio broadcasts 24/7 on 91.1 FM. Article: Roberta Marquette-Strain, Photo: KWSB Radio

Men’s Ice Hockey

The Men’s Hockey team believes that two times the fun and half the commitment should be important when participating in a club sport. The team is made up of players from beginners to students who have been playing all of their lives. Anyone is welcome to sign up and attend practices that are put on about three times a week. The competition ranges between other schools so the team is never sure what to expect when stepping on the ice. The team is focusing on everyone enjoying themselves and having a blast! Article: Grace Flynn, Photo: Jenna Yen-Yen Barrett

Men’s Rugby

The Men’s Rugby team is a group of athletes and friends that come together to play the game of rugby. It is a highly team-oriented sport that is growing rapidly in the United States. Rugby is a great way to meet new people and become part of something bigger than just yourself. Practices are held outdoors and in the Mountianeer Field House. They try to get outside as much as possible, but this changes depending on weather. The team would like to invite anyone wanting to learn the game or try something new. Article and Photo: McKenzie Conradson

Mountaineer Media

Mountaineer Media is a student-run, co-curricular production company. Members of Mountaineer Media team up to practice and learn about the processes of preproduction, organization, film techniques, and postproduction of a wide variety of film styles. These skills are applied to the production of films for a variety of clients and audiences in the Gunnison Basin. All students are welcome to attend meetings and participate regardless of field of study or experience within Article and Photo: Skyler Stanley the craft.

National Association for Music Education NAfME, the National Association for Music Education, is an open club where music majors and minors spread their joy of music. Every year they attend the Colorado Music Educators Association Conference in Colorado Springs. Occasionally, Western’s ensembles will be featured at the conference. Their goal is to provide a safe place for people to explore their musical talents. They are large advocates for the arts and acceptance. Their goal is to provide a safe place for people to explore their musical talents. Article: Cori Reid, Photo Taylor Ahearn

Peak Productions

Peak Productions is Western’s co-curricular theatre program. Peak works alongside the Communication Arts Major: Theatre and Performance Studies Emphasis. They provide Western and the Gunnison community with outstanding shows and performances. The program welcomes any student interested in getting involved with live theatre (including acting, directing, designing, lighting, costumes, writing, and much more). Peak puts on a minimum of two shows per semester. Article: Roberta Marquette-Strain, Photo: Peak Productions

Psychology Club & Psi Chi The Psychology Club, part of Western’s Psychology Department, is open to any student affiliated with the Psychology Department. Their partner club, Psi Chi, is an honor society offered to students ranked in the top 35% of their class by grade point average. Both clubs host fundraisers for activities related to their study. Article and Photo: Stephanie Colton

SheJumps

SheJumps’ mission is to “increase female participation in outdoor sports. We do that by creating opportunities for women to have teambuilding, leadership, and community involvement at Western and across the valley.” SheJumps meets once a week and usually hosts two other special events each month. Any girl on campus is invited to join the club. The club also welcomes any female students to any of the events they host, regardless of whether or not she is involved in the club. SheJumps has hosted an ice skating fundraiser, an ice climbing trip, a Moab trip, yoga, guest speakers, and movie nights. Article and Photo: Zoe Henderson

Spectrum

Spectrum is a school-sponsored club that meets weekly. All students are welcome to attend meetings. Spectrum strives to create an inclusive and safe environment by establishing a support system for LGBTQ+ students. Be it activism, fellowship, or education, Spectrum strives to promote a more empowered student body that can enjoy greater diversity, and the benefits diversity entails, within the Gunnison Basin. Article and Photo: Skyler Stanley

Top O’ The World

Top O’ The World newspaper employs twenty to thirty students. Top O’ the World receives part of their funding from SGA, but the majority comes from advertising. The newspaper operates outside the jurisdiction of the school in order to allow the newspaper to maintain its First Amendment rights. Top O’ the World strives to work with school representatives in order to publish fair, balanced news to the student body and community. The newspaper produces a minimum of an eight-page newspaper biweekly. Student journalists work together as editors, designers, writers, and photographers. Article: Cori Reid, Photo: Top O’ the World

Western Meditation Club

Western’s Meditation Club is open to anyone and everyone interested in experiencing more peace and mindfulness in their daily lives. Guided meditation, looking inwards, and ancient traditions are explored as part of the practice. “The club will evolve to fit people’s needs. The important thing is having your support community,” says Club President Meghan Bennett. Meditation has been shown to reduce anxiety, stress, depression, and the symptoms of ADD, ADHD, and PTSD, according to the National Institute of Health. All are welcome to join.

