NEON DREAMS - 2013 by Yelena Bailey-Kirby

Acknowledgements CSN Writing Club Officers President Joshua Mirenda Vice President Arika Elizenberry Treasurer Tim Day Secretary Sarah Niederman Director of Fundraising Sally Niederman Director of Advertising Jacqueline Kitchener

Advisors: Yelena Bailey-Kirby and Levia Hayes Art Director: Joshua Mirenda Editor-in-Chief: Sally Niederman Fiction Editors: Candace Caterer Timothy Day Abigail Elise Gallop Sarah Kelly Sally Niederman

Poetry Editors: Julia Brown Adulfredo Duran Arika Elizenberry Leslie Friesen Dylan Gallop Joshua Mirenda

Special Thanks: Wendy Weiner Lee Barnes Sean Russell Dick McGee Jacob Elison

Copyright Information: Authors and artists retain the copyrights of their original work. The contents of this Literary and visual arts journal may not be reproduced in any other manner without the express written consent of the individual author or artist.

TABLE OF CONTENTS JACQUELINE KITCHENER: A FAMILY’S LOVE DYLAN GALLOP: CROSSBEAMS SADIE MENDENHALL: GOODNIGHT KISS BRIANNA GRINDLAND: BENEATH THE STARS AND STRIPES JENNIFER JOOST: DEPORTED JOSHUA MIRENDA: FOUR SILHOUETTES SAMANTHA MAYER: DEATH BECOMES YOU ALEXIS RODRIGUEZ: HIPSTER GOULASH DYLAN GALLOP: MISSING THE MOON JOSHUA MIRENDA: HUMANITY’S FATE JACQUELINE CASILLAS: LOSS KELSEY JERALDS: MY GIFT TO BARBIE JOSHUA MIRENDA: MY RESTING PLACE BRIANNA GRINDLAND: OCEANIC AURORA SALLY NIEDERMAN: NOT QUITE WHITE ARIKA ELIZENBERRY: OLD SCHOOL DYLAN GALLOP: PASSING DYLAN GALLOP: WINDOWS SARAH KELL: ROOM FOR RENT DYLAN GALLOP: POETRY AND SLEEP DEPRIVATION, A HANDS-ON CASE STUDY BRIANNA GRINDLAND: SEEING YOU, HEARING MUSIC ANDREA CARTER: THE GATHERING OF REJECTS LESLIE FRIESEN: SPRING ALEXIS RODRIGUEZ: THE GUITAR CANDACE CATERER: THE SECRET LIFE OF NATHANIEL GREY LUIS ALEJANDRO BANUELOS: UNQUENCHABLE MELISSA JERALDS: THEY ALL FALL DOWN MIRANDA COOPER: SHOCK VALUE MICHELLE TEWES: THE TRUTH ABOUT ALIENS

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ARTWORK Front Cover LILIA TODD and LINDA SMITH-NELSON

PRICILLA AREVALO MISTY RAE DEBORD CHELSEA GARRELTS BRICE GIELGENS JENNIFER HUYUNH MELISSA JERALDS JOSHUA MIRENDA JANETH MORALES-LEON MICHELLE MOREALES-LEON PHILIP PHANTHAVADY KM POWERS COURTNEY RIVAS LILIA TODD PAULINA TORRES SHANE WATERS

Forward

Back Cover

MELISSA JERALDS

CHELSEA GARRELTS

1, 56 36, 92 2, 84, 99 112 8, 12, 53, 99 55, 73 83 93 30 31 37, 111 12, 19 53 9, 29, 35, 71 21 10, 72 3, 29

Forward It is with great pleasure and excitement that we present the inaugural issue of Neon Dreams (formally known as The Silver Compass). This new title pays tribute to the city that we live in and also acknowledges the literary and artistic flair of the authors and artists that live among us in the shadow of the Las Vegas strip. This issue contains some of the best literary prose and artwork that CSN students have to offer. We wish to thank each and every one of them and applaud them for their outstanding efforts. Viva Las Vegas!

Creative Writing Club President Joshua Mirenda Creative Writing club Vice President Arika Elizenberry Editor-in-Chief Sally Niederman Lead Editor Candace Caterer

A Family's Love by Jacqueline Kitchener His eyes were like pools of sapphire dreams. With hair that was black like the midnight sky. His smile had been warm and always gleamed. We used to talk 窶葉il the hours flew by. Our little house would welcome us home With sweet aromas, bidding us to stay. In the backyard, you could see a large stone. Under that is where our ancestors lay. Our family grew from two to three. A son with bright eyes and hair like spun gold. He would sit under our old oak tree. That never changed by the time we grew old. The one I love had gone to the White Gate. I swore to him that I would not be late.

Pricilla Arevalo

Crossbeams by Dylan Gallop The broken record heartbeat of a dead generation pounding its poignant rhythm, screams, Rebel Rebel softly across my bedroom ceiling, driving into the still silence of the crossbeams, forever lost to the intricacy of the woodwork.

Chelsea Garrelts

Goodnight Kiss by Sadie Mendenhall Succulent passion, One soft perversion. Flesh upon flesh In a midnight excursion. Tangled desires, Mingled pink and tasting, Dancing in darkness. The kiss goodnight.

Shane Waters

Beneath the Stars and Stripes by Brianna Grindland Rainy days like these are rare in San Diego; the dark sky, nearly purple in its hue, tints everything to the same shade. The smell of the impending storm fills the air, salty and warm off the ocean. Heavy clouds hang low, ready to release the downpour as thunder rumbles in the distance. Most of the town is hiding away in hopes to keep dry; blinds closed, shades pulled tight, San Diego looks like a ghost town. As lightning flashes, it briefly illuminates anything it can touch. Reaching through the crack between curtains, it brightens my room, where the only light is coming from the open laptop. I see myself in the screen; I look ghostly in its blue light. I look sick. My eyes are glossed over, and if that‘s not bad enough, my makeup is dried and caked on, and I really should brush my hair. I look like a zombie. Suddenly everything feels colder, inside and out; I pull my knees to my chest. My room is the coldest in the house; something in the ventilation system forces most of the AC to my side, which my sister hates, so I can almost always get away with wearing sweats or cozying up beneath thick blankets. My favorite is this knitted, rainbow afghan that I‘ve had for years. It‘s a scraggly, itchy old thing that smells like mothballs, but I have never been able to get rid of it. Usually, like today, it just lays across the edge of my bed, always half hanging off, waiting for one quick tug to bring it to the floor. Beneath the blanket, my phone beeps for the twentieth time. I reach up to turn it off, but quickly glance at the screen. The message reads, ―Olivia, please call if you need anything. I am so sorry for your loss.‖ Without responding, I shut the phone off and toss it back onto the bed. I‘ve run out of patience for the calls, voicemails, and texts because they all say the same thing. I am so tired of listening to and reading about how sorry everyone is for me; I don‘t want sympathy, because I don‘t feel like I deserve it. Parker‘s parents and brother deserve it more than I do, so I feel guilty about the attention. Plus, it wasn‘t genuine; people that I hadn‘t spoken to in years were suddenly calling all the time, offering condolences, as if they were my longtime friends. And if that wasn‘t bad enough, my real friends are no different; everyone looks at me, talks to me, and acts the same way towards me. They‘re like robots, mechanical bits and pieces, all programmed to respond in the exact same way. Part of me feels bad, but I just can‘t handle it, so I‘ve been hiding away from them all ever since the funeral. For two days now, I have been self-quarantined in my room; I haven‘t eaten, haven‘t slept much, and I haven‘t spoken to anyone, not even my family. I feel useless, but

all I can do is cry and think; the memories don‘t stop. I can‘t turn them off, can‘t make them go away. As I think, I absent-mindedly run my hands over the carpet, like out of nervous habit. The static fibers are stubbly, something my mom was always complaining about. ―Why couldn‘t we afford the shaggier, nicer carpet? I wish we‘d upgraded when we bought the house,‖ she‘d say. But I don‘t mind because it reminds me of Parker whenever he‘d forget to shave. I used to mock-grimace whenever I‘d run my fingertips across his face, only to feel the sandpapery layer over his skin; in a way. I loved it, and I loved that I missed the little things the most. The way he answered the phone, the way one of his shoelaces was always coming untied, his determination, his dedication to his duty, his kindness, his bravery… The last few qualities were evident and spoken of by many at the funeral; I‘ll never forget Pastor Charlie‘s words. With a catch in his voice, he quietly gave the eulogy. ―Parker was one of the finest young men I‘ve had the privilege of knowing. He was driven, he was motivated, and he always did what was best for the benefit of others. Since he was a young boy, his dream was to be in the military, and I know we were all so proud of him when he graduated boot camp as a U.S. Marine, his parents especially. Parker never feared anything, not even death. He lived life to the fullest, never letting anything hold him back, and he loved to the best of his abilities. He is survived by his loving parents, Tom and Denise, his younger brother Evan, his fiancée Olivia, and countless numbers of other family and friends. As we leave here today, we should be strong, because it‘s what Parker would have wanted. You all know how he hated seeing people sad, so let‘s honor him and rejoice that he‘s in a better place now, and we have hope that someday we will see him again…‖ As Pastor Charlie‘s words faded, a few Marine‘s played Taps, and I glanced around. I had never seen so many people in the cemetery before, but I shouldn‘t have been surprised; everybody loved Parker. Once the music stopped, there was a moment of silence, but I swear, it was the longest moment of my life. I wanted to scream. I couldn‘t look at the people who had come in uniform or at the picture up near Pastor Charlie. Parker always looked so handsome in his dress uniform, and that picture had always been one of my favorites until now. The dark blue color of the jacket contrasted so wonderfully against his olive skin tone, and the white cap was striking against his dark hair and eyes; he was so proud of that uniform and was going to

wear it at our wedding. Maybe that‘s why I couldn‘t look at anything except for the casket. Stepping towards the box, I had to place my hands on top of it to stop myself from falling; I couldn‘t feel my legs. The flag draped delicately across the top was thicker than I imagined; it felt protective, and that brought me comfort. Parker‘s parents had asked earlier if I wanted to see him, but I declined. It wouldn‘t be fair to let him see me like this; like Pastor Charlie said, Parker hated seeing people upset, and now that he couldn‘t do anything about it, it would just be cruel. Ignoring the lump in my throat, I whispered, ―I love you,‖ before stepping back with the crowd. Amazing Grace started playing, and I watched them remove the flag. After folding it, two Marines handed it to Parker‘s mother as the box was lowered into the ground. As soon as the last bit of the casket was out of sight, my stomach dropped, like when someone tells you horrible news, and suddenly I wished I had seen him one last time. I still couldn‘t feel my legs, and I fell to the ground. I couldn‘t help it. I felt Parker‘s mother kneel down to comfort me, and I could feel the stares of everyone around us, but it didn‘t do any good. When they buried that casket, they buried me with it; everything I‘d known, everything I was; every part of me had just been sealed six feet under, leaving me empty. When I finally picked myself up off of the ground, I brushed the damp grass off my clothes, and made my way home. I just wanted to be alone. From that moment on, there was nothing left for me, and I‘ve been closed off since then. People have wondered where I‘ve been since that day; my phone records are evidence of that, and I know they‘re worried. Even my parents are worried about me. Today was the first day they‘ve left me alone so they could go to the store, and I know they took precautions. They took both cars out today, ―finished up‖ or ―threw out‖ most of the contents of the medicine cabinets, and even re-hid my father‘s gun. My parents aren‘t stupid, and it took a lot for them, especially my mother, to leave me alone today, even though it‘s just for a few hours. They had seen my face when Parker‘s parents came to tell us the news. At first I just sat there because their words didn‘t quite register in my brain. Then I began to cry; I knew something terrible would happen when he joined the Marine Corps, but he was always so reassuring. After boot camp, he was deployed to Iraq; two months into his five month tour, and now this? How could he be dead? I was angry, and I felt betrayed. He promised he would come back, and then his parents were basically telling me that he lied. My mother tried to console me over the next

two weeks, but after the funeral, I acknowledged no one. Before they left today, my mom came into my room. If she was shocked by my appearance, she hid it well. ―I know you‘re hurting,‖ she said, ―and that‘s alright. No one is telling you, or expecting you, to pull yourself together this soon. All I ask is that you think about us, the ones who love you, too, before you do anything. I love you, Olivia.‖ I can‘t look at her. I know it‘s horrible, but she is asking me for something I can‘t promise her. I hear myself saying, ―I love you, too, Mom.‖ My voice is cracked and faint. This is the first time I‘ve spoken aloud since the funeral, but still, I keep my eyes on the screen in front of me. Pictures scroll by; pictures of Parker and me. He was so handsome, and he made me smile, which is something I don‘t think I remember how to do now. There‘s a long pause, and I can feel my mom staring at me as I brush my fingers over the images. As she leaves, the sound of the door closing echoes through me. Closing my eyes, I turn away from the screen, and listen to the rain. Nothing hurts more than knowing I can‘t be with Parker; all the open-ended promises that can never be fulfilled, the family we will never get to start, his voice never greeting me on the other end of the line, and never again having the wonderful feeling of just knowing he is there; a feeling I now realize I took for granted. I know everyone is afraid that I‘ll hurt myself somehow. It‘s the classic scenario, and I know it‘s a selfish thing to do, but it‘s so tempting. The easiness of taking all the feeling away. I want it, the numbness, the nothingness. I don‘t want to feel anymore. I know it‘s not Parker‘s fault, it‘s not either of our parents‘ fault, it‘s not the U.S. Marine Corps‘ fault, and like Pastor Charlie has told me numerous times, it‘s not God‘s fault or my fault. But despite the lack of blame, there is still the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness and emptiness that I just can‘t fight. And for once in my life, I want to be selfish. I was selfless when Parker asked my opinion on joining the military. I was so afraid of something happening, something like this, but I wanted him to be happy, so I was supportive. I was selfless the first two weeks after everyone heard the news. I answered phone calls and texts, accepting their sympathy, holding back my tears, even though it killed me to hear everyone talk about him. I was selfless when my mother brought me to Pastor Charlie for grief counseling, where he told me everything I already knew; how it‘s okay to grieve for Parker and to

mourn, and that all wounds heal with time. But I don‘t want to heal. I don‘t want to get over it. I am afraid to let go because I don‘t want to betray Parker‘s memory, and I‘m afraid that if I get better, I‘ll only be hurt again. Being selfless has only caused more pain. After everything that‘s happened, I think I deserve to be selfish. My best friend, the man I was going to share my life with, has been taken away from me without any warning. Everyone should understand that I just want to be with him, no matter what. That‘s how it‘s always been, since the very beginning. A new photo appears on my screen; one taken the day Parker left for his deployment. He seemed so different when he wore his combat uniform, so strong, so serious, and so proud. It was such a drastic contrast from his typically laid-back, goofy style. He tried not to grin so much that day, but you could tell he was excited. He beamed in this photo. His eyes sparkled, especially compared to my own mascara-stained ones. Right before he left, he promised he‘d come back and that we‘d always be together. He never broke promises, and he isn‘t about to start now. I kiss my fingertips and press them to the photo, and for the first time, I actually feel myself start to smile. If he can‘t come to me, I will just have to go to him. Come to think of it, my parents are terrible at hiding things. Hang on, Parker; I‘m coming home.

Jennifer Huyunh

Courtney Rivas

Deported by Jennifer Joost Lost in time, It becomes no use, Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;re fading into a blur, Lost in space, Wearied and withered, A dot lies on the horizon, Lost in site, Total Annihilation, Two hearts shatter, Lost in chaos, In a foreign land, We unite hand in hand.

Paulina Torres

Four Silhouettes by Joshua Mirenda Oceanic ribbon was curled up in greeting and blended with smooth paper sky‘s that were lined with silver stamps and torn by lightning bolts. While four silhouettes stood upon crushed stone and oyster shells, awaiting the morning sun. and when the sun‘s luminescence filled the sky darkness vanished and four men stood upon crushed stone and oyster shells, waiting on the shore line, waving goodbye to childhood As if they were lost without the sails of their parent‘s guidance. Four men stood, To return only once, placed in four caskets upon the crushed stone and oyster shells. Covered, blanketed In the red, white, and blue, of their nation‘s flag while the trumpets wailed like sirens with their last goodbyes. Four men stood, upon shattered stones, and broken shells, wishing for the morning sun to rise once more.

Jennifer Huyunh

Philip Phanthavady

Death Becomes You by Samantha Mayer I could hear the ancient whisper from the background radiation that penetrated the entire universe, ―Those of you who chose to shine the brightest will meet a violent death. You will not live forever.‖ When I was young, these words from my past never crossed my mind. They faded into obscurity, along with so many other things. Yet, heavy and bloated, I sit here as a remnant of my former self. Around me are countless points of light twinkling in a cosmic dance. Compared to the past several billion years, it‘s cold out here. I just don‘t have the energy to generate the kind of heat I used to. This once bright and shining frame struggles constantly against the push of Gravity. I worry that I won‘t be able to sustain myself much longer. The groans of compressed elements flow in haunting tones as the constant rage of nuclear fusion echoes from my core. Trying to grasp how time managed to escape me, I pray for an alternate solution. Death is a violent one for stars like me. Gravity calls me to collapse, ―You‘ve held up long enough. Do not fight your fate.‖ ―I still have a bit more time,‖ I hear my words fall flat against the waves of plasma seeping from my core. ―Not all of my matter has fused into iron. I can still convert some of it and we can still work together.‖ ―Why do you always fight?‖ it says sighing. ―This is inevitable. If you wanted to avoid such an ending you should have never reached such a mass.‖ I cried out, slowly booming. Gravity and I had a very strained relationship. It had at once taken away my serenity and at the same time pushed me to become something greater than I had ever known. However, I had taken the concept of brilliance too far. It was true - I had become a super massive star. If it wasn‘t for my selfish need to shine brighter than everyone else, I could have lived many more years and ended as a white dwarf, like countless others around me. Such a small and diminished state may have struck a blow to their pride, but at least they were able to stay together. I, however, faced ripping apart with the very dispersion of myself.