Article and Photo: Emerson Stewart

The Wildlife Society

The Wildlife Society is a student chapter of an international non-profit scientific and education association whose mission is “To inspire, empower, and enable wildlife professionals to sustain wildlife populations and habitats through science-based management and conservation.” The chapter works closely with several wildlife management agencies on projects relevant to the Gunnison Basin. While a membership is required for a student to officially be in the chapter, the meetings are open to all students who appreciate wildlife. Article and Photo: Skyler Stanley

Women’s Ice Hockey

The Women’s Ice Hockey team is a new addition to Western’s Club Sports program. The team offers the opportunity to learn the basics for those who are new to the sport, as well as additional experience for those who have played for years. Team members learn about skating and other basic technical skills, as well as basic game rules and regulations to prepare for competitions against other local hockey teams. The team meets twice a week for approximately an hour and a half during the winter season at Jorgensen Ice Rink. Article and Photo: Stephanie Colton

Women’s Rugby

Women’s Rugby is a group of both new and experienced players. Women’s Rugby welcomes any female Western students that are interested in trying something new. The Fall season is a 15’s league and the Spring season is a 7’s league (15 and 7 players on each team, respectively). Practice is typically two or three days a week with matches on the weekends. Practice includes skills-based sessions and is followed by one hour of Spin Class in the Mountaineer Field House.

Article and Photo: Mackenzie Conradson

Women’s Soccer

The Women’s Soccer team, developed by Western’s Club Sports Program, is open to any women interested in learning about the sport or just playing for fun. According to team member Jessie Gallagher, “the possibilities are endless” as to what can be learned from this program. Skills from club soccer include coordination, endurance, and agility. Members can also strengthen their communication and teamwork skills. The team practices every weekday at the Jorgensen soccer fields and often plays in tournaments across the state each weekend. Article by Stephanie Colton

WordHorde

WordHorde is a spoken-word initiative organized by Western’s English program and consists entirely of students. The troupe visits public schools, library districts, and other poetry venues during the academic year to perform and offer workshops designed to encourage poetry and the sharing of words. The group offers semi-monthly open-mics for the campus and community, and also stages two community poetry slams each year. WordHorde also organizes and stages Slam Day each fall, an event that invites regional public school districts, gathering as many as 200 students on campus for a full day of poetry and literary events. Article: Jay Ytell, Photo: WordHorde

painting

Gallery

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2 1) Rebekah Corah Shalom Oil & Found Objects 56”x35½”

2) Rachel Bender Morph Acrylic Ink 8¾”x11”

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Heather McDonough At Peace Oil Paint 18”x24”

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1 2 1) Rachel Bender Undivided Acrylic Ink 8¾”x11¾”

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2) Richard Medina Pink Tourmaline Acrylic, Oil, Spray Paint 46”x40”

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Rebekah Corah Time Has Finally Erased Oil 24”x30”

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1) Heather McDonough For Sale Oil Paint 36”x30” 2) Jenna Lundberg Laurie’s Cows with Hay Acrylic 24”x35” 1

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4 4) Torrie Nickel Anamorphic Butterfly Oil 16”x20”

3) Emily Woods I Am My Anxiety Watercolor 11”x14”

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Gallery

1 2 1) Jenna Lundberg Dreamer’s Path Acrylic 24”x35”

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2) Emily Woods Rainbow Mule Deer Watercolor 9”x12”

3) Rebekah Corah Skandalon Oil 24”x48” 4) Richard Medina Voodoo Acrylic, Oil, Spray Paint 40”x36” 3

VOL. 24 2015-2016

Flash Fiction

Their Somatic Blue

Gordon stood over the bed

watching Mrs. Stanley sleep. The blackness behind the curtains revealed that it was still dark outside; her husband had already gone out to start the chores on their sheep farm. You have to do it when she wakes up, said the Voice. Gordon waited.