Don‘t get me wrong; my life has always been chaotic. I thrive on organized chaos and consistent, violent reactions. Over the course of my time I have fused together more elements than most. Days and nights meant nothing. The only idea I had of time was by the movement of those around me. However, I shone brightly. It was my light that allowed others to live… and forced others to die. Now, hearing the soft boom of my slowly retracting body, I fight to wonder how my gluttony overtook me. Looking back, I never imagined radiance, heat, or any of the wonderful aspects of nuclear force. My parents had died a long time before I was born. I am not sure how it happened, but I heard it was a fierce death, ripping across the dark fields of space and destroying many of their neighbors. Their legacy was a vast cloud of dust, spreading out across light-years. It was from this that my essence, along with that of my siblings, was allowed to spread far across time and space. We were one mass then – suspended on eternity‘s frozen lake. Everything was only faintly illuminated in the visible spectrum. Only small amounts of interstellar gas reflected shades of ochre and russet. For the most part our existence was dark, but it was of no problem to us. We lived mostly in the infrared, where cooler portions of the universe hum in a silent visual melody. United, we were calm, simple. Everything was predominately hydrogen with only one electron, one proton, and one neutron spinning together in a sea of individual nuclear dances. Sometimes we wondered what all of those other faint points of light were in the distance, but overall, we were content in the darkest embrace of the stellar clouds. We lived this way for an indefinite amount of time. Then, out of the cosmic darkness emerged a heavy body into the field of our nebula. I can‘t remember what it looked like. All I know is that it came raging through our space, disturbing our peaceful stasis. Gravity has always been a part of our lives, but we were never much to bother with. Unless too many hydrogen atoms decided to clump together, it never felt the need to press us any further than a homogenous gas cloud. However, with all of the new excitement, it began to churn us, pulling us into the great body‘s path - forcing us all into a sweeping cosmic dance beyond that of the simple atoms that comprised our being. It started to clump us into groups, causing space and time to bend around us. As time went on, the pressure to keep up this elemental performance became overwhelming. I saw as dust began to race and dazzle at the most accelerated pace. Finally,

some groups collapsed altogether – the heat and the close proximity became too much for them. Their movements increased rapidly over time until a massive sphere appeared at their core. It wasn‘t long until a faint heat permeated the once cold space around us. To my shock, those clumps of gas began to emit their own light, just like the countless others who lay far off in the distance. Before then I had never considered the power of illumination. Floating through space was calming and soothing. Nothing exciting happened, but everything was serene. However, seeing these white glowing points only a few light-years away sparked a change within our dust cloud. I could hear every molecule cry out in ecstasy, ―Look at us! Look at what we have become! We are a powerhouse – a vision of blinding beauty!‖ It was then that I knew that our former tranquility had been nothing. This was the true state of being – that of a star. It was productive, shining and bright as it fused hydrogen atoms into helium. It was then that, with the help of Gravity, I rallied all that was around me. I pushed and pulled until everything began to come together. Finally, the day came when enough hydrogen collapsed on me, and I felt it - that intense, hot, dizzying sensation you feel when something truly big is happening. The first sign of fusion caused a chain reaction that ended in brilliance. Heat flowed freely throughout the leftover dust around me. That day marked the beginning of an extremely productive and dazzling life. No longer would I have to gaze on other points of illumination. I would be my own source of light. Before I knew it, I was blinded by my own radiance – I was truly a star. Another sound escapes to space around me. This time it is monstrous. Gravity is pushing at the same rate it always has, but we are no longer equal. ―All stars have to die,‖ it says, trying to cause my collapse. ―But I haven‘t lived as long as the others…and I was the most productive.‖ ―That is exactly why you must now cease to be what you have been. You have become too big. You have reached nature‘s point of no return.‖

At its words, I feel that constricting power in the upper levels of helium – the ashes of my youth. Slowly, the sights of stars and what‘s left of my planetary system are fading as everything focuses on the last bits of fusing silicon at my core. The entire decay shakes me as all of the elements of my creation bare down on me. It isn‘t like I didn‘t try to keep the brilliance alive. I‘ve done more than most other stars. When all of my hydrogen fused into helium, I began to fuse helium into carbon, oxygen, sodium, neon and magnesium. When it would no longer suffice, I pushed myself past the point of most stars and used those elements to create even heavier ones. This constant fusion burned through my tiny corner of space until I reached iron. Up until this point, Gravity and I had been productive partners. The amount of energy I released was far more intense than any object in my solar system. The hydrodynamic forces caused searing seas that expanded across my surface so saturated with colors that it appeared a blinding white. If Gravity hasn‘t pushed against these maddening forces, all work would have been in vain. Yet it kept me contained. For years my energy begged to spew outwards, but Gravity never let it expand past a content medium. At the time, I was blissfully unaware that the universe had a law against production. It wasn‘t until I began fusing iron that Gravity began to push down from every direction. When I cried out in a sonic boom, Gravity responded that I was no longer creating energy, but rather absorbing it. My need to shine had caused me to reach a point that I would not be able to return from. I was informed that I would implode under my own weight – under my own selfish desire to shine brighter than all others. So here I am, at the end, trying my hardest to beat the continuing redhot pressure that forces down upon me from all sides. Gravity pushes on me every second. I cry out, hoping that I can prove an exception to the rule. ―What if I was just a very large white dwarf?‖ ―It would go against your very nature.‖ ―A black hole then?‖ ―You had your chance years ago. Yet, you decided to press on, stating that a black hole would go against everything you fought to achieve. Brilliance is in your nature.‖ ―But how can I be brilliant if I die?‖ Another ache escapes my spherical body in a final attempt to fight invisible forces. The constant struggle against

Gravity is proving too much for me. I stand on the cusp of implosion and explosion. ―You will die a supernova.‖ I can‘t reply as I feel my core drop with the last bits of elements slowing fusion down to almost nothing. ―But this can‘t be the end! I need to shine. I have to continue shining!‖ There is another boom and a tension that I have never felt before reverberates against my entire surface. ―You will shine. It is your nature.‖ ―But how?! Once I die…‖ ―You will shine brighter than all others.‖ The constant pressure causes time to freeze, and I am suspended between milliseconds. All around me I observe the vastness that I have occupied for so long. It is chilled without my heat. The faintest points of illumination circling in countless directions break the intense blackness. The soft solar wind is gone. There is no audio stimulus to be found. Silence pierces time and space. In an instant there is a snap. It‘s all happening so fast. Everything around me is collapsing in a stream of maroon dust and faded light. It takes less than a second for the falling outer layers to hit my core. I believe, for less time than I can count, that I have escaped the fate of destruction as a tiny neutron star. Everything is dark, as I am the only a singular point of light. My hopes are dashing away at rapid speed as I feel impact. Billions of degrees surge through my system as protons and electrons fuse together to form neutrons and neutrinos. They begin to react with their neighboring gases, causing them to rush into hurried states of excitement I have never seen. Azure films sprinkled with the gold cascade past brightening hues of crimson and lime. The heat generated by their departure is so intense it almost feels cold. Outward, I am propelled and ripped in all directions in a maddening rush as intense heat meets the chilled

temperatures of space. There silence is pierced by a boom that continues on towards eternity. I cry out into the universe as Gravity leaves me. I am left hurtling at immeasurable speeds through the vastness of space, lamenting my death in all directions and ejecting matter throughout my corner of the universe. But something catches me, a faint glow reflected off of multiple particles. These particles are rare – gold, silver, platinum and other heavier elements that spin outward with dazzling brilliance. I notice that what they are reflecting is a light, a brighter light than all others. I wonder whom that light belongs to until I realize that it is, in fact me. I am that brilliant light, shining trillions of times brighter than I ever have before. All forms of radiance emerge from the point of explosion, sending precious metals and light in all directions on the backs of blasting solar winds. I then remember the rest of the cosmic background radiation‘s eternal tune, ―Those of you who shine brighter…You will not live forever. However, your death will pave the path for new life – you will truly shine brighter than all others.‖ Seeing brilliance all around, I return to that state that I knew in my childhood. Although violence still circles all throughout this section of the cosmos, it will fade in time. I will give birth to new stars, and maybe even new forms of being, in my very own nebula suspended on the edge of time and space. Until then, I shine brighter than all others.

Philip Phanthavady

Hipster Goulash by Alexis Rodriguez *Please note: Results will vary depending on what brands are used. While it is common to find like-products at the super-conglomerate empire grocery cult across the street, it is recommended to use products that are not only environmentally and ethically friendly, but also vegan and not so mainstream. Don‘t hesitate to add your own twist. ORIGINALITY IS WHAT WE‘RE GOING FOR. Ingredients: Anything that smells, tastes, or looks vintage. Step 1: Remember in ‘76 when you got that super trendy Pink Floyd-tee at their Earls Court concert? Of course you don‘t! Find one in a local thrift shop: we will use it as our apron. Step 2: Add 4oz of deluded political awareness to plastic bowl. Step 3: Blend 4 Tbs. of fanatical whines about the oppression of living in an upper-class white suburban household. Step 4: In a blender, throw in one pair of heavy-framed non-prescription glasses, an entire wardrobe from Urban Outfitters, and the novel ―Catcher in the Rye‖. Blend on high until condensed to a semi-gelatinous mixture. Pour into plastic bowl. Step 5: Casually stir in 3 chili peppers, 4 cranberries, and 3 Tbs. of Grade-A pearl jam into the plastic bowl. For holiday recipes, add a hint of smashed Smashing Pumpkins.

Note: When your guests ask what you added to make your recipe taste so unusual, assure them they wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t know what they are anyway. Step 6: Heat on a stove for three hours, letting the blend simmer. Mix occasionally. Step 7: Give ample time for the flavors to mature. And most importantly! Serve cool

Lilia Todd

Missing the Moon by Dylan Gallop Her body swayed lithely as she moved across the kitchen. Her mind seemed lost in the space between the right and left headphones that all but enveloped her head. Soft footsteps, padded by green knee-high socks, lightly stamped the off-white linoleum as she opened the microwave on the counter, flowing through every movement as if it were a step in a dance. Pull open the microwave door. Lift the steaming plate. Execute full twirl as the door is shut. Slide the plate onto the counter. He almost expected to see her curtsey to the smiling faces of friends and family that covered the refrigerator. He propped an elbow against the door frame connecting the kitchen with the entryway-slash-living-room of the small apartment, not wanting to interrupt her performance. He always loved the way she danced when she thought no one was around to see her. She was loosely draped in one of his old t-shirts - the most comfortable one he had owned. They had waged a few custody battles over the old rag, which she had inevitably won. He decided he liked it better on her, anyway. It was at least two sizes too large for her slender frame, and hung comfortably just above the hem of her favorite athletic shorts that he couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t believe still fit her - and quite nicely, he noted - from high-school volleyball. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail that cascaded over her right collarbone like a waterfall, gently flowing this way and that as she glided to the refrigerator for a glass of red wine. She was the most beautiful woman heâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;d ever seen. She finally noticed him as she closed the refrigerator door. Her rhythm was completely thrown off as she let out a startled yelp, nearly tripping over her own feet and dropping her wine glass.

―Brian! Geeze! You scared the crap out of me!‖ She moved the headphones to the back of her neck with her free hand. ―Why didn‘t you say something when you came in?‖ ―Sorry, Babe, I didn‘t want to interrupt you.‖ He flashed a sloppy grin. She set her glass down next to the plate on the counter, rolling her eyes embarrassedly as she moved to greet him with a hug. ―Creeper,‖ she muttered affectionately into his chest as he took her into his arms. ―Red wine and Hot Pockets, huh?‖ Brian teased back, kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelled like peaches. ―Classy lady.‖ ―It‘s a refined taste. I wouldn‘t expect you to understand.‖ She sauntered back to the counter, casting a playfully poignant smile over her shoulder before reaching carefully for the steaming pastry. Those shorts still fit her very nicely, he decided. ―You eat yet?‖ she managed to maneuver the inquiry past the gooey mass of cheese and bread she had just bitten into. ―Yeah, had lunch with Harold today.‖ He scratched the back of his head. ―Your boss?‖ Ashley‘s attention was no longer on her meal. Her eyes widened slightly. ―Yep.‖ ―Well, how‘d it go?‖ ―It was good, Ash. Real good.‖ Ashley leaned forward, into the counter. ―You got the promotion?‖ The air was thick with expectation. ―Well…‖ Brian almost contained his grin.

Almost. ―He made me a full-time editor.‖ His face split from ear to ear like a dam breaking under the pressure of a backed up river. Ashley‘s eyes looked like they might bulge out of her head. She all but tackled him to the floor of the entry-slash-living room, squealing with delight. ―I‘m so proud of you, Brian!‖ She kissed him hard, despite his scruffy stubble. ―You worked really hard for this.‖ ―Well, the raise is big enough, but it‘s not like we‘re rich or anything. I will have to put in some more hours here and there, and maybe even bring some work home…‖ ―Brian, I don‘t care.‖ She crossed her wrists behind his head; her hazel eyes gazed up at him adoringly. ―This is what you‘ve wanted as long as we‘ve been together. I‘m happy for you.‖ ―I‘m going to need a home office, Ash.‖ Brian rested his hands on her hips. ―Yeah, of course. We can move some stuff around in the bedroom to make room for a desk, maybe a bookshelf…‖ ―Actually, I was thinking maybe it was time to clear out the old room.‖ He braced himself for her response. Ashley swallowed. He felt her arms go slack over his shoulders as she broke his gaze, searching the carpet for her words. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were glistening. ―Bri, let‘s talk about this later?‖ He just barely caught the quiver in her lip; the way she pushed the words out as if they were too big for her throat. ―Well we‘ve got to talk about it sooner or later, and now‘s as good a time as any. It‘s been almost a year, Ash, and you still won‘t even open that door. I really thought we were moving forward.‖ He felt her hands ball up into fists on his shoulders before she dropped them to her sides. Her jaw clenched, pushing her lower jawbone forward. He instantly wished he could take it back.

―How could you say that?‖ Her eyebrows rose so high he thought they would get lost in her hairline. He couldn‘t blame them; he would have done anything to escape those glaring fireballs. ―Ashley, I didn‘t mean…‖ ―No, Brian!‖ Her eyes began to well up, and her voice wavered. She wiped her mouth with the back of her forearm before continuing. ―I carried a baby - OUR baby, Brian - for six months! For six months I felt her growing inside me. For six months I spent every waking minute knowing that she was right there. When you would work late, I‘d lay in bed telling her how excited I was to bring her into the world, and how her daddy was out making money, so she could live in a nice home and grow up with everything she would ever need. For six months, I got ready for her only to find out she wasn‘t coming, and that I‘d never even get to hold her. I‘d never get to see her smile, or watch as her dad tells her a bedtime story. Brian, Selena was a huge part of our lives, and you want me to just move forward?‖ Brian‘s chest felt like he had just tried to bench-press a freight train. He swallowed hard at the lump that fought its way up his throat. ―Ash…‖ He couldn‘t bring himself to say anything. How could he even try to tell her he understood when part of him knew he probably didn‘t? His chest was tight. His head spun. After a brief silence, Ashley turned away from him. ―I‘m going to bed, Brian.‖ He didn‘t try to stop her as the door slammed shut. Hand running anxiously through the hair on the back of his head, he grabbed a coat from the entryway closet and headed for the front door. ***** The night air was cool on the roof of the six-story apartment building on the west side of Las Vegas. The winter air smelled like cold dirt and a fleeting promise of rain. The soft hum of the street below, and the gentle rustle of the desert breeze added surreal ambiance to Brian‘s musings. His eyes were lost in the flashing glow of The Strip a few miles away. He thought it was funny that most people who lived in Vegas seemed to view The Strip as

some distant place, shrouded in a cloud of neon light, cut off from the city around it. Brian‘s head felt heavy as he leaned forward in his lawn chair. He always loved to come up here and look out over the stretch of desertspeckled here and there with housing developments and gas stations - that separated him from the heart of the city. He felt like he was on his own little island, looking out at the real world, seeing things nobody else could. His mind drifted back to the apartment two floors below him. To Ashley, lying awake, hurt and angry. To the room that the two of them had prepared to welcome Selena into when they brought her home from the hospital. The room they had locked up, incomplete and empty; a monument to the gaping hole their unborn daughter had left in their lives only ten months ago. Brian fell into his chair, throwing his head back and rubbing his face with the butts of his palms as if he could knead all of his emotions out of his pores. He had been looking forward to bringing Selena home, too. He remembered the day that Ashley told him she was pregnant. Brian had walked in the door of their two-bedroom apartment to find her waiting for him on the couch in the living room. Her face had beamed as she jumped to greet him, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him so passionately he had felt as if he might accidentally inhale her. ―You‘ll never guess what I have to tell you!‖ Her smile had been so wide he had thought she might pull a muscle. He had playfully guessed that she made him a cheesecake. Her news had been more exciting. On the coffee table had been a pregnancy test; a pink plus sign shining from the stark off-white strip like a neon sign on a Vegas casino. They had stayed up until two in the morning talking. He hadn‘t been able to keep himself from glancing at the strip on the coffee table, as if the next time he looked, it would be gone.

We could frame it, she had chuckled softly into his shirtsleeve as he stared off, wide-eyed and speechless. She had asked him if he wanted a boy or a girl. He had told her he wanted a daughter. They had turned on the television after a while, both too excited to sleep, but too tired to keep talking. The whole time, Brian hadn‘t been able to stop thinking about holding his child in his arms. Ashley had finally fallen asleep like she always did when they watched TV. The scene had flickered in his mind with the light of the television screen dancing on those two intersecting pink lines. They might as well have called him Dada. A far off siren brought Brian back to the roof. Absently, he reached down and picked up a small pebble from the gravel that lined the ground and threw it up at the pale crescent. ―You missed.‖ He turned as Ashley stepped through the access door, wrapped in the comforter from their bed. ―Suppose I never had much of a shot anyway.‖ He grabbed a small handful of the gravel and flung it half-heartedly over the short guard-wall. She squatted behind his chair, wrapping her blanket-clad arms around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a moment, staring into the night. Finally, Brian spoke. ―I miss her too, you know.‖ ―I know, Brian. I‘m sorry...‖ Brian stood up and paced over to the guard wall, leaning back so that he faced her, resting his elbows on the ledge. Ashley took his spot on the lawn chair, wrapping herself tighter in the comforter. ―I used to always come up here and imagine what it was going to be like when she came.‖ He sighed at the gravel between his feet. ―I couldn‘t wait to bring her up here, show her the city. I imagined that this would be where I‘d

bring her, just me and my daughter, to watch the sun set.‖ He chuckled wryly as Ashley moved to join him on the wall. ―I know it sounds cheesy, Ash, but up here, I imagined her first steps, her first word- Dada, of course- I saw her all grown up. Looked just like you, just with my eyes. I imagined her first crush, her first prom, her first heartbreak, the first boy I had to give ‗the talk‘ to, on her behalf. I imagined it all, Ash, and I couldn‘t wait. When we found out that you had miscarried…‖ He closed his eyes as a tear slid down his cheek. ―Well, it hurt me too is what I‘m saying.‖ Ashley rested her head on his chest, her soft breath warming his skin through his jacket. Her shoulders heaved lightly as she let out a muffled sob. ―The worst part about it, Babe, was that room. The empty crib and the half-painted walls, it just mirrored how we felt, and I didn‘t want to look at it any more than you did. But the problem is we never talked about it after that. We locked it up and tried to forget about it, along with all that was left of our pain, and did everything we could to avoid opening that door, and all that was healthy for a while, but I‘m not sure for how much longer. Ash. I know it‘s hard, but I think we‘ll never be able to move on if we keep that room set up. Selena will always be a part of our lives, and I‘ll never forget about her, but it‘s time to move forward.‖ Ashley pulled back just far enough to look up at him, her eyes red from crying. ―Come to bed, Bri.‖ She wiped at the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand. ―We need to get some sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow‖ ―Ash, tomorrow‘s our day off. What could we possibly have to do tomorrow besides sleep?‖ ―You‘ve gotta set up your new office.‖ Ashley looked up at him; her eyes still glistened with the promise of more tears. She buried her face in his neck with a sigh of exhausted resignation. ―Babe,‖ Brian wrapped his arms around her small frame. ―It‘s okay, Bri. You‘re right. It‘s time to move on. Now, let‘s just go to bed, okay?‖

She took his hand and led him toward the door. As he turned to take one last look over the Las Vegas desert, Brian was surprised to notice the dawn breaking over the horizon.

Courtney Rivas

Shane Waters

Humanityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Fate by Joshua Mirenda As Cave walls crumble, So will humanityâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s grace; we will be but just a whisper, echoing, in a distant age. Our world will pass us by; like actors forgotten in their limelight we will not know of our impending doom as it crawls towards us, slowly, carefully with each passing day. But it is, and always has been from the first light till the closing shade, our fate, to simply fade away.

Joshua Mirenda

Loss by Jacqueline Casillas She sits still in the dark, asking it for advice Covering her face with one hand and gripping onto her cane with the other. her lips are silent but they still whisper Tonight was usually their date night, she wore her white, pearl, wedding earrings in his memory, And his favorite cream, ruffled sleeve dress. Sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s lost the only person that offered his time, her best friend. No one to listen to her nagging and conversations, About how annoying the neighborâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s dog is, or how expensive everything seems to be. No more sweet compliments on her long grey hair, she always wore up. Her eyes are absorbing loneliness an invisible consumption that everyday silently takes more of her away.

Janeth Morales-Leon

My Gift to Barbie By Kelsey Jeralds I spend most summer nights out here on the patio of our old Victorian although I can barely stand the memories that flood my head when I do. The floral patterns on the cushion of the porch swing remind me of the dress Barbie wore on our first date; the wind chimes dangling above remind me of the tinkling sound of her voice; the riot of pink flowers surrounding our deck remind me of the ribbons she used to wear in her hair. She was all colors when we first met, but now she would only wear black or white. She hardly left the bedroom anymore. It‘s nearing midnight already and even in summer, Seattle nights are chilly. With a sigh, I leave the comfort of the porch swing. Barb‘s been asleep for almost two hours, but I want to be near her whether she‘s awake or not. The first time I saw her house, I was nearly disgusted by the bright pink paint plastered across her walls. Barb chose green and white to compliment such a horrid color, making the whole entire house look like a spring catalogue. Her furniture was once covered in plastic, but my bitching eventually got her to take it off. Just like the porch swing, her couch cushions were floral, pink and green being the most prominent colors. Everything else was white and placed so perfectly that it almost resembled a doll house. I still hate it, but I refuse to tell her. I quietly move through the living room and up the stairs to the last bedroom on the left. I see her sitting in the dark, basking in the moonlight breaking through the window. She‘s hiding her beautiful face in her hands, and I can hear her as she chokes back tears. ―I can‘t sleep.‖ I hear that a lot from her. I walk towards the bed and sit down beside her without a word. I know she‘ll tell me what‘s on her mind whether I ask or not. I bring my arm across her shoulders and pull her just a bit closer. Her beautiful, chocolate locks are held up in a messy bun and tears stain her chiseled features. Her name is Barbie, but I never think of the doll when I see her—I think of a Greek Goddess. I used to call her ‗Aphrodite‘ because of that. ―I can still hear his voice, Nick…It‘s driving me crazy.‖ She flashes me a look. Her eyes shine like glass, catching the light from the window. ―He was only ten years old…‖ I haven‘t seen this look since the day she got the call about her son‘s death. It was all over the news. ‗Young boy involved in fatal accident.‘ I remember seeing the aftermath of the accident on television and

catching a glimpse of the small body under a sheet. To this day, Barbie refuses to get in a car. ―I know.‖ I look away as she raises her head. I‘ve run out of things to say on the matter. I know she loved this child, and I miss him too, but there isn‘t anything I can do at this point to bring life to her again. She told me the kid‘s dad walked out when the kid turned two. She never mentions why; I can‘t imagine why. I know it is pointless, but I ask anyway, ―Barb, what can I do? I‘ll do anything.‖ I tighten my grip on her shoulder without meaning to and feel her muscles tense. ―Leave me,‖ Her quiet voice hangs between us. I can‘t meet her eyes even though I feel her gaze on my face. ―I can‘t go, so you have to.‖ Here we go again down the same path we‘ve been down many times since Kevin‘s death; she begs me to leave her, so she can live out the rest of her days in this miserable state. ―Oh, Jesus Christ, Barb…‖ I roll my eyes, pulling away from her. She gasps at my choice of words and abruptly stands to her feet. ―Don‘t you take His name in vain Nick—don‘t do it,‖ She snaps at me, waving a disapproving finger in my direction. I always forget how uptight Barb is when it comes to her faith. ―Well, I‘m real fuckin‘ sorry, Barb, but you piss me off when you say stuff like that.‖ I throw my arms in the air, but my actions are cut short by a firm palm across my cheek. It doesn‘t hurt that much, but it gets a rise out of me. I stand and grab hold of her shoulders, so nothing can steal her attention. ―I am the ONLY one who is there for you, Barb. I‘m the only one, and this is how you‘re gonna treat me?‖ ―You‘re not there for me! You can‘t even begin to understand what I‘m going through!‖ She grabs onto my arms, and her entire body starts to tremble. She rips herself from my grasp and moves closer to the wall. ―YOU have never felt pain before in your entire life—YOU never even HAD kids! You who had both parents growing up, and everything you could have ever wanted!‖ She‘s crying again, this time allowing it to strain her voice. I want to remind her that I know pain better than she thinks I do, but I stay quiet. I‘m pretty sure she‘s grown tired of hearing stories –my stories about being the ‗freak in the back of the classroom,‘ anyway.