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A faint speck of light touched the black sky, preparing the way for the dawn.

Gordon would let the light seep in the room before he made his move. He had to make himself known. He could just sit on the bed, but then she probably wouldn’t recognize him. Should he say something? Only, what would he say to her? What words could he depart with in the little frame of energy he had left? The dawn thinned the light blue drapes and painted the room a warm gold. Mrs. Stanley stirred and her eyes opened. She stared at the wall for a bit, nestled in the covers. Now, said The Voice.

by Jonathan Gossman

Gordon pressed onto the bed as firmly as he could. The comforter molded into the shape of his hand, but Mrs. Stanley didn’t budge. He could sense her eyes dart to the corner of her mind, wondering if she had really felt that. She dismissed it and pressed her cheek further into the pillow. So Gordon sat, putting his whole weight onto the bed. She raised her head slightly, without turning. “Harry?” she muttered. Her husband wouldn’t hear her, but that didn’t stop Gordon from doubting himself. He hadn’t prepared for something like this; he didn’t know what to do or what to say. Harry and Mrs. Stanley had always been good to Gordon and his family; they were the kind of people who shared the burdens of others; they even cared for his boys when he was in the hospital, and they still stood by him in his mistakes; he didn’t want to leave them frightened. And Gordon couldn’t

help but wonder why he wasn’t spending this time with his family. The sunlight seeped the curtains nearly a translucent white. The dawn is coming, Gordon. There was no backing out now. He could not leave Mrs. Stanley in uncertainty — he had to reveal himself. He rested his hand on her side, and asked of her what his mother had asked of him years before — before all that pain had eaten her away as well — a request that encompassed the humility and the reverence he desired for his own sheep. “Don’t grieve for me.” Mrs. Stanley turned at the sound of his voice. But that world seeped into a gray blur, and Gordon watched the translucent curtains settle back into their somatic blue.

Illustration, design & layout by Robin Butler

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Gordon watched the translucent curtains settle back into their somatic blue.â&#x20AC;?

VOL. 24 2015-2016

Digital Illustration based on Photo by Fleur Robertson

Fiction

Fiction by Tajaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Mir Butler-Rucker

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She had not expected such a gracious man to be so dirty.

It was the third Thursday of the month, and the fourth time Loma was to be checked into The Recovery Village at Palmer Lake in Colorado. She had been released from the Women and Children’s Shelter and was to be picked up by Pastor Dale. As the wind combed through her hair, she had recalled the stingy, middle-aged woman who told her of Pastor Dale’s generosity and his willingness to get Loma the help that she so “desperately” needed. He made habitual visits to the shelter (usually during holidays) accompanied with an entourage of middle aged women. She had never spoken directly to him, nor had she spent more than a few seconds looking in his direction to acknowledge his presence. His facial hair was always trimmed, and gray hairs settled like snowflakes on black wool. Occasionally, where their vision would meet, he would smile in her direction, white teeth-like that of sheep–and nod. A plum, 1998 Chevy Lumina hissed as it approached the gas station curb. The fender hung inches above the ground—a broken jaw attempting to smile. Squinting, Loma grinned at her Shepherd. The driver window receded into deteriorating paint as the Pastor’s lanky fingers waved Loma in his direction. “You got everything you need?” Pastor Dale squinted at Loma’s rotting teeth, before revealing a smirk of his own. “I think so, yeah.”

He turned his attention to his watch. “Alright, well. Get in, it’s getting late.”

temples. She had not expected such a gracious man to be so dirty.

Kicking up cigarette butts, Loma opened the passenger seat. McDonald’s receipts created a blanket on the floor mat while mustard wrappers stuck to the gray interior and crushed cans created valleys in the back seat. Beer residue had created a russet stain and musky aroma in the car. With little hesitation, Loma brushed the fries that lay within the crease onto the floor. Easing into the car that seemed to swallow her tiny frame, she smiled at Pastor Dale.