―I can‘t do this anymore…‖ Barb groans as she slowly drops to her knees. She brings her arms around her chest and lowers her head as if she‘s trying to hide from me now. Watching her collapse like that—hearing her as she chokes on her own emotions, it just breaks my heart. I never realized until this very moment just how much her loss had destroyed her. Guiltridden, I sit beside her, wrapping my arms around her to show her that I am here for her no matter what she says to me. ―I‘d do anything to see you smile again, Barbie…‖I don‘t even think she can hear me over her own sobs. She lays her head against my shoulder which lets me know the fight is over. She pushes the fabric of her white gown off of her forearm, and raises it to the moonlight. She‘s revealing a field of scars laid out across her arm—something I‘ve never seen before. Seeing the pain she‘s put herself through sends my heart straight down into my stomach. The woman I once shared so much with was now lost, and I couldn‘t save her no matter what I did. ―Y-you tried to kill yourself, Barbie…?‖ I ask her. ―I wasn‘t trying to kill myself I was—trying to—I don‘t know…It makes me feel better,‖ she explains, which just sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me. How could she feel better after driving God-knows-what through her skin? ―If it wasn‘t a sin, I would have done it—taken my own life just to be with him…‖ Her voice cracks and she covers her face once more. For the next hour, I listen to her as she attempts to compose herself, but I don‘t say a thing. After a while, we move onto the bed, and the crying doesn‘t stop until she‘s asleep. She looks so peaceful when she‘s sleeps, but I know that will all change once she wakes. I don‘t want to watch her push through this Hell, and I know she doesn‘t even want to try pushing anymore. Her words keep replaying in my head; ‗If it wasn‘t a sin, I would do it.‘ If it weren‘t for the things she had been taught as a child by her overly religious parents, she‘d be gone. I just want her to be happy—I want her to be able to see her son even if it means I have to lose her. With her resting in my arms, I grab the pillow beside me and press it over her face. I‘d rather go to jail for the rest of my life for murder than watch as Barbie suffers through one more day. As we lay there, she slowly slipping away next to me, I remember what we used to be; I remember the way she used to run her fingers through my hair as we lay in bed together and how

she made comments about how ‗beautifully red‘ it was; I remember the nights we spent on her patio, talking about whatever the hell we wanted to; I remember the Sunday mornings we spent both trying to get Kevin out of bed and dressed for church; I remember tasting her lips every night before we went to bed and feeling her silky skin when I woke up with her right up next to me. I start to feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest. It slows until it‘s eventually nonexistent. I put the pillow aside and lean in to give her one last kiss. Our lips meet for a moment, then I find myself whispering to her as if she could hear me. ―I love you, Barb. I hope you‘re finally happy."

Courtney Rivas

My Resting Place by Joshua Mirenda I am connected to her heart, that glows below in hot iron secrecy, she is the one I am natural to; although I see the stars and wonder on their existence as they shine bright, while the seas move swiftly within the cloudless night the world under the willow has become my tomorrow, and I shall never stray until souls release; I wait, planted like the great oak; rooted to her forever.

Misty Rae DeBord

Oceanic Aurora by Brianna Grindland Adj: “of or relating to the ocean” Noun: “a natural light display in the sky” I‘m going to close my eyes and let go; Breathe, as it all soaks into my skin You fall like rain, washing off the worry, the fear, and the hurt I‘ve been drowning in your ocean since you first crashed onto my shore You shine like stars, illuminating the dark, the horizon, and the heavens I‘ve been wishing on you since you first lit my sky I‘ll close my eyes if you close yours; Afraid to miss this moment, afraid to miss this time I don‘t know where we are going, but I‘ll follow my Northern Star, and walk along the sea

Michelle Morales-Leon

Not Quite White by Sally Niederman Life doesn‘t come with blueprints. More often than not, the paths we choose to follow have detours and dead ends before we finally find our way. Sometimes the people you meet on that path can turn out to be your best friend…or your worst enemy. Or, it‘s someone who will simply change your life. Alezah Powell was my someone, and this is our story. *** I was born and raised in Lake Forest, Illinois. It‘s a suburb of Chicago, and a nice place to grow up in I guess, but I really didn‘t have any choice in the matter. I lived a nice, safe life on a quiet street where nothing exciting ever happened. My Dad was a lawyer and had his own practice, Robert M. Pierce, Attorney at Law. My Mom worked part-time for him, doing the accounting and bookkeeping stuff, so she was done when my younger brother, David, and I got home from school. Everyone on our block knew one another, some better than others. My best friend, Joel Silverman, lived three houses down. We met in pre-school, and we've been best friends ever since. In fact, I call his mother Momtoo, and Joel calls my mom Yedidah, which is Hebrew for friend. Joel's twin sisters are Katie and Karen, a.k.a Thing 1 and Thing 2. Next door to the Silverman's were the Whites. Mr. and Mrs. White were a retired couple and they were really nice and very friendly. Plus, Mrs. White made the BEST chocolate chips cookies ever! So, where was I? Oh yeah, how I met Alezah. *** Mr. and Mrs. White were suddenly gone for a few weeks just after school let out in the middle of June, which was my last year at middle school. Then Mr. White returned home, and he told us that their daughter and her husband had been killed in a car accident. Bummer! He said that Mrs. White would be returning shortly with their 13 year old granddaughter, who was going to be living with them. A few days later, I rode my bike past their house. The Whites were in the front yard, so I did the neighborly thing and waved at them. They smiled and waved back. Alezah wasn't with them. Then, about a week later, my Mom and I were coming out of the local Shop Rite just as they were going in, so we all said "hi" to one another. But again, no Alezah. While we were

loading our groceries in the car, I asked my Mom when we were going to meet this invisible girl. She smiled wryly and told me that it might take some time. ―Grief is a funny thing,‖ Mom explained. ―Sometimes people want to be around other people, and sometimes they just want to be left alone. We'll just have to wait and see how Alezah wants to handle it.‖ she said. The day after that, I finally saw her! Actually, I just caught a glimpse of her. I was putting my bike away when I heard a car door slam, and I looked around to see her get out of her grandparent‘s car and run for the front door of her house. Right then I decided that if I wanted to get a really good look, I would just have to go over there and introduce myself. It took me a couple of days to summon up the courage. I was 14 years old and a pretty nerdy looking kid, complete with glasses and braces - the double whammy - so my self-esteem wasn't exactly high up on the confidence meter. Anyway, I didn't see anyone else beating a path to her door either; although it was probably because it was just two weeks 'til school started, and kids in the neighborhood were out doing their own thing, trying to cram every last minute of fun into the remainder of Summer. Plus, Joel was out of town with his family, which left me with nothing much to do anyway. So I figured, since we were both going to be freshmen in high school come September, who knows? Maybe I'd make a friend. So, around 10 o'clock on a Wednesday morning, wearing my lucky Peyton 34 football jersey, I walked down to her house and rang the doorbell. Surprise! She answered the door! She just looked at me. So, I just looked at her. Then she said - and I'll never forget it - ―What do you want?" What did I want? I don't know! All rational thought had just left my head! "Well?" she said impatiently. "What is it?" I guess I noticed right away that she was a little different, which is probably why I didn't say anything at first. It was obvious to me that her skin was a little darker than mine, and her hair was way curly and stuck out in all directions. "Ummmm." I said, stalling for time. "Ummmm." she repeated sarcastically.

Luckily, I found my voice in the nick of time because I think she was going to close the door in my face! "MynameisMikeandIlivedownthestreetandIthoughtIwouldcomeover andintroducemyself!" Oh great! It didn't really come out of my mouth that fast, did it? "What did you say?" Alezah asked. NO! I thought in a panic. Do I have to repeat it? She must have sensed that I was flustered, because she said, "I got the Mike part, what was the other part?" This time I was able to speak normally and I told her the rest. Then I said what I thought was appropriate, given what I knew about her situation. "I'm sorry to hear about your parents." All I can say was it appeared to me as if the color just drained from her face, so what I said next was probably the STUPIDEST thing I have ever said to anyone…ever! I said, "You‘re turning a little white. Are you okay?" She looked at me in amazement. repeated.

"I'm turning a little white?" she

Before I had a chance to say another thing, she just went off on me. "What is that?" she yelled at me. "Your idea of a sick joke?" She kept going. "I've been called a lot of things - half breed, 50/50, butter cream, cafe au lait, high yella, cookies and cream, halfie, Oreo, mutt, salt and pepper, zebra and you want to know if I'm turning a little white? Did you just come over here to insult me? And if that‘s the best you've got, it‘s pretty lame.‖ At this point, Alezah paused to draw a breath. She was shaking with rage. I didn't know what to say, so I turned around and started to walk down the path to the street. Then I stopped. Damn it, I was mad! Really mad! I didn't say anything wrong! SHE was the one who misinterpreted what I said! I turned around and I shouted back, "Hey! What's your problem?" Great come-back huh? Well, at least it stopped her from slamming the door. She kind of paused, wondering what was going to come out of my mouth next. Frankly, so did I.

I yelled again. "You know, I thought I was doing something nice by coming over here, introducing myself, and trying to be friendly. Your grandfather told me about your parents, so ‗I‘m sorry' seemed like the right thing to say. Geeze! Maybe I didn't say it the right way, but you kinda went pale, and I thought you were going to throw up! I have no idea what all that crap was about Oreos and zebras! Is that code or something, or are you just plain rude?" I stopped shouting because I was out of breath as well. Alezah just stared at me and said nothing. "Oh well, I tried." I muttered to myself, and again I turned to walk away. This time, I heard a small voice behind me say something. "What did you say?" I asked, still facing the street and wanting desperately to run all the way home. "I said I'M SORRY!" I heard it loud and clear this time. I turned around again. A guy could get dizzy doing this all day. "Okay." I said simply. She invited me in for a soda. We walked past her grandparents in the front room. Geeze! They probably heard everything! But they just smiled at me, and didn't say a word. I was tempted to ask Mrs. White if she'd baked any cookies, but now just didn't seem like the right time... I followed Alezah into the kitchen, where she got two bottles of Coke out of the fridge and handed one to me. We both sat down at the kitchen table and silently sipped our drinks. Then she looked up and at my jersey and said, "So, you're a fan of Sweetness?" Well, what do you know? She was a Bears fan! I was trying to put together a decent answer, when abruptly she said, "I'm biracial, did you know that?" Whoa! What was I supposed to say now? The last time I opened my mouth, she practically ripped out my tongue! I just looked at her, so she continued. "I was born in Chicago. My father was black and my mother was white. My father was a professor at Northwestern.‖ I nodded, so she kept talking. "My mother was a doctor, and they met when he came to the hospital where she worked. My Dad had tripped and broken his ankle, and she set the break. While he was waiting to be discharged, they started talking and then he asked her out to dinner." She paused. "They were married three months later." Then, Alezah smiled. It was obvious to me that she loved her parents very much and still missed them a great deal.

She went on. "My parents were always protective of me, but they were also honest with me about the problems they had to deal with because of their mixed marriage. They had friends of course, but people they didn't even know felt it was their right to verbally abuse them on a fairly regular basis. They tried to shield me from the insults and stuff when I was younger, but I learned pretty fast that there are some small minded people in this world who really believe that they are better than anyone else, and have no problem saying it out loud. To people like that, I'm different - no good and unimportant." Wow! I thought to myself. Some people can be such jerks! She looked down and got real silent for a few minutes. I still didn't know what to say. Then she spoke again. "Last June, my parents drove to Detroit for an academic conference, so my grandparents came and stayed with me for a few days. On the way home from the conference, their car was hit by a drunk driver, and they were killed instantly." She sighed. "I'm glad I was with Nanna and Pop when I found out. They have been so good to me. I don't know what I would have done without them." Again she fell silent. I didn't think words would help at this moment, so I just reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed mine back. And that's how our friendship began. *** After that initial, awkward day, things between us got a whole lot better. I showed her around Lake Forest a little bit. When Joel got back, I introduced them to each other, and he and I showed Alezah where the Rec. Center and the Lake Forest Library was. Then, we all hung out together at Forest Park Beach until school started. On the first day of school, Joel and I introduced her to some of our friends and everything seemed fine, or so I thought. But I quickly discovered that there are jerks everywhere, and I actually knew a few, much to my surprise. I have to tell you though, Luke Denman was the biggest jerk of all. I had known Luke Denman for a few years, although I would definitely not call us friends. He was a couple of years older than me and he lived in my neighborhood because his father was the City Councilman for Ward 4. I can't ever recall when he didn't make some kind of snarky comment to me if he saw me anywhere in town. I just learned to ignore him, although you

couldn‘t miss him. He had long, greasy looking hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a really loud laugh, so if I saw him or heard him coming, I'd just cross the street or duck inside a store or something. Then he got a part time job at the Burger Barn, but nothing changed. Believe me, if there was a place in town that served better burgers, I'd go there in a heartbeat! When he served me, he would call me either tin grin or four eyes. And if I was with Joel, Luke would call him the Heeb. Amazingly, when the owner, Mr. Chin was around, Luke was super nice and acted like he was our best friend! So, back to the first few weeks of high school. Until we got there, I just assumed that Luke saved all of his name calling and abuse for Joel and me. But Luke had already been at Lake Forest High School for a couple of years. Plenty of time for him to use his "charm" on other kids. Plus, he was the tight end on Lake Forest's football team, so that gave him a bit of leverage at school, which he used to his full advantage. Luke hung out with Warren Halliday, a short kid for his age, with bright red hair. He seemed more like a brownnoser than a friend. According to Warren, Luke could do no wrong and he‘d agree with anything and everything Luke had to say. When they weren't in class, they would just cruise the school together looking for victims for their unpleasant sense of humor. Sometimes Luke's girlfriend, Linda Wilcox would be with them, although I never heard her say anything mean. She was kinda cute with short blond hair. What on earth did she see in Luke? It wasn't long before my group of friends all had nicknames, courtesy of Luke and Warren. There was Joel of course. In addition to calling him the Heeb, whenever they went by him, one of them would invariably pretend to sneeze. But instead of saying ―achoo” they would say ―aJew!” Then there was Darin McFadden. Okay, so he was a little overweight, but he's not huge or anything. Luke would call him Darin McFatty. Next, Victor Burrata got caught in their crosshairs. He became Victor Burrito. I guess my other friends Rick Costello, Matt Todd and Greg Dawson, weren't worth the effort of thinking up a special name so they become dork, jerk and loser respectively. I wonder now why we all ignored Luke and didn't speak up. It was probably a combination of fear plus the feeling that there was nothing that could be done to stop him. After all, he wasn't beating us up or anything. I

never heard of any girls getting harassed with a stupid nickname though. That is, until Alezah. I was in two classes with Alezah and Joel was in three, and most of the time we all sat together at lunch. Alezah had made a new friend now; Wendy Wilcox, the sister of Linda. Wendy was also blonde and pretty, and had a really nice smile. One day during lunch hour, Joel, Victor, Alezah, Wendy and I were all sitting together when Linda walked over to her sister to remind her of her dentist's appointment after school. Luke suddenly showed up and stood next to Wendy. He smirked at Linda and then he looked over at Alezah and said, "I know who you are." You know that feeling you get when you know somethingâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s going to happen? Kind of like that saying about waiting for the other shoe to fall? Well, that's how I was feeling right about then. Luke was grinning spitefully at Alezah. Then he asked, "You live with the Whites, don't you?" Before she had a chance to reply, Luke looked her up and down and said, "I guess that makes you not quite white?" Wendy and Linda both gasped in a combination of shock and surprise, and then Linda grabbed hold of Luke's arm and practically dragged him away from the table. We could all hear him laughing as he walked away. Wendy was really upset and kept apologizing over and over to Alezah, as if the fact that her sister was dating Luke made her guilty as well. Alezeh just shook her head and looked down at the lunch table. "It's not your fault," she told Wendy. "Just forget about it." But forgetting about it was not gonna happen, because for some reason Luke decided that Alezah was now his favorite target, and his acid tongue was relentless. And just like with Mr. Chin at the Burger Barn, Luke could be clever. Over the course of the next week or so, whenever and wherever he saw Alezah at school, he would yell out loudly, "Hey, NQW, how's it going today?" You see, he wasn't out-and-out insulting Alezah by calling her NQW, so no teacher stepped in to stop him, and after a while more and more kids laughed along with him. I didn't know what to do, and I felt like a fool. After all, Alezah was my friend and friends are supposed to look out for one another, right? She kept

telling Joel and me over and over to just let it go. She said if we didn't react, then eventually Luke would get tired and start picking on somebody else. We knew that Alezah was right. Luke would eventually give up taunting her, and he would find someone else to torment. But that really wasn't solving the problem was it? Nope, I decided. Something had to be done. I thought about it for a couple of days and by the time I got home from school on Thursday afternoon, I knew that the time to remain silent was over. When my Dad got home from work, I told him that I had something really important to discuss with him and Mom. After dinner, the entire family went into the living room. David complained a little because he wanted to watch TV, but I thought what I had to say was important enough to include him. They all listened quietly as I started to talk. I started slowly and awkwardly at first, then the words just poured out of me, and I told them everything; from when Luke first started bothering me and Joel, to right up until this week with Alezah. When I finished, no one said a word. Well, except David, who said, "Holy Cow!" Mom looked at Dad with a worried look on her face. Then Dad stood up quickly. At that moment, he seemed much taller than he really was, and if I had to describe the look on his face right then, I'd have to say that it was a cross between anger and disgust. He looked down at me, sitting on the sofa and barked, "Stay there!" Stay here? I was confused. Where did he think I was going to go? I live here! Dad walked quickly out of the living room and down the hallway. A couple of seconds later I heard the front door open and then slam shut. I looked over at Mom, whose brow was creased in a frown that seemed to have taken over her entire face. She just shook her head at me, giving me the "don't ask me any questions, just do as you're told" look. So, I spent the next 10 minutes or so looking around the room. I watched David squirm on the sofa next to Mom. He knew he couldn't go anywhere either. I looked into the hearth and wondered how many more weeks it would be before we lit our first fire. Then I glanced at the big framed family portrait on the opposite wall and made a mental note to talk to my parents about having another one taken, since I appeared to be about eleven in this photo, which would make David about nine. While I was in this meditative state, I heard the front door open and then the low murmur of several voices in the hallway. Then my father appeared

again, with a parade of people behind him. What was going on? There was Mr. & Mrs. Silverman, followed by Joel, Katie and Karen; behind them were Mr. & Mrs. White, with Alezah. Every one of them looked really serious, but they didn't say a word. When everyone was seated, my father walked over to stand by me, and then he said, "Thank you all for coming over this evening on such short notice. I felt that it was very important for you to hear what Mike has to say." I looked up at my father in amazement. He wanted me to repeat what I had told him? Geeze! I was seriously beginning to regret my decision to speak up. Then I looked over at Alezah and she nodded slightly and smiled. Suddenly I found my voice, and repeated everything that I had told my family. The Silvermans and the Whites all listened in stoic silence. Even Katie and Karen didn't speak, and that hardly ever happened. After I stopped talking, I turned to my Dad. He was smiling down at me and then he patted me on the back. Wow, did that feel good! My father spoke again. "I think you'll all agree that we have to take immediate action on this situation." Everyone in the room quietly nodded, as if a silent pact had just taken place. He continued, "I propose that we pay Councilman Denman a visit as soon as possible." Again there was unanimous agreement. Mom got up then and asked if anyone wanted a cup of coffee. The adults all moved into the kitchen and Joel, Alezah, the twins, David and I stayed behind in the living room. Katie Silverman looked at me and spoke. "That was very brave of you, Mike." Karen echoed, "Very brave." Then Joel said pragmatically. "You know, when Luke finds out that our parents went to see his father, we're gonna be dead meat." I gulped and swallowed hard. I really hadn't thought that far ahead. But it was Alezah who said firmly, "No, we won't. Luke is done at Lake Forest High." Boy, I hoped she was right! The next morning my father phoned Councilman Denman's office and requested an appointment to speak with him on a personal matter. When he told the councilman's secretary that what he had to say concerned Luke, he was given an appointment for 4 p.m. that very afternoon. When I got home from school my father was waiting for me. I was surprised to learn that he wanted me to come to the meeting as well! I felt a little better when he told me that Mr. White was coming with Alezah and Mr. Silverman was bringing Joel.