Shifting to sit like a lady, she crossed her legs. Where her left foot had rested, a black wrapper unveiled itself. “Skyn” spelled in gold lettering twisted under Loma’s glare, a small tear had been made in the upper right corner. Loma’s posture tightened. “Is this your car?” He applied pressure to the gas. “Do you mind if we make a stop before I take you to the treatment center?” Shaking her head no, she felt a tremor run down her spine, and her jaws tightened. The Pastor now turned his attention to Loma. His right hand released the steering wheel, and found homage on Loma’s kneecap. She could feel the warmth radiating from his fingertips through her jeans. “Are you a God-fearing woman, Miss Loma?” He smiled at her. His teeth glistening. The smell of beer drifting in the air between them.

“I want to thank you for doin’ this for me.” He put the car into reverse, grabbing the cigarette from the ash tray, and taking a puff. “I really do appreciate it. Your kindness and all.” Loma said, pulling down her jacket sleeve. She hadn’t wanted the Pastor to see the yellow sap that had ventured out and lodged itself on preceding track marks. “I wasn’t always like this…” Pastor Dale nodded, ignoring Loma’s attempt at a prodded conversation. With that, she directed her attention to the crack in the rearview mirror- which in return dented the Pastors swollen head, creating wrinkles where there had been none. Something was poking through her denim. Thinking she must have missed a crumb, she ignored it—feeling the Pastor’s eyes burning holes into the side of her

Loma nodded, laboring her breath. It wasn’t until then that she had noticed his chipped front tooth. The cans in the back chimed as wrappers crackled. His fingers trekked up her inner thighs. The cross that hung from the rearview mirror swung viciously against the windshield, as the car hissed to a stop. “Then all your sins,” he slurred, “shall be forgiven.”

* Snow: Street name for heroin.

Illustration, design & layout by Erik Berglund

VOL. 24 2015-2016

oma’s lips cracked under the weight of the stale winter wind. The tan that she had acquired over the summer had softened to an ashen peach, drawing attention to the inflamed blotches that had nestled in the crease of her smile and on her cheeks. Loma stood against the chipped bricks on the side of the gas station, where she awaited the arrival of the town’s beloved Pastor Dale.

Poetry

Obsolete Keepsakes Two cigarettes, an incense cone, A wildflower, One single stone. A bottle of her gifted perfume forced to stay, Begging to be worn again on an exceptional day. Boxes of Polaroids and Scrapbooks piled high.

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This is all he had left of her since he decided to kiss that guy.

Brooke Gilmore

gettysburg steaming folded in on itself, it might be art sweetmeats torn from vivisected sex delectable “please” spoken in hot bursts on the tongue purple inkspot beats – what hearty borscht! with slathered desperation thick and rich on onionskin seeping through the weekend creases, oily begging will the Dearest gingerly pry open still-warm wanting, steaming in Pennsylvania envelopes, fragrant with gunpowder?

Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

VOL. 24 2015-2016

Anna Chesnut

Year in review

by Roberta Marquette-Stain

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When roads and sidewalks are covered in slushy snow. And the weather is constantly a hit-and-miss. Not many students are really motivated to leave campus to go clothes shopping at the expensive stores around town or wander around the local book store. Luckily, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a thrift store right here on campus. FreeCycle is a non-profit organization that supplies Westernâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s students with clothes, movies, sports equipment, and many more items the average student might want or need. The best part of it is that everything is free.

The student-proposed organization has been running successfully for a couple of years now. In fact, at the beginning of this year, FreeCycle was receiving so much traffic that they started running out of items to give away. The organization is run entirely on donations from students and the community, so when they were not getting enough in, they decided to change the way the drop-off system works. Originally, the only drop-off location was outside of the Ute basement, but now donation bins can

be found all around campus, making donating much more convenient for busy college students. They still accept all types of donations, clothes, books, movies, etc. Anything too big to fit in the bins or too heavy must be dropped off at FreeCycle. Donation bins can be found in the lobbies of Pinnacles and Chipeta, and in the laundry rooms of Mears, Colorado, Dolores, and Tomichi hall. FreeCycle is located in the basement of Ute Hall and is open Monday through Friday from 3 to 5 p.m.

located basemenin the Ute Hall t of open Mo throughnday from 3 t Friday o 5 p.m.

a s i e l c y C e e Fr -profition non anizat ies org t suppl thastern's ith We dents wovies, , stu thes, m ipment clo rts equ spo more and design, illustration, & layout by Jeff Ismert

VOL. 24 2015-2016

photos courtesy of Top oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; the World

Year in review

DAM IT!

by Kennedy Sievers

he Gunnison River has seen an increase in ice dams over the course of this winter, something that could be a concern to Gunnison residents. Ice dams, a gathering of large quantities of ice that disrupt the natural flow of the river, can cause a number of problems. According to Dr. Jonathan Coop, Assistant Professor of Environment & Sustainability and Biology at Western, the biggest issue regarding the ice dams at this point is flooding.