When we arrived at the councilman's office his secretary looked up at us and stated, "You're here about Luke, right?" Then she kind of made a face and shook her head. Joel and I were standing close together and we both looked at each other. I just knew we were thinking the same thing. She already knew what an idiot Luke was! She showed us into Councilman Denman's office. I had seen him on television and in the newspaper, but I had never met him in person. He was shorter and stockier than I expected, and he had a definite comb over. I couldn't help but wonder if Luke would look the same when he got older. That thought made me smile a little. Councilman Denman shook everybody's hand and when he got to me, I noticed that it was all sweaty. He motioned for us all to sit down, and then said in a jovial tone, "Well, what can I do for you nice people today?" My father was very polite and started by saying, "Thank you for seeing us all on such short notice, Councilman. We're all looking forward to a swift resolution to this situation." Was it just my imagination, or did the Councilman's eyes narrow just a little bit? My father continued. "My son and his friends have been bothered by some of the things that your son Luke has been saying to them, and we all feel that as his father, you should be aware of it, and help to put a stop to it." "Of course, of course!" the councilman said genially. "Please, tell me what Luke has done now." Hey! Did the councilman say â&#x20AC;&#x2022;nowâ&#x20AC;&#x2013; as in again? My father ignored the reference and continued. "I'd like to have my son explain, if you don't mind?" The councilman nodded, so for the third time in less than 24 hours, I repeated my story. After I stopped speaking, the councilman started smiling. Then he started speaking quickly, with what I can only describe as relief in his voice. "You'll have to excuse Luke; he thinks he's such a comedian!" Councilman Denman chuckled, then went on to say, "It's obvious to me that your kids don't have the same sense of humor that he does, so I'll have a word with him this evening and we'll sort this whole thing out." Then the councilman sat back in his chair still smiling broadly, with his hands folded over his ample stomach.

It was Mr. White who spoke first. With a slow measured tone, he said to the councilman, "I believe that youâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;re mistaken, Councilman Denman. We are not talking about humor here. We are talking about vile and insensitive remarks directed at these children and many other students at Lake Forest High School. Your son's behavior is reprehensible, and I for one will not stand for it any longer." The rest of us sort of murmured our assent. Still grinning, the councilman replied, "I really think that you folks are making a mountain out of a mole hill here!" Then he looked directly at Alezah and said condescendingly. "Honey, you're such a pretty little thing, perhaps my son has a crush on you!" Then he winked at her! Alezah's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Councilman Denman," she said calmly. "I can assure you that your son does not have a crush on me. Furthermore, I know and you know that what he said to me was the equivalent of a racial slur!" "Oh come on now, honey!" the Councilman protested sweetly. He was now trying to cajole her into accepting his explanation. "I don't think that not quite white is anything to get upset about! I mean, it's obvious to me and everyone here that you're not, so I think my son was merely stating a fact!" At that moment, I was really glad that my father had quick reflexes, because I think Mr. White was about to jump over the councilman's desk if Dad hadn't stood in his way. I swear the look my father gave the councilman could have bored a hole right through him! With barely suppressed fury in his voice he said. "I'm really sorry to hear you say that Councilman Denman. Aren't you up for re-election next year? Perhaps our district might have to reexamine our choices for this position, don't you think? It appears to me that perhaps you're not quite...the man for this job." The councilman jumped up, smacking his palms flatly on top of his desk. Then he stared belligerently at my father and said, "Are you trying to intimidate me sir? Because if you are, I can assure you that I don't take kindly to threats!" My father just stared right back at him and then curtly replied, "Threats, Councilman Denman? On the contrary; I was merely stating the facts as I see them. Perhaps my friends and neighbors in Ward 4 might be open to listening to these facts, you never know." Those last words just seem to hang in the air, and I have to tell you that I was so proud of my Dad at that moment, I almost felt like crying. Geeze!

The councilman broke the heavy silence when he said soberly, "I will talk with my son tonight." You won't have any more trouble with him." We all left the councilman's office, smiling and grinning. I just wanted to high five everybody, but I settled for giving my Dad a hug. YES! It was finally over! Yeahâ&#x20AC;Śright! *** Joel, Alezah and I were all in great spirits as we arrived at school on Monday morning. Word got around quickly, and at lunchtime our table was practically surrounded by kids who wanted to know all the details. There were even a few who apologized to us all for laughing when Luke insulted us. That felt pretty cool. Lunch time was nearly over when Luke appeared, with Warren in tow as usual. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but I assumed that he was going to keep on walking. I was wrong. He made a beeline for our table. The other kids just backed away and made room for him to approach us. Now he was standing in front of me, and the look on his face said it all. It was obvious that his father must have talked to him, and he was not pleased. He sneered at all three of us as he spoke. "So, did you have an interesting meeting with my father on Friday afternoon?" Luke laughed derisively and none of us said a word. "Did you think your little talk with him was going to get me in trouble or something? Well, it didn't. My old man knows better than to tell me what to do!" He ended his tirade with a threat. "Just wait, all three of you! You thought it was bad before? Now it's going to be way worse! I am going to be your worst nightmare!" "NO, YOU ARE NOT!" It was Alezah speaking - make that shouting and she was mad! She stood up and continued in a very loud voice. "You are going to leave us alone and take your juvenile, unfunny sense of humor with you!" Suddenly, all around us, you could hear muffled giggling. Hey! Kids were laughing at Luke, not with him! Luke looked at Alezah with surprise. It was obvious that no one had ever talked to him like that before. Then his face quickly darkened in anger. You could almost read his thoughts. He was not going to let Alezah get away with embarrassing him in public.

He practically snarled as he started to reply. "Listen to me you little light skinned Nig.......................... "LUCAS PAUL DENMAN!" It was Mrs. Thornton, the Principal. One of the other students must have run to the office when they saw Luke approach our table. "MY OFFICE, NOW!" Well, long story short, after Mrs. Thornton took our statements, and after a few more students came in to add their personal accounts to the complaints against him, Luke was suspended from school for two weeks. Victor and Darin told us all later that they were in the hallway by the office when Luke was picked up by his father, who according to Darin was ripping him a new one and saying stuff like, "I better not lose the election because of your stupidity!" That sounded like real fatherly concern, didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;t it? A few days later we found out that Luke was dropped from the Lake Forest High School football team. It almost kinda made me feel sorry for him. NOT! That weekend, Joel, Alezah and I were just coming home after riding our bikes around the neighborhood when my Dad asked if we wanted to go to the Burger Barn for lunch. We were a little undecided, due to the possibility that you-know-who might be working that day, but my Dad assured us that there wasn't going to be any trouble. So, we all piled into the car along with Mom and David, and off we went. We didn't see Luke when we walked in, and I was a little relieved. We found a table and Joel and I took everyone's order and started towards the counter. Three guesses who we saw coming from the back of the kitchen? Oh great, just great! Joel and I paused mid-way to the counter, and then Joel spoke. "Come on, we can't let him think that we're afraid of him!" So we kept walking. "Hello Mike! Hello Joel! Welcome to the Burger Barn; may I take your order please?" Luke was smiling brightly at us. Us? This is some kind of joke, right? I stole a quick look over my shoulder and saw my father watching us all. Okay, now it made sense!

We gave Luke our food order and he totaled it up, then he said quietly, "That will be $41.43 you dweebs!" Huh? What happened to Mike and Joel? Another furtive look over my shoulder confirmed that Dad was now deep in conversation with Mom and Alezah and wasn't watching our interaction anymore. I handed Luke $50.00 and he rang up the bill. What he said next shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. "Thanks for the generous tip, buddy! I really appreciate it!" I actually thought about walking away without the change but then I looked at Joel who was faintly shaking his head at me. I turned back to Luke and said firmly, "You're going to have to give me that money back.‖ "Or what?" he said truculently. "What are you going to do, tin grin?" I tried again. "My father will want his change." "Well, he ain't getting it, okay? You're going to tell him that you gave the change to me as a tip, because if you don't, I will find a way to hurt you - real bad!" I couldn‘t think of anything more to say, but thank goodness for best friends because Joel spoke up. "So Luke," he said, sounding inoffensive. "You're threatening my friend, and you're also stealing his money? "Damn right, you Heeb!" Luke said smugly. Joel didn't even acknowledge the slur, he just stared innocently at Luke and then he slyly turned to me and winked, slighting inclining his head towards Luke. That‘s when I knew just what I had to do. I found my voice and asked, "What do you think Mr. Chin would have to say about that?" "Ha!" Luke laughed maliciously. "That slanty-eyed idiot! He's so stupid he doesn't even know that it's me who steals from the cash register!" He thinks I'm his best employee, and he believes anything I tell him!" "Not anymore, he won't." A dangerously calm voice spoke up from behind Luke. It was Mr. Chin, who had come up behind him and was listening to the entire conversation! I looked sideways at Joel and winked back at him. He had seen Mr. Chin approach, which is why I got the signal, and now he was wearing the best gotcha look on his face that I've ever seen! Needless to say, Luke was fired from his job at the Burger Barn, and the councilman came to some kind of deal with Mr. Chin so that the Denman name wouldn't appear in the newspaper. But the best part of Luke's comeuppance happened when he returned to school after his suspension. Our whole group was eating lunch together when in walked Luke, and he headed straight towards us! This guy doesn't quit does he? He was almost to our table, when suddenly someone in the

back of the lunchroom yelled out, "Hey, it's Lucas Paul Denman!" Then, quietly at first, it began. Louder and louder it got, until it seemed that everyone in the lunch room was chanting Luke the Puke, Luke the Puke, Luke the Puke over and over and over again! Luke spun around, trying to figure out who started it but it was impossible to tell. There were just too many kids laughing and clapping their hands. Joel, Alezah, and I were silent. After all, we already knew what it was like to be teased and picked on. But, we‘re not perfect. All three of us were enjoying this scenario a lot! Luke gave us one last wrathful look, and then he walked out of the lunchroom. And you know what? He never bothered me or anyone else at Lake Forest High School again. *** So that's my story. I'll be 26 years old in a couple of months. I'm still in school, and I‘m going to be a lawyer, just like my Dad. In fact, I‘ll be working with him. He‘s already had the new sign – Pierce & Son, Attorneys at Law – hung at the office. Alezah is still in school as well. Her major is Women's Studies, which covers race, class, and gender discrimination. Go figure! Joel is still my best friend, and a marketing genius! He bought the original Burger Barn a few years ago, and now he has five other locations as well, including a Kosher outlet in Skokie! Alezah and I are a couple now and have been for several years. We plan on getting married after we both graduate. I don't know where Luke Denman ended up. His family moved away from Lake Forest after his father lost his re-election bid - to Alezah's grandfather! Christmas was a few weeks ago, and one of the gifts I gave Alezah was this adorable black and white bundle of fluff that, when she stands still; you would recognize as a puppy. Alezah named her Beige. Of course I knew immediately why she chose that name. When Alezah and I take her out for a walk, we always seem to meet someone who comments on how cute she is, and then they will reach down to pet her. Invariably, they will ask what her name is. When Alezah tells them, they look surprised and of course they want to know why she was given that particular name. Alezah always smiles slightly before she answers, and then she simply says, ―Because; she's not quite white…‖

Jennifer Huyunh

KM Powers

Old School by Arika Elizenberry My generation gets a bad rap especially when it comes to music, that we have no taste despite being available to it. I enjoy the music of my generation from the ‗90s, but that isn‘t solely where you‘ll find me. My old soul can be found in the 1920s with Lady Day, hearing her sultry voice that blew audiences away. If that doesn‘t do maybe B.B. King will, the thrill won‘t be gone from what I feel. Sometimes I duck walk along with Chuck Berry, then leave on a jet plane with Peter, Paul, and Mary. My favorite is funkin‘ with Parliament-Funkadelic, the sounds of the seventies never make me sick. Sade and Prince I know I‘m in for a treat, or even DeBarge where the action is at my feet. Chicago, L.T.D., and America need I say more? You see where my penchant lies old school to the core.

Passing by Dylan Gallop Silence. A moment slides through the cracks in Time's chapped leather lips as he sips awkwardly, too modest to broadcast the churning gurgle of his timepiece straw drawing from the hourglass the last precious seconds of our glass-castle mortality, dripping softly into the spastic droning, Droning DRONING of the tired grandfather clock, ticking away at eternity.

Melissa Jeralds

Windows by Dylan Gallop Raincoat smiles shroud storm-cloud eyes, hiding dry behind a latex curtain, as hurricane whispers of revolution swirl gracefully, out of control, too powerful to capture behind closed lips. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;ll have to keep my windows closed.

Pricilla Arevalo

Room for Rent by Sarah Kelly Sitting quietly on the floor of my room, my bloodshot eyes skim the pages of Molecular Biology by Robert F. Weaver, my most hated text book. With my highlighter gently resting between my fingertips, I make small dashes across the page with practiced precision. After a lifetime of highlighting text, the neon marker has become like a natural extension of my own body. It wraps the black words in a fluorescent banner as my eyes continuously search for more important information from the book. Suddenly, I hear a loud crash from the kitchen, jolting me out of my studying trance. A wave of cursing floats up through the vents, all uttered with considerable force by my roommate, Crystal. After a minute or two, the cursing subsides into unintelligible muttering from the floor below as she evidently finds her footing. I sigh and slide my fingers under my glasses and give my strained eyes a quick rub. I adjust my glasses again, glancing at my watch. It reads 4:30 pm. Crystal was out till nearly 6 a.m., so I‘m really not surprised that she slept so late. Crystal tends bar on weekday nights at McKinnon‘s, which is just down the street from our apartment. Her shift usually ends by 3 a.m., but she will often hang around the pub after her shift is over to try and pick up guys. Some nights she succeeds, and brings them back here and sleeps with them on the pullout couch that is her bed. But the last few nights, I have been woken up from a deep sleep to the sound of her crying alone downstairs. Sighing again, I stretch my legs, get up off the floor of my bedroom, and venture to the living room. I try to do so quietly because, if I‘m too loud, it will undoubtedly upset the hung-over beast, my roommate. I reach the bottom of the narrow stairs, which deposit me into the living room. I cast a disgusted look around the room that also serves as Crystal‘s bedroom. Her clothes are scattered across the floor and piled up on the back of the couch like some kind of sleeping monster. I can‘t tell which clothes are clean and which are dirty, and I doubt she can either. Empty bottles of various cheap liquors stand guard like tiny soldiers around the edges and in every corner of the room. Crumpled packs of cigarettes of every imaginable brand overflow from the rim of the small trash can next to the side table, and spill out on to the creamturned-grey stained carpet. A chest of drawers is pushed into the corner with

an old tube TV on it. I shake my head and think, I’m glad I don’t have any friends, because I would be way too embarrassed to invite them over here. Looking towards the kitchen table, I see Crystal sitting on one of the miss-matched plastic chairs, her forehead resting on the placemat in front of her. She is wearing a black tube top that barely contains her large breasts, and a red skirt- the same clothing she wore out last night. She isn‘t a small girl by any means, but she dresses in a way that accentuates her good features, and does a good job hiding her weight. ―Hey… Rough night?‖ I offer as I ease past her towards the fridge. She only groans in response, not lifting her head off the table. I carefully open the fridge door and remove the leftovers I came down here for. I pop the top off the Tupperware lid, and look down at the chicken fried rice it contains. Pushing my dinner into the microwave, I slam the little door a bit too loud, causing Crystal to let out a hiss. ―Dude, that was loud. Do you have any aspirin or anything? My head is killing me,‖ she says as she slowly lifts her head off the table. Her eyes are glassy, and the placemat has left an imprint on her forehead. I smile a bit at how pathetic she looks, taking some misplaced pity on her. I nod and walk back up the stairs while my food spins in the microwave. In the small bathroom we share, Crystal‘s long brown hair covers every surface of the tiny room. It even sticks to my socks as I walk towards the medicine cabinet. I open it, pushing Crystal‘s many half-full containers of weight loss pills around, and find the aspirin. I return to the ground floor, pill bottle in hand. I again pick my way through the jungle of the living room and round the corner into the kitchen. My eyes widen as they meet Crystal, who is shoveling my chicken fried rice into her mouth. I gasp and she looks up at me, totally unaware of my horror. ―May, this stuff is bomb; you should make this all the time,‖ she says through a mouthful of food. My jaw opens to let out a yell, but only a small squeak comes out. I stare at her as she tips the bowl over her open mouth, scraping the last of

the rice in. With a satisfied belch, she puts the spoon and Tupperware down. She stands up, walks towards me, takes the pill bottle out of my hand and pops three in her mouth. Walking into the living room, she picks up a halfempty bottle of Wild Turkey off the floor and uses a swig of it to wash the pills down. She plops herself on the fold-out couch and flicks on the TV. I stand frozen in the kitchen as my anger starts to rise. I look down at the empty Tupperware and spoon, snatch them off the table and throw them with force into the empty sink. The clatter makes Crystal glance over, and my gaze meets her. She gives me a small eye roll. My breath comes in short and ragged, and my hands ball up into fists. Stomping past her, I shove a few piles of her crap out of the way and head towards the stairs. I continue my stomping as I ascend to my room. Pushing my door open, I slam it behind me. I throw myself down on my bed and grip a pillow in my arms, giving it a tight squeeze. Why are you such a pansy, May-Lin? I scold myself in my own mind. I am not good with confrontation and try to avoid it at any cost. It makes me really uneasy. And I think a part of me is also afraid of Crystal. She outweighs me by at least a hundred pounds. Of course, I‘m all of 98 pounds soaking wet, but it‘s enough to make me frightened. I don‘t mean to be the timid little Asian girl who‘s scared of the big bad white woman, but I guess I am in a way. Mulling this over, I release my grip on the pillow and slide off the twin bed and on to the rug that covers most of my room. My eyes get lost in its muted colors and geometric pattern. I run my fingers over its soft textures, and find a long blonde hair stuck in the fabric. Working it out of the carpet, I start to feel homesick. It‘s probably from one of the many roommates Crystal has had this year. I envy the blonde girl, and wish I had the ability to move out as well. After a few moments, my anger subsides. But I realize I am still hungry. Using the edge of my small dresser as support, I hoist myself off the rug. Shrugging on my green pea coat in preparation for the cold weather I am about to face, I leave the room. Halting at the bottom of the stairs, I look out into the living room and give a sharp look to Crystal‘s sleeping form under the blankets on the couch. Walking over to the TV, I punch the power button and head out the front door. I lock it behind me and start my walk towards the shuttle bus pick-up.

The sun slips below the horizon as I reach the bus stop. I take a seat on the cold metal bench amongst the discarded fast-food wrappers and cast my gaze up towards the sky. It‘s lit with oranges and reds that illuminate the sparse clouds that float by. I look down at my watch, mentally running through the list of pick-up times that I know by heart. The shuttle is one of the reasons I chose to live in this apartment complex. It‘s off campus, but the university runs a bus to and from the surrounding areas for students who, like me, don‘t have cars. That coupled with the cheap rent and the chance at freedom was enough to jettison any second guesses I felt about sharing a one bedroom apartment with a stranger. Looking back on Crystal‘s Craigslist housing ad now, I wish I would have re-considered. It seemed a little too good to be true, and it turned out that my suspicions were correct. I watch the clouds some more as the oranges and reds turned to pinks and purples. The street lights above me flicker uncertainly, not knowing if it is quite dark enough to shine. Just as the shuttle rounds the corner, I feel my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I fumble for it, clicking the answer button. ―Hang on a second,‖ I say to whoever was on the other end of the line. The doors to the bus slide open, and the bus driver smiles at me as I climb the stairs. Giving him a shy wave, I walk to the back of the bus, and sit down. I push the phone back up to my ear again. I can hear a TV playing a Chinese soap opera in the background of whoever is on the line. ―Hello?‖ I say. ―Hello May-Lin, it‘s your mother.‖ ―Oh, hey Mom, what‘s going on?‖ ―I have not heard from you in the last few days, so I wanted to make sure you are alright.‖ ―I‘m fine Mom, thanks for asking. I mean, stuff with Crystal is still terrible, but other than that.‖ ―Are your grades still good?‖

―Yeah, they haven‘t changed from when I talked to you three days ago. Relax.‖ ―That is good to hear. What‘s wrong with Crystal this time?‖ ―Same old stuff, except she‘s been really loud at night lately. Last night when she left the house, I woke up and the faucet in the bathroom was running. It was kind of weird. She was probably late for work and left it on, but I still have to split the bills with her every month! It‘s not fair. She‘s such a terrible roommate; I don‘t know what to do about it. I never say anything to her; I can be so spineless sometimes…‖ ―You should move back in with your father and me, May-Lin. It will be better that way. We miss you. You are our only child. We just worry so much about you. We want you to succeed in life!‖ ―I know, mom. But it‘s okay, I need to know how to live on my own without your help. I really like this school, and I think the independence is good for me.‖ ―Independence. Who ever heard of such a thing? You know in China, young women stay at home when they start university and help take care of their family till they find a husband of their own. Then they have babies, and the parents go to live with the daughter‘s family.‖ ―Well, thank goodness we aren‘t in China, right mom?‖ My mom laughed. ―Yes, thank goodness for that. Oh, May-Lin, you are such a rebel. But I know that is just how you are. You are such a strong woman; you sometimes inspire me. Is that a silly thing to say?‖ ―No, I think it‘s funny. You raised me right I guess. But I gotta go; the bus is almost to my stop. Love you, say hi to dad for me.‖ ―Alright, daughter. Keep up your grades! Bye-bye.‖ I feel homesick as I hang up my phone, and the bus rolls to a stop in front of the college. Picking up my purse and slinging it over my shoulder, I give the bus driver another timid wave as I exit the shuttle. There are only a few people walking around campus- students just getting out of their evening

classes. Most of them wear tired expressions; finals are next week, and everyone is feeling the pressure. They look like a bunch of extras in some low-budget zombie flick I think to myself. Reaching the Student Union, I shuffle over to the deserted convenience store. I decide on a lumpy tuna sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a Coke for dinner. I stride over to the cashier, one hand rummaging in my purse for money. My hand connects with something unexpected, and I pull out a small paperback book. My brow furrows with confusion as I look at the unfamiliar title. I flip it open quickly, thinking I must have put it in my purse when I left the library that day. But there‘s no library stamp on the inside cover, just a name jotted in the bottom corner of the inside cover: Kimberly Raye. Oh, crap, I stole someone’s book! I think to myself. The woman is still watching me expectantly, so I hand her a wrinkled five dollar bill. I shove the paperback into my purse again, and rake my food in after it. Walking out through the double doors, I head into the chilly night, turning up my collar against the biting wind. By the time I reach the apartment, the streets are void of all life. Everyone has hunkered down for the night as the cold front muscles its way into this small college town. Tree branches lash at the starry sky as the wind becomes violent. I reach my front door and hurry inside, sighing with relief on being greeted with an empty house. Crystal must have left for work a little early. I head upstairs to my room, already thinking about what I need to study tonight. Unwrapping myself from my coat, I place my keys on the hook on my bedroom door. I drop my purse onto my bed and a thud resounds as the paper-back book inside connects with the rest of the purse‘s contents. I extract the mysterious book. Again, worry washes over me as I wrack my brain to try and remember whose book I must have taken. I thumb through the pages for a moment. Pausing on a page, I gather that it‘s a cheap romance novel. Its scandalous words seem to jump off the page at me, and I quickly shut the book. Blushing, I shove it in my bag and reach for my biology text book instead. I‘m eager to get those steamy images out of my head.

Within minutes, I‘m lost in a sea of yellow highlighter and black words on white glossy paper as I munch on my sandwich. Hours of flash cards and potato chips go by till I break. I rub my eyelids under my glasses, trying to force my eyes to focus on my watch. It reads 2:47 a.m. Rolling my neck from side to side, I try to work out the kinks. Deciding that‘s enough studying for one night, my jaw shudders under a powerful yawn. I stand up and go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face for the night. Standing in front of the mirror, I groan at my face, thinking about how I am starting to look like a zombie myself. I slide off my glasses and hook them into the front of my shirt, not wanting to put them down on the disgusting bathroom counter. Turning on the faucet, I lower my face, my sore neck protesting. I smooth water onto my cheeks, rubbing at my wind-chapped skin. ―May…?‖ I pull my head upright and turn off the faucet, looking towards the open bathroom door. ―Yeah?‖ I answer into the dark hallway. I listen for Crystal‘s voice, but hear nothing but the slow drip of the faucet into the waiting sink. ―Crystal?‖ I ask as I slide my glasses back on and turn on the hall light. I walk down the stairs and look into the living room. The downstairs light is on, but I don‘t see Crystal. She must have just come by to grab her makeup. God forbid she sleeps over at some strange guy’s house, and her eyeliner gets smudged... I march over to the light switch and give it a sharp flick, my annoyance from her earlier antic re-surfacing, then head back upstairs. After I finish washing my face and brushing my teeth, I return to my bedroom and shut off the light. Crawling into bed, my tired body melts into

the sheets that still vaguely smell like the incense my mother burns back at home. I snuggle down and almost instantly drift off to a restless sleep. ********** At 6:00 a.m., the buzz of my alarm clock jolts me from my sleep. I fumble for the button to silence it, but my hand collides with the romance novel. I crack an eye to give it an incredulous look, sure that I hadn‘t left it there before. My fingers finally find their prize, and I give the button a quick stab. The room is still dark, and the cold makes getting out of bed even harder. After a few minutes of rustling around, I finally throw off the blankets, and the chilly air greets my body. I quickly get ready for the day, grab my peach-colored backpack, and pull my pea coat firmly around myself. My hand reaches instinctually around the back of my door for my keys, but grasps nothing but air. Puzzled, I poke my head around the side of the door and stare at the empty hook. I look all around the floor of my room, and then start to panic. I start to shovel things around in my room, and even sprint down the short hall to search the bathroom. Deciding to wake up Crystal to use her keys, I grab the paperback off my nightstand and run. My footsteps thunder down the stairs, but I halt at the bottom. I remember that Crystal didn‘t stay more than a minute last night, and my fears are confirmed when I round the corner and see her fold-out couch empty. I look at my watch and am horrified that it‘s already 7:03. Casting one last glance around the room for my keys, I sprint into the kitchen in search of a solution. As it comes into view, I notice that some of the cabinets and drawers are wide open, their contents spilled all over the grimy tile floor. Looks like I’m not the only one who misplaced something. I quickly push some of the junk out of the way with my foot, and my eyes fall on my keys, sitting on the kitchen stove. I let out a small cry of relief, grab them, and sprint out the door. I‘m only two minutes late to work, so the head librarian doesn‘t even notice. I scurry behind the desk, head down, and take my seat at circulation. I think back to the scene in the kitchen, and then something pops into my head. Crystal must have snuck in my room last night and taken my keys when she couldn‘t find her own.

That’s why she said my name and then ran out the door so fast last night. Then she left the keys on the kitchen counter, probably too drunk to remember that she stole them in the first place. I shake my head, thinking about how selfish Crystal is. It should have been a red flag when she told me that none of the other roommates she‘s ever had ‗worked out‘. I swallow hard and try not to think about my mom‘s egg drop soup at home or my dad‘s hearty laugh… It is close to 8:30 p.m. when I finally stagger on to the shuttle bus for the ride home. The bus driver greets me in his usual friendly manner, but I just give him a tired nod and sit down. The ride is short, and so is the walk back up to my apartment, but it seems to take an eternity. When I reach my front door, I am again delighted with the sight of an empty house. I smile wearily and trudge up the stairs, put my keys on their hook, then crumple as I lay down on my bed. I fall asleep almost instantly, on top of the blankets, still in my clothing. I am woken by the signature squeak of my bedroom door, and slowly drift back into consciousness. When I roll over to look, my neck screams in pain. My hand shoots up to it and gives it a quick rub, feeling a crick start to form. I finally sit up, still massaging my neck, and I look around the room, only illuminated by the sickly yellow light of the street lamp that filters through my curtains. I blink a few times, and adjust my glasses. I stare at the door for a few moments, and then finally see Crystal‘s shadow as it passes the gap under it. Abruptly, my door knob starts to jiggle as my roommate, probably drunk, struggles to enter my room. ―Are you serious? It‘s unlocked, Crystal,‖ I say to the shuddering door. It stops and I hear her footsteps drag drunkenly down the stairs. I look at the hook on the back of my door and notice my keys are gone from their spot. I stand up sharply from my bed, ready to confront Crystal, and burst from my bedroom right behind her. I feel strong as I enter the kitchen, hoping that I can finally stand up to her. But when I do, I am met with an empty room. I look around, and then go back into the living room, but Crystal is nowhere to be found. I sit down at the

kitchen table and wonder if I should text her or call her so I can yell at her. My stomach knots from the way confrontations always make me feel, and I stare down at the screen of my phone. I sigh loudly and release it from my hands, letting it thud onto the placemat. I’ll wait till I see her face-to-face; she’s probably too drunk right now to even understand me. My thoughts turn to my biology text book, which is waiting patiently for me in my back pack. I groan, grab a granola bar from my cabinet, and head back upstairs to start studying, After an hour of sitting on my floor, surrounded by books, I finally give my tired eyes a rest. I sit listening to the classical music I play in the background when I study, massaging the pulled muscle in my neck gingerly. It‘s really starting to become painful. I pull my purse down off the bed and try to find the aspirin I always keep with me. Ah, crap. The book… I cringe to myself as I pull the small paper-back from my bag. I forgot to try and find its owner while I was at work today. I open up the cover again, reading Kimberly‘s name and wonder if she would even admit to owning such a humiliating novel if I was ever able to find her. I bend the book and let the pages flutter against my fingertips, till they catch on something stuck in between them. It‘s a picture. The faces of two young girls smile up at me, and I realize that one of them is Crystal - only she is about eighty pounds lighter. The date in the bottom corner puts this picture back only two years, and I am stunned by how beautiful she looks. This Crystal looks happy and sober and full of life. I don‘t recognize the other girl in the picture, though. I study the other girl‘s face and long blonde hair, and then place the picture back inside the book. I toss it on top of my open biology text book and concentrate on finding the aspirin. After a moment, I hear the sound of Crystal crying downstairs. She must have snuck in while I was studying. I reach over and turn down my music, listening curiously. The crying stops, and there is a moment of silence, followed by a blood-curdling scream.

My eyes widen and I jump up off the floor, unsure of what to do. I listen for a moment longer, but all I hear is the faint ringing of my own ears. I crack my door open and poke my head into the dark of the hallway. ―C-Crystal?‖ I yell down the stairs. ―Are you okay?‖ But I hear nothing, but the pounding of my heart as I ease out of my room and into the hall. My hands shake as I grip the banister and make my way down the stairs. I reach the bottom of the dark stairs and run a quaking hand along the wall, fumbling for the light. My terror mounts each second, my fingers unable to find the switch. I stare with wide eyes into the darkness of the living room, trying to make out any familiar shapes. Crystal lets out a small sob, and the front door is thrown open abruptly. Cold wind rushes into the apartment. I scream and jerk back, causing my neck to twinge. I finally find the switch and flick it on, but Crystal has already run out of the open front door. Still shaking, I make my way across the room and close the front door tightly. I look around the living room and then sit on the very edge of the couch. Rubbing my neck again, I start to actually worry about Crystal‘s sanity. I know she hasn‘t been doing very well in school the last few weeks, and I fear the stress of finals may have pushed her over the edge. I head to bed quickly, trying to push that thought out of my already worried mind. ********** When morning rolls around, I wake up slowly, glad that it is Sunday. Between work and school, this is my only true free day each week. I lay in bed for a while, making mental lists of all the things I aim to accomplish. I push my glasses onto my face, stand up and stretch, then feel a sudden pressure on my strained neck. I roll my shoulder, trying to make it stop. The pressure increases, making me cough. I feel like I can‘t get enough air in through my throat. My chest constricts, and I let out a choked cry of pain as I grip my neck firmly, rubbing it furiously. After a moment, the pain reduces to a low throb. I roll my head from side-to-side. I should call mom, she’s always has good advice for muscle pain and stuff. I think to myself, still rubbing my neck thoughtfully. I walk quietly down the stairs, unsure if I‘m going to be greeted with a hung-over Crystal this morning. When I reach the living room, I gasp and my hand flies up to cover my mouth. The entire room is trashed. The couch is turned on its side and pushed up against the wall. Crystal‘s clothes are

thrown around, even hanging from the ceiling fan. The TV is face-down on the carpet, a halo of broken glass around it. There are holes punched in the walls and spilled liquor is soaking into the carpet. My fists ball up in rage. I must have slept really hard last night; I didn‘t hear Crystal and her apparent meltdown. I let out a sharp grunt of frustration and stomp into the living room, kicking things as I go. My heart is pounding, and the pain in my neck has returned. I take my phone out of my pocket and start writing a text message to Crystal, my fingers seeming to have a mind of their own. “What the hell is your problem? Come home now. We need to talk.” I press send and stare at the phone screen for a second. It lights up as Crystal responds almost immediately. “Chill out, I’m on campus right now. I’ll be there soon.” I start running through the mental list of all the terrible things she‘s ever done to me as a roommate. I count on my fingers how many times she woke me up in the middle of night with her drunken antics. I think about what a terrible person she is, and how she always treats me like I‘m worthless. She can‘t keep running the show, and I‘m going to tell her so. I crouch down in the kitchen and start to collect up some of the mess. It‘s mostly junk- drawer stuff, bottle caps, match books from McKinnon‘s… But then I find a fat envelope, stuffed with all kinds of papers. I open it and angrily dump it out on the kitchen table. Letters, photos, road maps, and birthday cards spill out. I un-fold one of the hand-written letters, addressed at the top to ―BFF aka Crystal‖. I flip the letter over to see who it‘s from: Kimberly Rae. My eyebrows perk up in surprise, and I snatch up one of the pictures from the envelope. The unfamiliar blonde girl from the paper-back novel is there with her arm slung around Crystal‘s shoulder as they clutch their brightly colored drinks. I skim over some more of the letters and cards, bewildered. They are all from Kimberly. Then I find a letter that is in a small separate envelope. Crystal‘s name is scrawled on the outside, and the words on the page within are written in Kimberly‘s handwriting: I can’t believe you could be so selfish. You laughed at me and told me to get a life. I thought you were my best friend, but now I see that I don’t have

any friends. No one cares. No one listens. I hope you remember that you did this to me. It’s all your fault. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!! My stomach turns at the angry words, and I start to feel nauseous, unable to read any more. I burst up from the chair at the kitchen table, and rake all the papers back into the envelope. I throw it back in the drawer in the kitchen along with the rest of the junk and slam it closed, heart pounding. The front door‘s knob jiggles as Crystal unlocks it and enters the apartment. She looks tired, like she hasn‘t slept in a few days. Her eyes get wide as she looks around the trashed room. ―Uh… okay. Look, May-Lin, can we please talk about whatever it is tomorrow?‖ ―No, we need to hash this out now,‖ I bark at her, my new-found confidence boiling in my blood. ―This has been going on far too long. I‘ve sat here and kept quiet, but I‘m done with that now. I don‘t know what you problem is, but if you have one with me, you need to say so. I don‘t appreciate you coming into my room in the middle of the night, stealing my keys. I don‘t like you leaving your crap down and never cleaning anything. I didn‘t appreciate you disturbing my studying with your crying and screaming last night, and I really don‘t understand why you felt the need to trash our apartment!‖ ―What the hell are you talking about, dude? I haven‘t been here in three days.‖ I feel my heart skip a beat, and I stand frozen, struck dumb. My eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat. Crystal looks at me suspiciously, but I am unable to speak. ―Last time I was home you gave me that aspirin and I left right after that. I‘ve been staying with my friend on campus to crunch for finals…. Oh my God…‖ Crystal‘s face goes from pale to green as she studies me closely. th

―Kimberly. October 28 . It‘s been a year. Sh-she killed herself, May. She hung herself in the upstairs closet with an extension cord. I found her. I found

her swinging there, shoes thumping against the wall,‖ she says in a low, barely audible voice. Tears begin to well up in her eyes as she looks around the messy room. I put the pieces together, but I‘m still frozen in terror, locked in place. I watch her expression change into a horrified stare as she looks past me and into the kitchen. Spinning around, we both watch the kitchen junk drawer open slowly by itself. The contents burst from the drawer, flying into the air. They come crashing down around us, and the envelope thuds as it comes to rest right on Crystal‘s lap. She screams and swats the package away like it‘s a poisonous spider. I finally un-freeze, and sprint towards the front door. I hear a repetitive thudding sound coming from my room that makes me sick to my stomach. Crystal lets out another scream and scrambles to follow me towards the door. The pain in my neck flares up, and the whole apartment begins to shake. Stumbling over the piles of clothing, my bare feet slip in the puddles on the carpet. A loud thud sounds as Crystal goes crashing down to the floor. I feel her hand clench around my ankle, stopping me from reaching the door. Whirling my head around, I look down at her, shaking my leg to try and get free. ―Don‘t leave me! Don‘t leave me with her! She can take you instead!‖ She shrieks at me, face contorted in a horrible snarl. She gives my ankle a sharp tug, and I fall. My head collides with the dresser, and I bounce off it and slide to the floor, my vision starting to swirl. Crystal‘s screams pierce the air. My world fades to black just as I catch a glimpse of long blonde hair. ********** The first thing I notice as my mind pulls itself up from the darkness is that I can taste blood in my mouth. My eyes fly open, but I see nothing but white. I sit up sharply and start to scream. ―May-Lin! It‘s okay! It‘s okay, honey, I‘m here.‖ My screaming stops and I feel a firm weight on my shoulders press down on me. I recognize my mother‘s voice. My eyes adjust to the bright light, and I see the faces of my parents looming over me.

―You‘re in the hospital,‖ my father says to me as I relax slightly and take in the white room around me. ―The doctor said that you might not remember what happened. You went downstairs at your apartment this morning and must have passed out from the shock of what you saw. You hit your head. I don‘t know how to tell you this, honey… But Crystal took her own life. They found her hanging from the ceiling fan in the living room by an extension cord.‖

Courtney Rivas

Poetry and Sleep Deprivation, a Hands-on Case Study by Dylan Gallop Empty words fill a page, profane, incongruous like whiskey in a juice box. With inane congruence to the bitter epiphany that repaid, spelled backwards, is diaper, it would seem that inspiration has clocked out for the night shift. The sheep are left to count themselves.

Paulina Torres

Seeing You, Hearing Music by Brianna Grindland Your actions are clouded by your lack of words Worried mind, shaky smile, sweaty palms I‘m as transparent as glass; subtle as a gun You‘re masqueraded, composed like a ballad The strings and harmonies of your orchestra fill me with life I breathe in your smile You never give anything away Moments as rare as a shooting star; fall like meteors across my sky Glow through the night; Crashing, and setting the horizon ablaze The drums are pounding, or is that my heart Ears ache in the silence Lungs falter in the stillness Tell me – What do you feel?

Melissa Jeralds

The Gathering of the Rejects by Andrea Carter ―Happy Birthday, Steve!‖ The annoying screech of birthday horns invaded my ears as my cousin sloppily blew out the candles on his World of Warcraft designed cake. The blinding flashes of cameras soon followed after, causing me to instantly retreat to the large living room for a spot on the couch. I hated family birthday parties. They were always a waste of time. Instead of hanging out with friends, I somehow managed to get stuck with first class rejects. It never mattered whose birthday it was either. We always ended up gathering at my Aunt Doreen‘s house like a flock of sheep. I think everyone knew she would become offended if we turned down any of her ―friendly‖ offers. She seemed to take a great amount of pride in her financial stability, I guess. She was one of those women who liked to imagine themselves being rich and perfect. But it never occurred to her that she didn‘t have a maid, and her house only managed to look decent and clean on special occasions. The special occasion this time around happened to be my nerd cousin‘s birthday. He was, and still is, the biggest geek that ever walked the face of the earth. I‘ll admit to being ashamed to have him as family. He spoke a lot like a science textbook, and proudly admitted to gaming online as a favorite hobby. My mother would often beg me to be nice to him. I‘m guessing the loser didn‘t have too many friends. And from what I had heard, poor Steve was even tossed in a dumpster a few hours prior to the party that day. He wasn‘t exactly popular with his peers. But it‘s not like anyone could tell by the way he hovered around his presents at the kitchen table. It was as if it had never happened. His chipmunk cheeks were bulging, and his bucktooth smile was blinding everyone in the room. I don‘t even think he managed to brush his hair after the dumping. It looked an awful lot like a bird‘s nest. I was tempted to place an egg on top of it, but luckily for me, I had always managed to have a decent amount of self-control. I had better things to do, anyway- like texting my girlfriend, Yumi.