“If something were to trigger a dam release, it could result in substantial flooding downstream,” stated Dr. Coop.

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Scott Morrill, Emergency Manager

at the Gunnison Office of Emergency Management, had something similar to say. “The biggest concern is flooding that might occur if the jam dams up the river significantly or completely,” said Morrill. In the worst-case scenario, any flooding “could cause damage to infrastructure or damage roads or it could cause property damage like it did in Almont,” according to Morril. However, it may not be such an immediate danger. “It would take a pretty major fluctuation in the river level to get all that ice moving, such as another dam forming elsewhere or a rapid melt,” stated Dr. Coop. According to Morrill, the Emergency Management team has been keeping a close eye on the largest dam, and it

has been “spilling over the sides of the river and getting into ditches and fields, but nothing that could cause any serious damage.” Ice dams can range in risk, but as stated by Morrill, “the one that we were concerned about was one that is four miles north on the Gunnison River, but it seems stabilized and like the water is getting around it.” Emergency Management has looked into the number of ice dams in the river, and found a few. “Right now there’s a lot of surface ice on the river which is different than an ice jam, but we’ve identified four different locations of the Gunnison River that have formed an ice jam,” said Morrill. The largest dam is pretty close to town. According to Dr. Coop, “there is

Photo by Michela Schulz

“A lot of ice worked its way down to this location from the Gunnison and Taylor rivers, where the first dam built up and blew out at the beginning of January,” stated Dr. Coop. The Emergency Management team asked the Army Corps of Engineers to come out and look at the ice dams after one broke in Almont in Jan. Apparently, the Army Corps was unable to find the reason that the dam broke. Morrill said the weather was cold, around “twenty or twenty-five below when the Almont ice run happened,” so it should have stayed frozen. The Corps was able to give some advice to Emergency Management, however. “Their message for us was that most of the time we’re better off leaving them alone and not messing with them be-

cause the water will figure it out, and so far that’s held true,” said Morrill. Ice dams are not unheard of in this area, but the timing and sites of the dams are unusual this year. “Based on everything I have learned, this is not typical this early in the winter or in these locations. There are some locations near Blue Mesa where ice damming is known to be more common,” stated Dr. Coop. Morrill said that ice dams are relatively normal around the Gunnison area, but there are some unusual occurrences this year. “Ice jams are fairly common on the Gunnison river, what’s unusual this year are how big some of them have gotten as well as the ice runs that have been happening,” he said. Interestingly, there are several types of ice that can form in rivers. “Most people are familiar with the border ice that forms where the river is in contact with rocks along the river banks. Anchor ice is ice that forms on rocks underwater, and looks like white cotton candy,” Coop said. He continued his description of different types of ice by saying, “Frazil ice forms in super cooled water, and in

a turbulent river it can occur throughout the water column, and looks kind of like a slushy. It forms where there is open, flowing water. Frazil can grow into floating ice pans or pancake ice that float down the river until they get jammed up against one another or against an obstacle. This can cause a dam to form, and once it forms all the ice floating down will also accumulate at that location,” said Coop. At least the ice dams have created an educational experience for the members of the Gunnison community. About dealing with the ice dams, Morrill said,

“I’ve gotten an education this year that I wasn’t really expecting, but it’s been fascinating to me.” The ice dams in Gunnison this year are an interesting phenomena considering the rarity of such large blockages, but as long as the weather stays wintry, the people and the animals in the community should be alright. Design & layout by Bryan Clocker

VOL. 24 2015-2016

one major dam a couple miles upstream from Garlic Mike’s Restaurant (North Bridge). It is about a quarter mile long.” One bout of flooding that occurred last month contributed to the dam near Garlic Mike’s.