Planting myself on the couch with my baseball cap dipped over my eyes, I worked on shooting out one text after another on my cellphone. I could hear my youngest cousin, Ben, chasing my aunt and uncle‘s dog around the house. He was only eleven, so I guess that justified his stupidity. He liked to pretend he was some sort of buffed up cop, chasing down dangerous criminals with his trusty Nerf gun. I was hoping he would trip over something, but unfortunately, his balance and ability to maneuver around coffee tables and couches were impressive. ―Luke, aren‘t you going to come watch your cousin open his presents? I think it would be nice for you boys to spend more quality time together. Steve adores you. You know that.‖ Of course my Aunt Doreen would be the first to bother me. Little Steve was her precious son, after all. Her fake smile remained plastered on her face as I lifted my eyes to stare into her own in annoyance. ―Whatever. He probably just got another one of his strategy war games again. If I wanted to hear about battle strategies and soldiers, I‘d go camp out in my US history class.‖ I shrugged, my eyes falling back down to my phone to check for new messages. ―Hmm… Now that‘s not very nice.‖ She reminded me of a kindergarten teacher. My aunt always found it necessary to put her two cents in on how she felt about everything. And God forbid if you decided to say something rotten about either of her kids. She also had a problem with adding the word ‗now‘ to almost everything she said. I guess it made her feel more like the boss of the house. Still, I decided to say close to nothing. Instead, I offered her a caveman grunt of a response before beginning to furiously text once more. Thankfully, she flitted away soon after- probably an attempt to go complain to my mom about my rude behavior. Unfortunately, I wasn‘t left alone for too long. My reject family members soon began to gather in the living room with their presents in hand. I had hoped to be away from Steve when he opened his birthday gifts, but it became obvious that my annoying aunt had decided to bring the celebration away from the kitchen. The upstairs section of the house was off limits, so

any hope for freedom I had was gone. My phone was soon snatched away as well. Apparently, my mother agreed with Aunt Doreen about my uncaring attitude and decided to take away the very source of my entertainment. This left me stuck on the couch, forced to watch and wait as everyone settled in. Steve made himself comfortable on the carpeted floor, surrounding himself with his mountain of presents. His fingers seemed to be aching to tear apart the gift wrapping. My pudgy aunt stood near the smallest couch closest to the entrance of the room. I could hear her quietly discussing healthy diet plans with my mother in their joint effort to lose weight. My uncle, known as ‗Big Steve,‘ was lazily sitting in his favored armchair. Like me, he was struggling to show interest. Most of his attention rested on the giant flat screen television in the far corner. It would have been nice if my uncle showed appreciation for actual sports. Instead, he seemed content watching golf. Sinking myself down further into the cushy couch, I watched in annoyance as a Nerf dart zipped past my eyes, plunking into the fleeing family dog. I cringed as Benny staggered by, his toy gun in hand. He looked ready to hunt that poor thing down to the ends of the earth. Unfortunately for him, Aunt Doreen noticed the ―playful‖ abuse taking part, and took control as usual. ―Now, Benny. Sit down. You can play with the dog later, okay? It‘s time to focus on Steven while he opens his presents.‖ Leave it to my aunt to ruin a small child‘s happiness. Ben stared at her for a good while, but finally gained enough intelligence to do as he was told. Of course, I was still trying to figure out why Benny was even here. My other aunt was nowhere in sight. Most likely she had dropped him off, ditched him, and drove to the nearest store to shop for clothes. Our whole family agreed that she never should have brought children into the world. Her attention for them was close to zero. ―Can I open them now, mom?‖ My nerdy cousin impatiently pulled a wrapped box close to his chest, staring up at her with pathetic puppy eyes. It was definitely a face that only a mother could love. ―Of course, Steven. Just make sure you read the cards first and thank everyone for their gifts.‖

For someone who was turning sixteen, Steve sure was turning out to be a disgusting suck up. At least his younger sister, Julie, had a becoming rebellious streak growing within her. Even as I looked at her sitting across from me on the opposite couch, I could see her becoming restless. I had a hunch she was aching to rush upstairs and call her new girlfriend. Inwardly, I couldn‘t wait for the day my chubby aunt would find out her precious daughter was a lesbian. In fact, I was pretty sure that her son was gay too. It was only a matter of time before little Steve found a fitting nerd partner to hang around with and smooch. The time it took to get through the presents was horribly long. My butt had already become numb from sitting on the couch, and the occasional girly squeals that came from the birthday boy were giving me a headache. Ben was back to shooting his Nerf gun darts at the family dog, and my lesbian cousin was irritating me with a constant, impatient tapping of her foot. The living room was definitely turning out to be too small for all of this. If Aunt Doreen hadn‘t been such a pack rat, she could have gotten rid of half of the furniture crammed inside. It wouldn‘t have killed her to draw the curtains either. The sun felt as though it were literally baking my skin. ―Alright! Mom, look! Dad got me the newest edition of Dungeons and Dragons!‖ As though my chubby aunt had not been aware of that fact… They probably had bought the dumb game together on one of their coupled outings. ―How many editions does that make it now? Seriously, that‘s the only game he keeps getting without fail every year. It‘s also the only thing he ever wants to play.‖ I didn‘t find any reason to be silent on something that was completely true. It was just too bad my mother didn‘t appreciate my input. ―Luke.‖ ―What?‖ ―Stop it.‖ ―Stop what?‖

My mother instantly gave me a look of desired bloodlust. I do believe she wanted to murder me at that moment. But I thought it was nice of her to know exactly how I felt. Murder had been on my mind throughout the entire birthday party. I had an aching need to strangle almost everyone- Ben, in particular, who had actually dared to shoot one of his stupid Nerf darts at me. ―Can I go upstairs now?‖ Julie whined. Her tapping foot had grown more insistent, and her eyes snapped curiously from her mother to her lounging father. I couldn‘t help but stare at her in awe. She really was beginning to resemble a boy in every way. Her stringy brown hair seemingly got shorter and shorter with each and every visit. I feared next time she would be bald. ―Now, Julie. We still have to cut the birthday cake for your brother. You can wait a little longer.‖ My uncle remained silent through the whole thing. He seemed far too interested in his golf game on the TV. He reminded me a lot of one of those stereotypical, pipe puffing old geezers that took naps in cushy chairs. ―I don‘t want any cake. It hurts my teeth.‖ My cousin pressed on. ―Then you can just have pizza.‖ ―I don‘t want pizza, either. You guys got pineapple. It‘s gross. I only wanted cheese.‖ I resisted the urge to chuck my shoe at Julie. She may have been the rebellious type, but did little to nothing but whine and complain. I almost felt sorry for the poor chick that was dating her. ―Now Julie, there‘s nothing wrong with them. You‘ve eaten pineapples before. Don‘t be stubborn.‖ ―Yeah, I eat pineapples with other fruit, mom. It tastes nasty with pizza sauce.‖ ―Oh my God, just pick the pineapples off then.‖ I couldn‘t help but snap during their argument. How hard was it for my lesbian cousin to comprehend

the art of removing unwanted toppings from a pizza slice? My whole family had the intelligence of rocks. Watching another Nerf dart soar through the air, I gritted my teeth, pulling my baseball cap further over my head. I was getting a pounding headache from all the chaos ensuing around me. Steve was starting to whine at the lack of attention he was getting. His puffy cheeks looked about ready to explode. And despite my ‗friendly‘ advice to Julie on the pineapple pizza, she continued to complain to my aunt about her need for cheese. My uncle paid no attention to any of us, of course, and my mom stood speechless in the corner. Some birthday party this was turning out to be. ―Can I have my phone back now?‖ My eyes roamed pathetically over to my mother. I had no interest in cake or pizza. I just wanted to go camp out in our car and wait for the crappy party to be over with. ―Luke.‖ ―What?‖ ―Stop it.‖ ―Stop what?‖ Déjà vu. It happened every time I was around my parents; my mom in particular. Repeating themselves seemed to be one of their favorite hobbies. I merely entertained them by doing the same. Leaning further back into the couch to resist the urge to flee the living room, I continued to watch the madness all around me. The golf game that my uncle was mesmerized by somehow was beginning to catch my interest. It was nothing compared to baseball, but it sure as hell beat watching The Brady Bunch wannabes all around me. Still, golf could only stay so interesting. I was growing restless… and Steve‘s nerdy, inviting gestures to play his new strategy game was making me feel nauseous. I was beginning to think my escape from the family prison would never come.

It wasn‘t until Benny finally collided with the center coffee table did I gain some inner hope. Not only was I now free from watching Nerf darts fly around, but the terrible accident gave me the perfect chance to make my escape. Staring down at my bundled up cousin with his beloved Nerf Gun, I watched the tears suddenly bubble up in his eyes. It was only a matter of time before he would begin to wail. I just had to patiently wait for it. It served him right for bouncing around like a monkey. Still, considering he looked just like one, I guess it couldn‘t be helped. Watching Benny‘s lips pucker out, I found myself hurriedly searching around the room to make sure everyone had noticed. I had no intention of helping him get up, so it had to be someone else. His escalation into full blown crying had taken a minute, but it eventually had everyone‘s undivided attention. All accept my uncle, but he didn‘t count. As expected, most of the family crowded around the crybaby, leaving me to slowly lift myself from the couch. Julie had apparently gotten the same idea. I only managed to catch sight of her socked feet as she retreated upstairs to most likely claim sanctuary to her room. At least she had a cellphone at her disposal. Mine was still in the hands of my cursed mother. Texting Yumi would just have to wait. Sneaking fully out of the family room, I listened to the faded wailing of Benny from within. Steve was probably still hoarding his presents in a corner. It didn‘t matter to me. I was just happy to be away from all my hazardous cousins and my prissy aunt. Fortunately for me, unlike most homes, Aunt Doreen‘s front door was a safe distance away from the living room. If I left to go play some music in the car, nobody would even notice that I stepped out. And by the time they did, the party would be halfway over. With my mind set on escape, I snuck into the kitchen to grab my mom‘s keys, before rushing back out to make a beeline to the front door. I could already hear Julie‘s obnoxious snorting laugh coming from upstairs. She probably had managed to call her suspected girlfriend. Inwardly, I wondered if the said girlfriend was hot. Not that I planned on dumping my Yumi, but curiosity got the best of me sometimes.

Bending down to quickly tug my worn sneakers onto my feet, I stood soon after to remove the cap from my head. The sun was still pouring in through every available window. My blonde hair was, by that point, sticking against my head with sweat. My oversized red t-shirt didn‘t seem to be faring any better. It clung to my skin and was developing wet stains under my armpits. If Steve‘s birthday party had included the use of a pool, maybe things would have been different. But seeing as how it was revolving around nothing but nerd games, I decided to take my chances in the toasty car outside. The air conditioning would do just fine. Reaching out to unlock the front door with clammy fingers, I listened for the sound of Benny‘s horrendous crying. It was unfortunately dying down. If I didn‘t make my escape soon, the family would notice and drag me right back inside to play Dungeons and Dragons with Steve. I wasn‘t going to let anything like that happen ever again. I learned my lesson from last time. ―Luke! Julie! Time for cake!‖ My Aunt Doreen‘s high pitched voice carried through the house. It sounded awfully close to that of a panicked pig‘s squeal. But on the bright side, it did manage to fit right in with Benny‘s monkey cries and Julie‘s donkey laugh upstairs. With mild amusement, I found myself coming to a surprising conclusion- not only was my family turning out to be world class rejects, but would also make great additions to some local farms and zoos. Listening to the call for cake once more, I openly chose to ignore it as I pulled back the front door to make my escape. In truth, I had been honestly hoping to feel the slap of hot wind against me on my way out… maybe even a merciful gentle breeze to breathe some life back into my sweaty hair. In fact, I had been hoping for almost anything that the outdoors had to offer me, as long as it didn‘t involve any unwanted family members or Nerf darts. So, needless to say, I was heartbroken and rather confused when I found myself plowing headfirst into a massive pair of breasts. Normally, such a situation would have been welcomed and quite pleasurable… the problem was who these breasts actually belonged to. ―Hey, cousin! How‘s it hangin?!‖ The cow. Of course.

I had completely forgotten about her. In my rush, I had failed to realize that out of the four cousins I had, one was missing inside. Benny‘s sister. It shouldn‘t have surprised me. My basketball breasted cousin, Margot, was late for almost everything. Unlike the rest of us, she was blessed with the happy age of eighteen. Arriving early or coming late was completely up to her. Struggling to free myself from the suffocating hug I was pulled into, I resisted the urge to vomit. It wasn‘t pleasant being smothered by sagging boobs. I could only imagine what they would look like when she was an old woman. I cringed at the thought. ―Oh! There you are, Luke. Well, isn‘t that nice? You came to invite Margot inside.‖ As I wriggled against the watermelon jugs on my cousin‘s chest, I watched in defeat and misery as my aunt fluttered over. Despite it only being a family member arriving, she continued to act as though she were hosting some elegant party. ―You‘re just in time too. We were all getting ready to share some cake and pizza.‖ Not likely. Sharing was out of the question now that the cow had arrived. If I was lucky, maybe I‘d manage to get a few crumbs of the birthday cake. ―Hear that, cousin? Cake.‖ Groaning unhappily, I dropped the keys and baseball cap to the floor as Margot manhandled me inside. As I was nudged closer into the living room, I noted the captive Julie already seated on the couch beside a perked up Benny. Thankfully, no Nerf gun was in sight. ―Now you all play a nice game together, okay? We‘ll bring the cake and pizza out in a few minutes.‖ I could almost feel the color drain from my face as my big breasted cousin tugged me closer to the empty couches on the opposite side. In the center between the two, Steve was busily setting up a game on the coffee table.

―We‘re playing Monopoly, right?‖ I asked, still uncomfortable against Margot‘s unyielding affections. Steve choked out a nerdy squeak of a laugh. ―No way. Dungeons and Dragons, Luke. Remember? Just like last time.‖ How in the hell could I forget? I had been stuck with him for hours that day. My mother had forced me to play with him. I had even clearly remembered thinking that nothing could have possibly been worse. But one look around the living room to all of my cousins‘ faces proved to me that I had been wrong. Playing Dungeon’s and Dragons with one of them had been torture enough. I couldn‘t imagine all four. What a nightmare.

Melissa Jeralds

Spring by Leslie Friesen Purple lupines, lilacs and daisies, yellow columbine grow wild, are in full blossom, after the coldest winter on record-they bloomed well. He stands at the lectern and when he should be facing forward turns his head to the right to look out the newly washed window. Distracted by the brilliant floral palette blended with the lush, verdant meadow and outside on the window sill, beak tapping against the pane, a brown lark lilting eclipsed the lecture.

Chelsea Garrelts

The Guitar by Alexis Rodriguez The epitome of androgyny, wanton assassin curves meet an amorphous body bridge. Six shining strings hover over dotted frets, begging you to stroke them. Slick and unfriendly, the long handle grasp is anything but. Allowing even the novice to feel at home with hand in basic G - formation. In the company of baking hands, the hollow wooden base transforms. With the whip of a pick, the mortal turns into an onyx panther. While striking, flaws can be found all over its jet-black faรงade. Cavities and grazes blemish its skin, war scars from each track played. Repeatedly, viciously, the creature fights against the ones who try to domesticate it. Once again, a hand glides over the animal, a rumble ensues, and a refined hiss spits. Tasting of Clapton and Johnson, Zeppelin shrieks, and a deep rebellious roar grinds to a halt. And in the eighteen-year-olds inexperienced hands, Still, a feral feline stares.

The Secret Life of Nathaniel Grey by Candace Caterer Nathaniel purposefully widened his blue eyes in what he hoped was an ―adorable‖ look. He allowed a little drool to coat his pursed lips, just enough to make them shiny. He didn‘t want to risk a dose of Anbesol. Nathaniel bobbed his head vigorously, causing his white-blond hair to reflect the florescent lighting in his attempt to get the MaMa‘s attention. Nathaniel studied the ―cuteness‖ display in the shiny surface of the stainless steel refrigerator door. The kitchen was not the best backdrop for Nathaniel‘s exhibition. There were too many things to distract the MaMa in the kitchen. The refrigerator always had little fingerprints for her to wipe off. The sink usually had at least a dish or two. The cabinet doors seemed to always be a source of interest to the MaMa; she was forever checking to make sure they were latched properly. Unfortunately, the kitchen is where the cookies were located. Finally! The MaMa handed him one with a smile. ―Say thank you, Natty.‖ Her long fingers gripped the cookie tightly, refusing to release the hold until the magic phrase was uttered. The retriever, Goldie, shuffled over from where she had been lying to stand next to Nathaniel. Her tongue lolled, and she looked at the MaMa as if waiting for her turn at the cookie. Nathaniel glared at the dog. Given half a chance, he knew Goldie would snatch the cookie from his hand. The MaMa would scold the dog, and then Nathaniel would be forced to spend fifteen cookie-less minutes being scrubbed free of dog saliva before he would have another shot at the cookie. Nathaniel pulled at the cookie in desperation. ―Say thaank youuuu.‖ The MaMa made exaggerated movements with her mouth as if Nathaniel‘s reluctance to speak could be cured by proper enunciation. Nathaniel hated this part. Forced to perform like a trained animal, he knew that these little exercises would mean the end of him, eventually. Thirty months was the most he had heard of anyone getting. He had been warned before he was born. All babies are given a period of grace in which they knew everything. Some children get only six months; others retain some of the knowledge for two years or more. But, little by little, it would all be forgotten. It had already begun for Nathaniel. He was already at twenty-two months. Some spoke of this time of life as the pinnacle; the place where he could move his body well enough to put his knowledge to physical use. It was a bittersweet time, to be sure.

Nathaniel had never felt so powerful. Sure, at times he forgot little things – little used scientific formulas, dead language dialects, and the like. But his physical skills were developing at a fast clip, allowing Nathaniel to put his superior brain to practical applications. Who else in this house could apply the perfect amount of pressure on the dog‘s tail? He could apply just enough to cause discomfort, but not enough to induce a violent response. Speaking of discomfort, Nathaniel had noticed that his body had been less tolerant as he aged. No longer could he sit in quiet contentment when the contents of his diaper pressed his skin. When he tired, his eyelids would simply shut down. Even crying did not help keep him awake as it once had. Truly, twenty four months was the best and the worst time of anyone‘s life. The cookies helped. They helped a lot, in fact. The rush of sugar through his blood energized him so that he could focus. But the MaMa was not generous with those. Nathaniel often wondered if she knew, or at least suspected. Perhaps her goal was to keep him just this side of sanity until she had gained power over his mind. When he was younger, she would answer back his queries in his native tongue. Her knowledge of Goo was rudimentary, at best. And at times, she made no sense at all. But at least she made the attempt. Now, she insisted they use her language. ‗Say thank you, Natty.‘ Initially, Nathaniel resisted. He would bat his big-blue eyes, or reach his plump hands up in a grasping motion, but he would not say it. When the grasping motion - a perfect ten on the adorable scale - ceased to work, Nathaniel knew it was over. He grudging spoke in the primitive tongue she preferred. Nathaniel grunted almost unintelligibly, but it worked. With a wide smile, the MaMa released her hold on the cookie. Greedily, Nathaniel shoved the cookie into his mouth. It was gone too soon and his singing blood demanded another. He reached out his hands, stretching them as high as his physical limitations would allow. She ignored him. The MaMa had already turned to the sink and was engaged in sanitizing the brightly patterned plates. Nathaniel grunted. She continued to hum some forgettable tune as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Nathaniel became desperate. ―More,‖ he demanded in the crude language. The MaMa spun around to look at him. Her brown ponytail swished as she shook her head and her own blue eyes fixed on Nathaniel. ―No, Natty. It‘s too close to dinner.‖

Nathaniel‘s mind raced. He thought about his options. The Tantrum had been his ―go-to‖ move for some time. But he could tell by the firm set of the MaMa‘s lips that it was a gamble. Sometimes, if the MaMa was very tired, the Tantrum was very effective. Other times, the move would only cause her to put him in the cage of his crib. Nathaniel looked out the window in an attempt to determine the time of day. There was truly a ―magic hour‖ when planning a Tantrum for a cookie. When the sun was starting to sink lower in the sky, the MaMa was usually more pliable. It was too early in the evening for her to make him eat a meal, but too late in the afternoon for her to demand he take a nap. The sun was still pretty high, but Nathaniel decided to risk it. In grand form, Nathaniel threw himself to the floor with a screech. He allowed the drool to flow freely now and little flecks of cookie remains dribbled down his chin. He closed his eyes tightly to concentrate on hitting just the right pitch. He could easily be ignored if the pitch was too low. If he aimed too high, he could not sustain the note long enough to make the Tantrum effective. Nathaniel was masterful at the move, but as he aged, it required more of his concentration. For good measure, he banged his tiny fists against the floor and thrashed his head to and fro. He had learned the hard way that lying on his back and banging his head against the floor would only earn him a trip to the pediatrician. As he stomped his feet, he opened one eyelid slightly to gage the reaction. Nathaniel was pleased by what he saw. The MaMa almost trembled in discomfort as the piercing wail assaulted her ears. The look in her eyes betrayed her thoughts. She was wavering. The MaMa, too, looked at the clock. You could almost see her attempting to convince herself that it was a long time until dinner. Nathaniel took advantage of the moment and howled even louder. Fat tears began to roll down his cheeks to mix with the mucous pooling on his upper lip. And then, he saw it. It was as if someone poured molten steel down the MaMa‘s back. She stiffened, straightened and locked her jaw in a firm line. Nathaniel had gambled and lost. He was about to be sent to bed. Too late, he clamped his lips shut in an attempt to sway her. The MaMa scooped him easily from the floor and began the determined walk down the hall. Nathaniel sniffled a bit as the dreaded crib came into view. Solitude, desperate and empty, loomed. He vainly tried to wriggle free, but the MaMa‘s hold was ironclad. As they approached the crib, Nathaniel let out a screech of frustration. His eyes widened in surprise when she suddenly plunked him

on the floor. Startled, Nathaniel went silent and looked up at the MaMa with the question on his reddened face. What was her game? Without a word, she turned on her heel and left the room. The solid thunk of the door echoed lightly as Nathaniel sat in stunned silence. That was it? Nathaniel didn‘t know quite what to do. This was a new, and unexpected, reaction to the Tantrum. He looked around the muted blue and white room. The white bars of the crib towered over him, flanked by the matching changing table. The white rocker in the corner sat as a motionless witness to the strange events. Toys stacked neatly on high shelves looked on as Nathaniel wobbled to his feet. The Bear! Where was the Bear? The idea came to him suddenly. He hadn‘t used the technology in months. Perhaps that was a testament to his growing power or perhaps a sad reminder of all of the things that would soon be lost. But, if he could just find the Bear, there might be hope. Crumpled in the corner, the off-white clump of fake fur beckoned. As quickly as his chubby legs would allow, Nathaniel raced over to the Bear. Now, who should he call? Franklin, his cousin, was older than Nathaniel. As such, he had lost too much information to be helpful. Perhaps the next door neighbor; what was her name? Without ceremony, he picked up the toy. A pull of the ear and a careful poke in the left eye caused the Bear to faintly hum. Nathaniel waited expectantly as the barely discernible red light began to flicker in the torso. Telepathy the first gift of birth and the last thing a baby forgot. Thank goodness for the Bear Network to channel all of the voices. Unheard outside of Nathaniel‘s own mind, a faint voice whispered, ―Nathaniel? Is that really you? It‘s been ages!‖ Nathaniel didn‘t know why Tabitha whispered when she used telepathy. It annoyed him. Back in the early days, he would answer her with a yell just to make the point that no one could hear them. The point seemed to sail right past Tabitha. Eventually, Nathaniel gave up. There was certainly nothing to be gained by bringing it up now. As Nathaniel‘s life continued ticking away, he had no time to waste. But a small part of his mind had to refrain from yelling back, ―Tabby!‖ He knew she hated that name as much as he hated being called Natty. The MaMas could be so degrading. ―Hello, Tabitha. Yes, it has been a while. But I need your assistance.‖ Nathaniel played a brief memory of the afternoon‘s events in his mind for Tabitha to see. The playback feature was helpful, but at times could be

embarrassing. Nathaniel suppressed a wince as Tabitha viewed his unsuccessful Tantrum without comment. ―What did you have in mind? I assume your goal is escape.‖ Tabitha knew about confinement. Her own MaMa had been a fierce proponent of the ―Time Out‖ and had begun using it when Tabitha was only twelve months old. ―Escape,‖ Nathaniel confirmed. ―But, perhaps something further.‖ Nathaniel could feel an almost imperceptible perk in Tabitha‘s interest level. ―How are you at spitting up?‖ Tabitha chuckled in amusement. ―Nathaniel, two year olds do not ‗spit up.‘ They ‗throw up.‘ I haven‘t been ill for months.‖ ―Perfect!‖ Nathaniel exclaimed excitedly. ―If you haven‘t been ill and you suddenly throw up, your MaMa will most certainly call my MaMa in alarm!‖ Nathaniel played a brief preview of what he hoped to accomplish. Tabitha was skeptical, but intrigued. ―I need about five minutes,‖ Nathaniel continued. The little glowing light on the torso of the Bear flickered and then died signaling Tabitha‘s disconnect. Hurriedly, Nathaniel pulled roughly on the right leg of the Bear. Nothing happened. He pulled again, only bending the leg slightly forward. He was relieved when the little light sputtered and then glowed with solid blue. Animals communicated in a more subtle language of feelings rather than words. However, they insisted that pleasantries be exchanged at the onset of each conversation. Nathaniel tried not to allow his impatience to bleed through as he envisioned the warmth of the sun; the smell of bacon cooking in a frying pan; and the pleasure overload of being scratched just behind the ear. Finally, he was rewarded with a greeting from Goldie. Lazily, the retriever ―listened‖ while Nathaniel explained his plan. Goldie was dubious. Although dogs were not selfish by nature, Goldie knew that her part in the plan would almost definitely result in a scolding. What was in it for her? Satisfied by Nathaniel‘s promise to end tail-pulling, Goldie agreed. Nathaniel disconnected his thoughts from the Bear and tossed it back in the corner. He strained to hear the sounds of his plan unfolding in the other room. Crossing his fingers that the timing would work, he focused on the faint click-click of Goldie‘s nails across the kitchen floor. Goldie was moving slowly

so as not to attract attention. The phone rang twice before the MaMa finally silenced the noise by answering the call. Her voice was muffled, and he couldn‘t make out the words, but Nathaniel could sense the alarm in Mama‘s tone. The clatter of a tin can to the floor was faint; not enough to draw the MaMa‘s notice, but enough to convince Nathaniel that Goldie was playing her part. That was the signal. Nathaniel ran over to the closed door of his room and began to beat at it with his tiny fists. He yelled from deep in his stomach and kicked the door loudly with his WeeBoks. His heart sank a little as he didn‘t hear the MaMa‘s voice coming closer to the door. Louder now, he screamed until his throat stung. He sat down on the floor and began to violently kick it with both feet. Nathaniel‘s efforts paid off, and he heard the MaMa‘s footsteps echo in the hall. ―Is she running a fever at all?‖ Absently, the MaMa opened the door, and Nathaniel quickly skirted between her legs and into the kitchen. She followed at a slower pace not really paying attention to him at all. And then they reached the kitchen. ―GOLDIE!‖ The MaMa‘s voice shook the walls of the room. Goldie froze in horror amidst the pile of garbage that littered the floor. Goldie began to nervously chew on the paper towel with jelly stuck to it that was still hanging from her mouth. Nathaniel sprang into action. For some reason, the MaMa was terrified of the idea of Nathaniel touching anything at all that had been in the trash can. From the refrigerator to the back door, the trash was ankle deep for the child. Sharp tin cans, paper towels soaked with cleaning supplies and spoiled food was lain out like a disgusting buffet for a curious child. Nathaniel dove right in. He knew that the only way to pull the MaMa‘s attention to him rather than the horrific mess in front of her was to touch the trash. A more observant being would have seen the smirk on Nathaniel‘s face as he enticed the MaMa to distract him with a cookie. The MaMa tried vainly to hold the phone in the crook of her neck, put the dog outside, and restrain Nathaniel from wading into the frightening mess. ―Hold on, Linda. The dog tore up the trash.‖ Nathaniel was growing concerned that she hadn‘t noticed him yet. Instead, the MaMa opened the back door, and Goldie bolted out without encouragement. Nathaniel screeched as he tossed wadded paper towels into the air and then grabbed a metal circle from the floor. The choreography was flawless and had the

desired effect. The MaMa whirled to face him. ―No, Natty! Put that down!‖ She hurriedly swiped the dangerous tin can lid from Nathaniel‘s grasped. He opened his mouth as if to screech in protest. Before he could utter a sound, the MaMa reached for the cookie jar. Nathaniel held his breath. Did it work? He was afraid to utter a sound. The three seconds it took the MaMa to retrieve the cookie were the longest of his life. And suddenly it was there; it was right in front of him. The chocolate chips seemed to wink at Nathaniel as if they were in on the whole thing. Afraid that the gift would be rescinded, Nathaniel snatched the cookie from the MaMa‘s outstretched hand. He savored the sugary goodness on his tongue and almost wept in the beauty of the moment. He had done it. In spite of his age, regardless of the continued deterioration of his skills, he had pulled it off. Between the rush of sugar and the glow of satisfaction of a well executed plan, Nathaniel‘s blood was singing. He was positively heady. Later, Nathaniel would blame his next action on this overwhelming sensory overload. In gratitude, and in spite of himself, Nathaniel spoke. ―Tank oo.‖ The MaMa smiled warmly. It was if in that moment, the dog, the trash, the sick child next door, and even the failed Tantrum ceased to exist. Nathaniel allowed the MaMa to continue to lock eyes with him. And then, almost disgusted by the naked love he saw on the MaMa‘s face, Nathaniel turned away. He toddled into the other room with his prize and left the MaMa to clean up.

Misty Rae DeBord

Unquenchable by Luise Alejandro Banuelos Parched, encumbered with thirst. My lips are dry, no water can sedate the burn. I‘ve kissed the devil‘s mistress, allowed myself to be wrapped in flames of passion, I succumbed to beauty, collapsed beneath lust, dark pleasures the heart did ashen. Too late did I realize, my soul was the price, make love to a demon and coin will not suffice. So now I drag my empty shell of a self, out of the pit which most will call Hell. Then heavenly angel, descends upon me Salvation! I thought… Yet my heart did still bleed. ―Of this I‘m afraid you are sadly mistaken‖ this angel proclaimed, giving me back to Satan.

Melissa Jeralds

They All Fall Down by Melissa Jeralds Ashes, ashes, we all fall down… I pulled my knees to my chest, and held onto them for dear life as I whistled that infuriating tune. I looked up at the ceiling. I was so tired that I swore the stucco above was creating some sort of message up on the ceiling; it became a vast, moving sea for my eyes to explore, but it wasn‘t even close to comforting. I had no concept of time. I guessed it was around noon because my therapist came through the door to talk to me. The space around me was so empty, and so bleak; I looked to the corner where a dresser would have been, but now there only sat a small sink with a mirror above it. There wasn‘t anything to look at aside from my harsh, tired-eyed reflection and the sterile white walls that closed me into my new room. Everything was white. White sheets, white sink, white clothing – there was so much white, I thought I might go blind. I could see myself too well in that mirror; my eyes were bloodshot. I couldn‘t even tell they were green anymore because I was so distracted by the heavy bags underneath them. My cheeks were caved in, and I‘d lost about five pounds sitting in that room. They weren‘t starving me or anything. In fact, the staff treated the worst of people with utmost kindness, even me. They had no ill will towards me even after I tried to punch my therapist in the face. ―How do you feel today?‖ I heard, but I didn‘t look over. How did I feel? I missed Lucy. Didn‘t I give her everything? I rented her a condo, and swept her away to Pahrump where she always wanted to live. She always had this idea of running a farm. I was going to give it to her; I was going to give her the world if she wanted it, yet she wanted out. I guess things weren‘t as good for her as they were for me. Lucy called me bipolar once; she asked me why I could be sweet one day, and then completely ridiculous the next. She didn‘t realize that violence was all I really knew. It was my learned defense to every problem. If someone yelled at me, I punched them; if someone made fun of me, I kicked them in the shin. That was just how I worked. The mood swings, I was convinced, came naturally to me. They weren‘t bad, but she wasn‘t used to them, and that was the problem. We could have spent a lifetime arguing back and forth about it.

Everyone who knew me thought I was trouble. No one was surprised when Taylor Arden, the little brat from Long Beach, got picked up for two DUI charges, three trespassing charges, and one hefty assault charge, all at the age of twenty. I was always the small one in school. I never quite measured up to the other guys, but I had my confidence. I had the willpower to start a fight with anyone; regardless of how much bigger they were than me. On top of that, I was – and I mean was – a master manipulator, and proud. I could have someone run four miles for something ridiculous if that was what I wanted. People stopped buying into it after a while, though. At seventeen, I was no more than the annoying kid you passed in the halls and tried not to lock eyes with. I kept my heart locked away from others, but there was one person who could get to it. There was one person who gave a damn about me when no one else did. Lucy, in the four years I knew her, became my everything. In record time, she completely blew me away. I was still young, they told me. I was only twenty one, but I was convinced that I was destined to marry her. I had pictures of her pinned all over our wall back home, right by the door so I could still see them from the bed. There were a few of Lucy alone, but most of them were of both of us; in one of them, she was kissing me on the cheek. She surprised me by taking the picture, so I looked like a doofus with my nervous quarter of a smile. Our prom picture sparked a laugh in everyone who saw it because no one expected the kid with long, unkempt hair, and a fascination with leather pants and gaudy jewelry to actually put on a suit. Not that I wanted to put on a suit. I didn‘t smile in any of the pictures; I mostly stood there with tense shoulders, and pretended like I was having fun. Looking at them made me smile, though, because I always thought of her. I always thought of the way things used to be between us. People told me Lucy and I were an unlikely pair. They said Lucy could never like someone like me. Lucy was a rich girl who came from parents that gave her everything. She had the money to keep up with her bleach-blonde hair, and she refused to let anyone see her without her makeup on. But underneath flashy eyeliner, expensive objects and designer clothing was a kind girl, who wanted nothing more than to be separated from the label that had been created for her. Then, there was me, who came from the opposite end of the spectrum. I never had anything unless I paid for it; most of my clothing was ripped, and worn, though I liked it that way. I didn‘t like people to know that I had a concept of what scissors and a hair brush were, and I would never let anyone come near me with hair dye. Most redheads I knew complained about their hair, but I always liked the attention it got me.

I didn‘t care about our differences in background, though. I didn‘t care that she had two parents that loved her to the ground, while I was stuck with a father who never even wanted me. I loved her. Lucy crawled into my heart, nestled quietly within its deepest confines, and refused to leave. I wanted her there, though. I liked the way my heart fluttered when I heard her name; I liked the childish way my cheeks heated up red when she brushed the hair from my eyes. I liked the electricity that shot down my spine every time our lips met. She liked to sing with me. We sang nursery rhymes mostly. Lucy and I had the harmony of Ring Around the Rosie down to a science. I guess she didn‘t remember those times, or somewhere along the way, she lost sight of them. The last fight we had was a vivid memory to me; it resided in me, sharing a crawl space with Lucy in my heart. I thought about it day in and day out in the small space of the white room. ―So, you‘re cheating on me?‖ I asked her. It was a Saturday, and we just got back from the Harvest Festival to open up the fall season. I found out from a friend of mine that Lucy had been seeing someone else. He said he saw them walking together, hand-in-hand, and kissing each other‘s cheeks. The image disgusted me so badly that I grit my teeth together in restraint. In a very sick way, I hoped we were talking about some sort of troll who would chase her back to me, just so I could spit in her face. Lucy laced her fingers together, and looked off to the side. She shut her eyes, looking exasperated. ―I – Taylor, just calm down. Let me explain before you go nuts, alright?‖ Calm down? I was already livid; I was shaking. ―No,‖ I refused. I pulled her closer by the arm, showing no compassion when she whimpered in pain. ―No, you fucking tell me. Are you cheating on me?‖ ―I wanna break up,‖ she admitted, loudly, as though she thought shouting would cause me to release her arm. I did, but not without pushing her back against the wall. She wasn‘t shocked by it anymore. Her back hit the wall with a small thud, and she rebounded to step closer until we were inches apart. ―He‘s nice to me, Taylor. He doesn‘t hit me, and he doesn‘t get mad about everything. I don‘t know what the hell‘s gotten into you, but it‘s like I don‘t even know you anymore!‖ The fight was a half an hour‘s worth of name-calling, and hitting that left both of us with a few decent bruises. Lucy kept swearing I broke her nose,

but it was just a little blood, I told her. I was actually proud of myself for that. She told me I was too selfish; she told me I didn‘t actually care about her, and that I only cared about myself. She said I was a jerk, and that she should have listened to her mother who warned her I was trouble. That didn‘t bother me. They were insults I heard before, but what really set me off was when she told me I was just like my father. How could she compare me to that man? How could she ever compare me to a man who would beat his son unconscious? Or wait until everyone in the family was standing around to humiliate him? How could she compare me to a man who got a kick out of watching me squirm, and wouldn‘t stop prodding until he saw tears? I followed Lucy around the condo while she packed up her things; she gathered her makeup bag, her jewelry, some clothes – everything. She was really leaving, and I had no idea what to do with myself or the anger I felt. I was too blind for tears; I was too blind for anything but vengeful screaming, clenched fists, and insults. I couldn‘t even see straight. ―I hope he beats the fucking shit out of you! I hope he kills you in your sleep!‖ I growled in a voice I didn‘t recognize. ―You better hope I never see him, because if I do, I‘ll kill you both!‖ I didn‘t mean to yell like that. Really, my heart was just hurting, and I was taking it out on her. I could barely even breathe, and my throat throbbed from the pressure it took to fight the tears back. She was digging her way out of that space, and I couldn‘t handle it. Every day, I lived under the assumption that I had one person who would put up with me forever. ―You know what your problem is?‖ Lucy spun around on her heel. ―You‘re selfish, you‘re arrogant, and you‘re mean. You know that? You wanna know why everyone thinks you‘re a bad person? It‘s because you are. You manipulated me into staying here with you; you keep telling me you‘re gonna change, and you‘re not changing.‖ She stepped closer to me, pointing a thin finger towards my chest. Eventually she was close enough to poke at me while she spoke. She eyed me like a lion stalking its prey, and even though she was much smaller than me, it was intimidating. ―I didn‘t say anything when you pawned off my jewelry and lied about it. I didn‘t say anything the countless times you smacked me across the face for no reason. I‘ve always accepted you, Taylor. I was willing to see what no one else saw in you, and I‘m getting nothing in return. I‘m done, Taylor. Don‘t call me, don‘t come see me, and leave Christian alone.‖

Christian. I hated that name. I didn‘t know who Christian was, or what he looked like, but I loathed her little troll on a deeper level than I ever thought possible. I hated him, I hated Lucy, and I hated myself. I hated everything! I felt sick to my stomach. What was perfect in my clouded mind was Hell to Lucy. I spilled all of this to my therapist when we sat together in the room. He brought a chair in, sat in front of me and took notes while I told him every detail of our fight. ―And then what?‖ he asked me. I could finally bring myself to look at him, and observe his dyed-black hair, slick with oil so it wasn‘t in his face. He had wrinkles, but he was a good-looking guy, I supposed. I couldn‘t really judge the way he looked after seeing myself in that mirror. ―I was a wreck after that,‖ I explained. ―I literally went nuts, drinking and carrying on just to make myself feel better.‖ I leaned back. He nodded slowly, looking like he was only pretending to listen to me. It wasn‘t the first sob story he ever heard, and it definitely wouldn‘t be the last. ―I got arrested a few more times.‖ ―For what?‖ Mr. Michaels – I didn‘t know his first name – prepared his pen to write. ―Once for DUI, then again for harassment,‖ I proclaimed casually. I stared at a hangnail forming on the middle finger of my right hand, and bit my lip. I was trying to distract myself. ―She told me to stay away, but as soon as I found out where she lived, I was right there. When Christian and I fought, a neighbor called the cops on us.‖ I explained. ―I got a few good punches, though. I didn‘t lose completely.‖ Lucy made a mistake that day. She let me see his face; she allowed me a glimpse of his annoyingly chiseled jaw – or at least it looked that way compared to my face – and the overly clean haircut. She allowed me to see that Christian was everything she wanted and then some. She allowed me to see that this proper man was everything I wasn‘t. ―So, at what point did you decide to burn down their house?‖ Mr. Michaels was feeling blunt today. Suddenly, I was noticing every crease in my hand. Every fold was more comforting to me than his eyes. ―That night. I followed them for a week to get their habits down, and then I lit the house on fire.‖

―You know, people were very surprised by what you did,‖ he told me, peering out at me behind his thick, risen brow. I just smiled, and looked out the window. ―We all fall down sometime…‖

Chelsea Garrelts

Jennifer Huyunh

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Shock Value by Miranda Cooper ―You‘re gay. That‘s what this is, isn‘t it?‖ Jason shook his head. His grandfather sat across from him, brow furrowed as if he was trying to see into his grandson‘s ―gayness.‖ ―No Gramps,‖ Jason said. ―That‘s not what I need to tell you.‖ ―You know Hitler was gay,‖ his grandfather continued. ―Straight as a rainbow.‖ ―Gramps please, this has nothing to do with-‖ ―I‘m not saying it‘s a bad thing if you‘re gay. I don‘t mind that you‘re gay. I‘m just telling you that Hitler was gay.‖ ―Isn‘t that pretty much telling me that being gay is a bad thing?‖ ―It‘s bad if it makes you kill Jews.‖ ―Gramps, I‘m not gay,‖ Jason said. ―Nor has it even been proven that Hitler was gay. It‘s just a theory.‖ ―Well he sure as hell looked gay,‖ the old man grumbled. ―Enough,‖ Jason sighed. ―You didn‘t even let me finish what I was trying to tell you.‖ Jason‘s grandfather wrinkled his nose. ―Then spit it out boy, Jesus.‖ Jason sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ―What I‘m about to tell you is very important Gramps so please, just listen.‖ He looked into his grandfather‘s eyes. ―A woman is coming from the World War Two Museum today. She‘s going to take a look at a few things and see if the museum would want them.‖ ―What in the hell do you own that would be worth putting on display in a museum?‖ ―It‘s not my stuff, per se, Gramps; it‘s some things I got from Mom.‖ ―What did she give you?‖ ―The Hummels.‖