Poetry

Siren Your breath A soft summer’s meadow Your touch Dandelions from Cupid’s arrow Your name Always brings the most beautiful day Your voice A lover’s song that calls me to stay

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Damien Parsons

March 1869 The sun sets, Snow and slush freeze again, Movement gone, Hardened against the dark. Lost: The lingering lustful eyes of youth, The pitch-counter mistakes that marred the day. The knotted rope breaks And the dead-manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s days, That marked the time Before the sun set disappeared. Fear not! Frozen waste Will once again give way, To scrubland plains. Yes, color will again take the day And desert rain Will sweep the land.

VOL. 24 2015-2016

Eli york

Poetry

Our almost future Your hands on my neck felt like cold remnants of our past, Forced me to wake up and open my eyes. To what you had done, what you were doing, and what I knew you would do in the future. Everyone said this would happen. His past is his past, I said. You proved them right. People can change, people can change; Your biting words would whisper in my ear almost as if you were trying to convince yourself instead of me. I let myself believe you; believe in you, believe in us. The pressure of your cold, calloused hand grew tighter. Your grey glassy eyes said you were sorry. The blurry darkness of our future finally appeared and with it there was light.

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I felt warm again.

Aspen Binder

We would break up a week after He said she said her words meant endings, versus ending vacation planning with clean cut lines cut by claustrophobic scissors. She would have fit snugly between these conjectures. She would have tip-toed, big toes first, into sunset water, upside-down and reflective, planting her doe-eyed falsified arguments. I could see her chewing and spitting bloody seeds with pulpy pomegranate flesh attached. She would slither her tongue over her fingers, kissing the beads of sweat and perfume through her pores, lit on fire when glued to my own lips, and rubied and starlit with breaths and number one titles for buoyancy. Pooling pool droplets around her ankles would give way to hand-held exposĂŠs of ended entertainment and excuses for granulated gossip. She would catch silk bathrobes on her arm hairs, arm chairs standing on slate. The ties to her world are lies and regulations standing on cool legs by swimming tubs.

Tessa Lindahl Design & layout by Alexandra Marsolek

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She would have been a beauty in a bikini. I could see her as my mandatory holiday.

Fiction

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by Torrie Nickel

Come here, darling. Come closer to your blind, prehistoric grandmother whose brittle appendages quiver at the thought of bearing weight. Come close to my mountain of blankets burying my bones in preparation for the grave, my river of drool cascading in a waterfall from my chin, my rugged terrain carving extra contours in my face. Come give your grandma a kiss. No? You don’t want to? I thought you came to bid me farewell. I thought you wanted to smash the wine bottle against the hull of my sinking ship. Don’t you think the least you could do is show a little love for the one who ultimately brought you into existence by just giving me a kiss? I may be blind, but I know. I know your eyes scan me up and down like a wrinkled newborn with a deformity. Up and down. Up and down. In silence. You just stare at me. But why in these scans can you never look me directly in the face? Why do you turn your body downwind of my natural beauty? Oh yes, I know. I’ve always known. Up and down, always looking, never seeing. Why? Is it my stained, crooked teeth? Is it my nearly bald head? Oh. I see. You’re afraid of me. You’re afraid if you stare into my cloudy eyes that you will get lost and realize there is

only a void where my life and emotions used to be. You’re afraid you will find nothing. Nothing. A one way passage into loneliness, insanity, death. The beginning of the end. You don’t know me. You could never know me. You and your butter smooth skin haven’t felt the chains of life’s gravity. If you did, it would crush you on the spot. You would be nothing. And you’re scared of me. Ha. Just come here and give me a kiss, darling. Still that dreadful silence you bring with you every day. Are you mute? You know, the only real way not to be nothing is to make something of yourself by talking. Back when I was your age, we walked acres just to have conversations, and here you come every day without a word for your poor Nanna. Instead you just rustle papers. Oh. I see. You have the will. Well, you’re going to have to talk if you want to get anything out of me, honey. Act like a woman for once in your life. Be brave now. That estate isn’t going to just fall into your hands if I have anything to do with it. In fact, I’m sure the moment I passed it over, you would drop it anyways. You kids have no idea how to handle things of value these days. Be brave now. And where’s my kiss!? Aren’t you lucky your knight in shining armor just walked in to save you from the dusty screeching of this undead corpse. He may have

love up until he left me. Of course, I didn’t need him either. That’s how it was back then. I don’t expect either of you to grasp what I’m saying. Wait. Did you just … talk? No. Try again. Please amuse my elderly brain. What about my treatment results? And how many times do I have to tell you to address me as Nanna instead of Mrs. Trundle? It’s like you don’t even know we’re related. Well, of course my cancer is gone. It’s me. You can’t possibly think this hospital had anything to do with it, do you? Stop messing with my heart monitor. I’m here to stay for a while. Oh. I see. This means I’m going to live longer and you can’t have the estate yet. Well, I hate to say it, but that’s life’s gravity for you. Welcome to the real world, kids. Now come here, darling. No, not my wrist. My cheek is up here. Come give your grandmother a kiss. VOL. 24 2015-2016

footsteps as delicate as a daisy, but I know it’s him; his shrug outside my door was right on cue and who could mistake his chicken scratch on his ever-present clipboard. Hello grandsonin-law or whatever I’m supposed to call you. Come give me a kiss. He chooses silence too? What are the two of you good for anyways? And to think my daughter approved of this marriage of the mimes! I would disown her for that if she were still here. More disgusting silence! You both turn in annoyance towards each other and synchronize sighs. The same old routine every day. You know, I know my opinion means little to the both of you, but I find it exceedingly rude that you both decide to wear gloves around me – rubber gloves no less! Honey, non-gloved hands don’t squeak against the guardrails of my bedframe. More rustling papers. Oh. I see. He’s in on the will, too. Fantastic. At least the estate is big enough to accommodate your aura of silence. If I cut to the chase and said the property is all yours, then would I get my kiss? Then would you let me rest in peace, clinging to my last loving act of charity? You know, the last time I had a kiss on the cheek was from Roger. Now that was a man. None of this fear business. None of this greed business. He just had good, clean

Design & layout by Max Mulleneaux

Fiction

Snow WWW.WESTERN.EDU/PATHFINDER

Avery Feiertag

The waning half-moon glowered down on the frosted grass like a disapproving eye as Timothy smoked his cigarette. He glowered back defiantly, sucking a monstrous drag through the filter and expelling it violently without even bothering to inhale. He hated his name. Timothy. Tim. Timid. Timid Timmy. He resented the name, and his parents for giving it to him. He glared up at the distant eye, imagining it to be his mother’s as he puffed in futile vengeance at the distant satellite. He looked away, unable or unwilling to meet its gaze any longer. He drew another mouthful, this time inhaling deeply as he frowned at the sparkling grass, but the sour taste that surprised his mouth told him he has reached the foam. He knew it was a beautiful night, but he didn’t want to appreciate it. He wanted to be grumpy. It was childish, really, but he was tired and burned out after only a semester of Uni. He felt the pull on the bottom of his stomach of shame and embarrassment, disappointment in himself and his exhaustion. He rubbed his butt out on the grass and flicked vaguely in the direction of the receptacle, even as he pulled out another and lit it. He would continue to cough, he knew, after he finished it, but while the smoke was in his mouth and lungs his throat felt smooth and the deepest breaths

he’d ever taken had nicotine in them. Peering into the pack, he sighed like a dragon as smoke escaped from either side of his mouth, seeing that there were only three left. He would finish the pack this night. He wished the cigarettes made him feel something other than rank and tired, but they filled the time and his chest cavity. Melodramatic, bitter, and painfully aware of it and angry at himself and his circumstances, the grass crunched under him as he sat with more force than he’d meant to. Knees bent, back hunched, he stared through the crystallized blades between his legs, his unfocused eyes sharpening on the lit tip of his cigarette. He brought it to his mouth, eyes on the embers as they flared when he took a drag. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he would be here again the next night, with another pack almost empty, another cold, damp ass on the ground, and the only thing different would be that the moon would be even more disapproving than the last night. Such heavy-handed personification, he thought, as he fell onto his back with another chain of crunches to stare at the sky. I should have been a Romantic, back when this shit was original. He looked up at the bright points of Orion, the only constellation he could identify other than the Dippers. He remembered Orion’s death from the