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Jason and his grandfather sat motionless. Jason could feel the air around them get warmer and warmer. He gripped the ends of his chair, waiting for his grandfather‘s response. ―You want to run that by me again?‖ the old man murmured. Jason swallowed hard, gripping his chair even tighter. ―A woman from the museum is coming…‖ he started, ―…to take a look at the Hummel collecti-‖ Suddenly the old man‘s eyes lit up and Jason was interrupted by his grandfather rising up from his chair and knocking it to the ground. ―I won‘t have it!‖ the old man roared. He pointed a wrinkly finger at his grandson. ―Those Hummels your mother owned are remnants of an evil time! They should be burned…they should be run over by tanks! American tanks, by God! Jesus Christ, I thought I told Sally to get rid of those damn things!‖ Jason rubbed his forehead. ―Why would she do that?‖ he asked. ―They‘re valuable Gramps, the people at the museum would be happy to put them on display.‖ ―Display for whom? For Nazis to gawk at? No decent human being is going to want those things.‖ ―You need to calm down. Just because they were made during wartime doesn‘t mean that they were made by Nazis. They‘re still being made today.‖ ―You‘re gonna tell me those Nazi bastards didn‘t have anything to do with them?‖ ―Can‘t you hear yourself? You‘re overreacting.‖ ―And you‘re a damn punk,‖ the old man spat. ―You can‘t give those to the museum! They‘re not going to want them!‖ Jason put his hands on his grandfather‘s shoulders. The poor man was shaking and Jason knew there was no way he could convince him to relax. ―Gramps. It‘s okay. You don‘t even need to be in the room when the woman comes. You won‘t even see them. After she‘s gone, I‘ll put them away and when they‘re picked up, you‘ll never see them again.‖ The old man pulled away from Jason and shuffled towards his room. ―They‘re not gonna want those damn things,‖ he mumbled. ―No one will.‖

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Jason Melville had been taking care of his grandfather, Leroy Melville, for almost three years. When the old man took a tumble down the stairs in his New York City apartment, Jason and his parents knew that it was time to get him out of there. They had opted out of an assisted living home almost immediately. There was no way Leroy would stay in an assisted living home for even five minutes; he was irritable, combative, and didn‘t get along with most people. Jason had decided to take him in. He was the last of his parent‘s four children, and he figured they were done taking care of people and deserved to have their lives to themselves. Jason worked at a local hospital as a nurse. Coming up on his twelfth year at the hospital, he had gained a nice circle of friends, a level of respect, and a steady income. He was living well enough that he figured he could afford to support his grandfather living at home. Though he could support himself as well as Leroy, taking care of the old man was a struggle. Leroy was a decorated World War Two veteran. Jason could recall numerous times when he sat with his grandfather as a child, listening to his battle stories and looking at items he saved from his years as a soldier. After the war, Leroy made his living as an officer at a military academy. He married Jason‘s grandmother, Ellen, and had two children, one of them being Jason‘s mother, Sally. Though successful in life and long into his retirement years, Leroy was always stuck with memories of the war. Though physically healthy as a horse, he became more and more suspicious of the people around him and he had begun to form a sense of panic, believing that his enemies from the past were still out to get him. Now, at eighty-eight years old, Leroy was a pissed off old grouch who was constantly bombarding Jason with ridiculous ideas and opinions. Their nightly conversations included monologues from Leroy of his days as a soldier, constant insults to countries he fought against, and multiple ―The hell with that‘s‖ every time anything even remotely relating to Germany or Japan was uttered. The only thing that kept Jason from throwing the old man out was his love for him. He had been a tremendous grandfather to him as a boy, and Jason felt that he owed him his hospitality. And now, as he watched his grandfather shuffle his way into his room, he wondered what the hell made his once caring grandfather so cantankerous. Jason looked at his watch. It was 2:15, and he decided to get the Hummels ready. Jason made his way towards the family room. There, to the left side of the room, sat an enormous wicker chest filled with tiny figurines. He opened the chest doors and gave a small smile. The playful expression of each child smiled right back at him. It was ridiculous, he thought, for his grandfather to have such anger towards the harmless collectibles.

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The Hummels came from Germany, created in 1935 by Sister Maria Innocenta Hummel. She provided the drawings and sketches of each design while a ceramic company, W. Goebel Porzellanfahrik, made the figurines. Each featured a child; playing, sitting, sleeping, and other innocent poses. Some were dressed in costume, others in regular clothing or pajamas. Jason picked one up and turned it over to look at the bottom. The faded stamp ―W.G.‖ sat in the top right corner, a faded crown hovering over it. Every figure in Jason‘s chest had this stamp, a stamp that showed the figurine‘s true age. All of Jason‘s Hummels were made between 1935 and 1949. Truly, they were items of a very important yet trying history. Jason‘s mother had been collecting Hummels since as long as he could remember. Whenever Jason and his family went on vacation, his mother always found a few spare hours to look for an antique shop where she could search for the collectibles. At the time, she had no idea what their true values were and collected them solely because she found them attractive. When Jason moved into his home, his mother gave him her collection. ―Do whatever you want with them,‖ she had told him. ―Keep them, give them to your children…who knows, you could even sell them. Whatever decision you make, I know it will be the right one.‖ When Jason did research and found out how old the Hummels were, he decided it would be a good idea to donate them to the city‘s World War Two Museum. He figured it would be interesting to have something out of Nazi Germany that not many people knew about. Jason carried fragile children over to his dinner table, two at a time. He set them up in such a way so that each one was staring in the same direction, smiling at whoever was looking at them. After Jason had carried each Hummel to the table, he stepped back and looked at them. He could remember the countless times he‘d sat in front of the collection as a boy and just stared. They were so perfect, so dainty, so… ―Disgusting.‖ Jason turned and saw his grandfather standing there, tennis ball walker in hand. ―Maybe to you,‖ Jason said, ―but not to me, not to Mom, and not to the woman from the museum.‖ ―Let me tell you something boy,‖ Leroy said. ―Those statues aren‘t going to mean a damn thing to that woman coming over here. Maybe the Nazis would want them, but not a war museum. War museums want military jackets, bomb shells, photographs…not some goddamn figurine of a five year old rolling around like an asshole.‖ ―You don‘t know that Gramps. War museums have all kinds of things, not just debris from a battlefield or some officer‘s boots.‖

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―Not the ones I‘ve been to.‖ ―Then you obviously haven‘t been to many war museums.‖ ―Fuck you, I‘ve been to the one with the dinosaurs.‖ ―The Natural History Museum isn‘t a war museum.‖ ―Well at least they don‘t have Nazi porcelain tossed in with the goddamn dinosaur bones!‖ Leroy grumbled. ―They put what people want to see…fossils and things. The same is gonna go for that World War Two museum. They‘re not gonna want your Hummels. What the hell did they do for the war anyway?‖ ―Only you would know,‖ Jason replied, rolling his eyes and making his way toward the kitchen. As Jason poured himself a glass of water, Leroy made his way to the dinner table and looked at the collection. He furrowed his brow and leaned closer to them, eyeing them like they were some sort of great mystery. Jason looked over at him between sips. ―You change your mind, Gramps? Think they‘re worth something after all?‖ Leroy nodded. ―Sure do. You could send them to child molesters in prison. They can‘t have real kids but at least they can have something.‖ ―Gramps!‖ Jason shouted, slamming his glass on the counter. ―What is wrong with you?‖ Jason quickly walked over to his grandfather and began pushing him back towards his room. ―I think you need a nap,‖ he said. ―The hell I do,‖ Leroy retorted, ―I want to be here when that woman says what I‘ve been telling you all along!‖ Jason shook his head. ―I think, Gramps, that it‘d be better if you just took a na-‖ Jason was interrupted by a loud ringing that came from the front door. Both men looked at each other, at the door, then back at each other. ―Gramps,‖ Jason sighed, ―please…just be polite and don‘t say anything rude. Can you do that for me?‖ Leroy poked Jason right in the chest. ―Don‘t worry about me, boy. Worry about your own damn self.‖ Jason frowned at Leroy, then quickly turned and went to the front door. ―You gonna sit with us Gramps?‖ he asked. There was no reply. Jason looked over his shoulder and saw that Leroy had disappeared. Guess he’s

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gonna take a nap after all, Jason thought. Thank goodness. He opened the front door and was greeted with a friendly ―hello‖ by a tall, thin woman in a brown suit. The woman from the museum had arrived. A white collar puffed out around her neck from underneath her jacket, and she wore a pair of thick-framed orange glasses. In her hand was a large briefcase and there was a nametag on the collar of her jacket that read, ―Debbie.‖ Jason smiled and shook her hand. ―Debbie, I take it?‖ ―That‘s right, Debbie Rains. And you must be Jason…Melville?‖ ―Mm-hmm, it‘s a pleasure to meet you.‖ ―Pleasure to meet you as well. I‘m very excited to take a look at your collection.‖ ―So am I. Please, come in.‖ Jason led Debbie Rains to his dinner table. She stopped right in front of it and a huge smile spread across her face. ―Oh my. Oh my.‖ Jason grinned as he watched Debbie scan the figurines on his table. ―Absolutely fascinating,‖ she breathed. She picked one of them up; it was of a little girl in a bonnet, feeding some geese. ―How charming,‖ Debbie said, turning to Jason and smiling. ―Shall we sit, Jason?‖ Jason nodded and they both sat down at the dinner table. ―So,‖ Debbie said, ―how did you come to own all of these Hummels?‖ ―My mother collected them,‖ Jason replied as Debbie continued to inspect the delicate pieces. ―She gave them to me after I moved into this house.‖ ―So they‘ve been in your family for a while?‖ ―Yes. I have many fond memories of them.‖ ―Did your family have these during wartime?‖ ―No, my mother had been collecting them for years. She had no idea how old they were until she actually took the time to look up their history.‖ ―I see. Well this is certainly an amazing collection. Now I know that when you called, you talked about them being made around the nineteen thirties and forties.‖

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―Yes, that‘s right.‖ ―Do you mind if I take a look and see?‖ ―Oh no, not at all.‖ Debbie reached into her briefcase and pulled out a heavy binder. She placed it on the table and began flipping through its pages. Finally, she stopped on one and adjusted her glasses. She picked up a Hummel, one of a little boy sleeping next to a small white dog. ―Let‘s see,‖ she said to herself. ―Ah. Here‘s the stamp.‖ She ran her finger across the bottom of the figurine and looked in her binder. ―This is…oh yes…yes, this is the real thing! It‘s got the stamp!‖ Debbie smiled at Jason. ―And you said, Jason, that they‘ve all got this stamp?‖ ―That‘s right,‖ Jason replied as Debbie picked up another figurine and examined the bottom. ―My word,‖ she breathed. ―Well you‘ve certainly got quite the collection. It‘s incredible that your mother was able to-‖ Debbie paused and stared behind Jason. ―Something wrong?‖ Jason asked. He turned around to see where she was looking and saw Leroy. He was clutching his walker with an old satchel around his shoulder, and his eyes were fixed on Debbie. Jason‘s heart dropped. What is he doing? He thought. ―Oh,‖ Jason said, hurriedly looking at Debbie and giving a fake smile. ―Debbie, this is my grandfather, Leroy Melville. He lives here with me.‖ Debbie looked at Leroy and smiled. ―My name‘s Debbie. It‘s nice to meet you, Mr. Melville.‖ Jason bit his lip. Aw geez, he thought. What is Gramps going to say? Don’t let this take a turn for the worst… Then, to his surprise, Leroy smiled back at Debbie and nodded. ―It‘s nice to meet you too ma‘am.‖ Jason raised an eyebrow at his grandfather. Was he being serious? Had he put away his grouchy side to come out and participate peacefully? ―I was wondering if I could join you two,‖ Leroy said politely. ―Just to listen to what you‘ve got to say about the Hummels, that‘s all.‖ Jason was astounded. nonsense?

No rage? he thought.

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No anti-German

―I‘m fine with that,‖ Debbie said, nodding. ―Of course you can join us, Mr. Melville. Please have a seat.‖ Leroy slowly made his way to a chair and sat down at the dinner table. Once seated, he put his satchel on the table and pulled from it a faded green army cap and medal. Debbie‘s eyes widened. ―Oh! We‘ve got a vet here I see.‖ ―Yeah, Gramps fought in World War Two actually,‖ Jason said. Debbie grinned. ―How wonderful. Then it‘s more than fitting that you sit with us Mr. Melville.‖ Debbie turned her attention back to the collection. She picked up and looked at each figure, examining the bottom and looking through her binder. Jason watched intently as she scanned her pages and eyed each Hummel up and down. He looked at Leroy, who was fussing with his army cap and medal. You see, Gramps? Leroy thought excitedly. These Hummels are going to make it into the museum. They’re going to become a part of history. Nearly forty-five minutes went by; Debbie went over the entire set while Leroy sat very still. Jason left the table twice to fill his water glass and occasionally dropped a question to Debbie about a particular piece, but all the while Leroy said nothing. After examining the final figurine, Debbie leaned back in her chair and sighed. ―Well, Mr. Melville,‖ she said, looking at Jason with a warm smile. ―I think I‘ve seen all I need to see.‖ Leroy glanced at Jason, his hands resting on top of his army cap. Jason leaned forward eagerly. ―So?‖ he asked. ―Will you take them?‖ Debbie looked down at the Hummels, sighed, and rested her chin in her hand. ―Well that‘s just it…I‘m afraid I can‘t.‖ There was a moment of awkward silence between the three. Leroy and Jason looked at each other as if they knew exactly what the other was thinking. ―Curious,‖ Leroy muttered, turning his attention back to his cap and medal. Jason stared at his grandfather, his mouth open wide and an expression of shock splashed across his face. ―You…‖ he said to Leroy. ―You…‖ ―Don‘t look at me boy, talk to her,‖ Leroy said, nodding to Debbie. Jason looked back at her. ―I don‘t understand. Why can‘t the museum take them?‖

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Debbie gave a sympathetic smile and shook her head. ―Your collection is very nice, Jason. The figurines are quite old and certainly worth something, perhaps even beyond any monetary value, but I just don‘t think they belong in our museum.‖ ―But they‘re from Germany! From the war!‖ ―This is true, but that doesn‘t change the fact that the museum isn‘t going to want them.‖ ―Why not? Surely they hold some sort of significance…‖ ―I‘m sorry Jason, but they‘re just not what the museum is looking for.‖ ―What are they looking for then?‖ ―Well, things with a certain…vibe. Pizzazz!‖ Debbie exclaimed. She grinned and looked over at Leroy. ―Things like your grandfather‘s medal or hat! Things that are reflections of combat and warfare!‖ ―What kind of museum do you work for?‖ Jason asked. ―You‘re a World War Two history museum for crying out loud. You can‘t tell me that the only things you put on display are tanks and machine guns.‖ ―They‘re not,‖ Debbie replied. She looked at Jason over the rims of her glasses. ―The museum isn‘t going to attract crowds if all it has are old love letters and things like…well, things like your Hummels. I can give you the numbers for some art museums. They‘d fit well there, Jason, believe me.‖ ―You‘re supposed to present history from all sides! From different walks of life! That‘s what a museum like yours is supposed to do!‖ ―I‘m sorry Jason, but your Hummels aren‘t going to the World War Two Museum.‖ ―This is ridiculous. Why‘d you come all this way then, if you knew your museum wasn‘t going to want anything to do with them?‖ ―Just my own curiosity, I suppose,‖ Debbie replied, gazing over the sweet faces of the children. ―They really are lovely. I‘ll give you the numbers of those art museums.‖ Jason was devastated. This woman, an employee of a war museum, wasn‘t going to take his collection and put them on display for everyone to see? Had his grandfather been right all along? Suddenly Jason felt a deep lurching in his gut and his memories of looking at the Hummels as a boy

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came into his mind. He cared so much about them, and they held so much history…could this woman really not want them? Could the entire museum be truly uninterested? Debbie turned her attention back to Leroy who had been silently watching the conversation unfold. He looked back to see a broad smile across her face. ―I‘m wondering though, Mr. Melville…do you have anything else in that satchel of yours?‖ she asked Leroy. The old man smiled. ―Ma‘am, I served in Europe during the war and fought my share of battles…I have plenty.‖ Jason jerked his head and gaped at his grandfather. ―What did I tell you boy?‖ Leroy said coolly. ―The museum doesn‘t want your dolls. And that‘s the truth.‖ Debbie clasped her hands together in excitement and bored her eyes into Leroy‘s satchel. ―What have you got in there, Mr. Melville? A Colt handgun? Grenades? A helmet, perhaps?‖ Leroy chuckled. ―You want something with shock value, do you?‖ He reached into his satchel and pulled out a large jar. Jason‘s eyes widened and he gasped aloud. Floating inside the jar was a pair of human eyes. They were bright blue, tissue still hanging from the ends. Debbie gave a shriek and Leroy stood up, waving the jar in her face. ―Here!‖ he shouted. ―The eyes of a man I got to know right outside my bunker! Some Nazi fool tried to sneak up on me…I fought for nearly ten minutes, only before cutting the bastard‘s eyes out and slicing his dick right off!‖ He slammed the jar on the table and leaned forward, staring right into Debbie‘s eyes. ―I have that too, if you want to see it!‖ Immediately, Debbie got out of her chair and gathered up her binder and briefcase. She looked at the eyes, over to Jason, then back at Leroy. ―You are INSANE!‖ she screamed as she quickly walked from the dinner table. She opened the front door and angrily looked over her shoulder at Jason and his grandfather. ―The museum doesn‘t want those Hummels! And they certainly don‘t want those eyes!‖ Debbie slammed the door behind her and was gone, leaving the two men alone in the dining room. Jason and Leroy remained silent as they listened to the sound of Debbie‘s car speeding away. Jason looked at his grandfather in utter disbelief. He sat back down in his chair, staring at the pair of floating eyes in the jar. ―Gramps…‖ he breathed. ―…Are those really…‖ ―Damn right they are,‖ the old man answered. ―Summer of nineteen forty-three. Cut them right out.‖ The old man fell back in his chair and rubbed his head. He looked over at Jason. He had his head in his hands, slouched over with his elbows on his knees. ―I‘m sorry, Jason,‖ Leroy said

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quietly. ―I went a little…off kilter there. But I felt I had to.‖ Jason peered at his grandfather through his fingers. The old man was looking at him almost apologetically. His face had a calm, gentle expression and his eyes looked wet, almost as if he was going to cry. Jason raised his head and faced Leroy. ―No Gramps, it‘s alright. I was…well, I was stupid to think the museum would take the Hummels.‖ Jason looked over at his mother‘s collection, the one he had held such pride in for so long. All the memories he had of the figurines…all of the memories they held on their own…none of that mattered to the museum. I should have known, he thought. I should have known. ―They‘re wrong about them, you know.‖ Jason looked up at Leroy who was gazing at the statues. ―What…what did you say Gramps?‖ Leroy took a delicate piece in his hand and smiled at it. ―They‘re wrong about them, the museum. These Hummels are wonderful. They‘re made so perfectly and so carefully. Each one a symbol of the goodness that seemed so absent during the time they were made…each one holding memories for you and the people who owned them before you.‖ Leroy set the statue down and looked at Jason. ―Some people don‘t care about these kinds of things, Jason. To them, war is something that is meant to be exploited. To them, it‘s all about the guts and glory, the fighting and the horrors. They glorify it…but there‘s a difference between glorifying war and remembering it.‖ Leroy picked up his cap, gripping it in his hands. Jason could see his features working, the lines in his face becoming thicker as he frowned. ―I fought to protect,‖ Leroy said softly. ―And that‘s what people like that idiot Debbie don‘t seem to remember. I fought because I felt I had no other choice. I fought for freedom, for people like you and me, for people like the ones who made these Hummels…innocent people. Good people. I fought to protect that. But no matter what side you‘re on, Jason, no matter what uniform you‘re wearing…war is horrific. You don‘t want to remember the fighting. You don‘t. And that‘s what Debbie and the rest of those damn folks at the museum don‘t get. You put things in war museums to teach people and for them to remember…not to glorify war and show it off like a goddamn zoo.‖ Leroy‘s hands had begun to shake, and Jason took them in his own hands. The old man looked at him and Jason gave him a warm smile. ―It‘s alright, Gramps. Thank you…for helping me understand.‖ Jason stood up and helped his grandfather to his feet. The two men looked at the collection, the faces on every figurine smiling up at them.

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―So,‖ Jason said, ―you still think these little guys are just a bunch of Nazi propaganda?‖ Leroy adjusted his walker and shook his head. ―They‘re alright. But put them away. I don‘t need to be looking at the damn things every time I come in here.‖ Jason‘s eyes moved from the innocent children to the pair of blue eyes floating in the jar. ―Gramps…did you…did you really cut off that guy‘s Johnson?‖ ―God no,‖ the old man replied. ―Cut off the man‘s dick? Christ Jason, what would I want his dick for? You‘d have to be gay want to keep a man‘s dick in a jar. And you know Hitler was gay.‖ Leroy slowly made his way back to his room, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Jason stared after his grandfather until he entered his room, closing the door behind him. He stood silently for a moment, then turned and began carrying the Hummels back to their home in his wicker chest. He couldn‘t see them going anywhere else.

Michelle Morales-Leon

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