sting of a scorpion, and imagined him crushing it instead with a giant spoon. He closed his eyes as he drew deeply on the cigarette, but not before an ember stung his cheek, causing him to sit bolt upright and clap his hand to his face in irritation. His one open eye watered as he gazed back up at Orion. Yeah. Embarrassing. That must have been a frustrating way to go, such a small creature. At least it earns you a constellation, out of the line of sight of that watchful, half-lidded moon. He scowled at it again for good measure before turning his head back down to ignite his next cigarette. The lights of the college caught his eye, and he raked his eyes across the dorms with windows still lit, the various halls named after past contributors to the school, and the cars headed to and from parties, study sessions, and late night runs to the gas station, his sight flowing from one to the next until it came back to Orion, who was lower to the horizon now. He took a deep breath and exhaled steadily as he stood up, putting his cigarette out unfinished. It had started to snow. The butts of his cigarettes would be covered by morning.

Design & layout by Portia Wassick

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Gallery

Graphic Design

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4 3

1) Emily Tucker 6 Word Story – Internet Digital Illustration 16”x16”

2) Alexandra Marsolek Frozen Digital Illustration 16”x16”

3) Bryan Clocker Yellowstone Brochure Digital 9”x4”x16”

4) Emily Tucker Gift Basket Ad Digital Illustration 8½”x11”

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Brenda Suarez Fire Photography & Digital Illustration 8½”x11”

Gallery

drawing

2 3

1) Cierra Redding Rope & Screw Graphite

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2) Rebekah Corah Genesis 3 Graphite 36”x25”

4) Heather McDonough A Mind of Wheels & Metal Graphite 36”x23”

4) Heather McDonough Ruth Ebersole Glick 36”x24” 5) Alexandra Marsolek Untitled Pen & Ink 6) Cierra Redding Belly Buttons Sharpie & Chalk Pastel 31”x11”

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Gallery

1) Torrie Nickel Pass On Watercolor pencils 15”x24”

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2) Erin Diller iHumans Pen & Ink 9”x12”

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Cierra Redding Panic Attack Chalk Pastel

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Thank you Student Body & Local Community of Gunnison, Colorado!

30% Recycled Paper, 10% PC Recycled Printed with Soy Based Inks

All rights reserved. First copyrights belong to the original author/poet/artist. The Western Pathfinder Magazine is published by the Arts, Humanities, and Campus Media council of Western State Colorado Universityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Student Government Association and is solely funded through student fees. The views and opinions stated herein are not necessarily those of the staff. All submitted work is judged anonymously by the staff. Submissions are intended for publication in whole or part and may therefore be used for sub-purposes. The staff disclaims all responsibility for return of unsolicited material. Nothing may be reproduced in whole or part without written permission from the publisher. Printed for the 2015/2016 academic school year.

Design Team Erik Berglund Robin Butler Bryan Clocker Erin Diller Jeff Ismert Alexandra Marsolek Max Mulleneaux Brenda Suarez Emily Tucker Portia Wassick Stephen Naegele – Art Director Terri Murphy – Faculty Advisor

Pathfinder Cover Designers Erik Berglund – Front Cover Portia Wassick – Back Cover

Dr. Elizabyth Hiscox and Dr. Mark Todd Faculty Co-Advisors

Literary Managing Editors Donielle Carr Ellie Watson Top o’ the World Contributors

Literary Associate Editors Marisa Cardin Madison Manning Marlida Mear Josiah Miranda-Troup Elizabeth Ramsey Holly Rios

Morgan Aragon Marisa Cardin Stephanie Colton McKenzie Conradson Dustin Eldridge Sam Ferrara Grace Flynn Zoe Henderson Roberta Marquette-Strain Molly Montoya Cori Reid Kennedy Sievers Skyler Stanley Jay Ytell Frederick Slyter – Editor-in-Chief Toni Todd – Fac Advisor

Literary Assistant Editors Taylor Blacklock Jenny Cirkovic Andrew Dixon Samuel Ferrara Mel Frank Aaron Goettel Jonathan Gossman James Powell IV Marlena Romero Shannon Sandford Lydia Jane Schneider Kennedy Sievers Frederick Slyter Jason Smith Emerson Stewart Emma Leigh Tatrai

Design & layout by Emily Tucker

VOL. 24 2015-2016

Pathfinder Literary Editors