Threads by Arts Council of York County

s d a e r h T

2014

C MPETITION MAGAZINE C

2014

MPETITION

C MPETITION

letter from the director

In 2014, the Arts Council of York County celebrated its 12th Annual Literary Competition; open to artists in the Southeast United States, and the 4th Annual Youth Literary Competition, open to students enrolled in a K-12 program in York County, South Carolina. Both competitions accept entries in two categories: short story and poetry each year. Local literary professionals judge the submissions and choose winners in each category. We were very encouraged with the increased number of entries, the quality of work and the community interest and support of this competition. It takes creativity and skill to produce the poetry and short stories. We are very fortunate to live in a community where talent is abundant. The competition is replete with artists on many levels including those who dedicate their days to crafting engaging tales of mystery, intrigue, and the whirling spin of daily life to those who have incorporated writing into their greater body of artistic work. Many thanks to each author who shared their soul and talent with us and with the community. A special thanks to our staff for organizing the portal to share this talent with others. We are excited to introduce Threads, our first online publication highlighting the Arts Council of York Countyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Annual Literary Competition. The 2015 Literary Competition entry period ends in September, so start working on your entries now! We anticipate receiving many more short stories and poems to fill another magazine next year. We are especially excited to announce our new sponsor. Perehelion Book Club of Rock Hill has graciously offered to sponsor the awards for the 2015 Literary Competition. Please enjoy!

Debra Heintz Executive Director, Arts Council of York County

T oF Contents a b l e Youth Short Story 4 8 20 30

The Death Effect - 1st Place The Sixth Stop - 2nd Place Neither Bond Nor Free - 3rd Place Fade to Black

Helen Coats Charlotte Pollack Jordan Flachman Rileigh Pack

Youth Poetry 32 34 35 36 38 40 41

One Who Brings Light - 2nd Place Part and Parcel Falling A Life of Quiet - 3rd Place Aftermath My South - 1st Place Infected

Jane Janick Carrie Lee Lancaster Jane Janick Charlotte Pollack Jane Janick Grace Tong Jane Janick

Adult Short Story 42 52 58 64 71 82

Lefty Goes South - 1st Place House of Ruth - 2nd Place The Appointment No, Mama - 3rd Place The Last October The Cheater

William Kezziah Craig Faris John Cauthen Bob Jolly John Cauthen John Cauthen

Adult Poetry 90 91 92 94 95 96 98 99 100 101 102 103

The Declaration Of IndePrincess Tomboy Hopkins, SC - 1st Place Hasadera Tokudou in Kamakura - 2nd Place Night Falls - 3rd Place The People, a History Star Drops and Spider Hair Idolize Orphan Sunbath Last Day Internal Dialogue

Joy Colter Donna Wylie Austin Lange Susan Helldorfer Kerri Lynn Pierce Barbara Lunow Barbara Lunow Joy Colter Ellen Caldwell Donna Wylie Donna Wylie Joy Colter

The Death Effect

by Helen coats

My dress is itchy, the preacher is weird,

out of my boredom.

and he’s calling Matt a little boy even though he

was twelve. He’s nothing like the priest at my

He’s mourning.”

church, who wears vestments and a cross. This

man is wearing a black tie that is the same color as

afternoon. I try to say something else but Mom

the blanket-things spread all over the three long

puts a finger to her lips and turns to face the front.

boxes on the floor, surrounded by lilies.

I cross my arms but shut up.

His talk is filled with a lot of the words that

Mom gives me a lopsided smile. “No, honey. Morning? But it’s the middle of the

Daniel’s hair is very black against his now-

I’ve heard the adults whisper into their Kleenexes.

scarlet skin. The audience responds to him— he

Hotel, oversight, and Carbomb Monoxified, or

cries, they cry. I think about the Morse code we

something like that. It sounds like the thing that

learned about at my home school group. His

humans breathe out. And what’s so scary about

shakes must be dots, his tears, dashes, and only

breath that would make them cry?

adults can decode them.

I pray in my brain, saying, Dear God, please

Just when I think that Daniel’s going to

let everyone stop crying so we can go eat, but He

start speaking English, he walks toward his chair,

doesn’t listen to me.

trembling like the sapling in our front yard did the

The preacher steps down, giving Matt’s

time I creamed it with a baseball bat. He trips on

brother the stage. I know him, even though he’s

a piece of loose rug and falls on his knees beside

a big kid, maybe sixteen. His name is Daniel. He

one of the caskets. Matt’s picture, complete with

used to come over to our house with his family

cheeky smile, is on top. Half the grown-ups surge

because my parents are his godparents. He usually

to their feet as Daniel clutches at the box, making

talked with the adults about boring things while

sounds like some kind of animal. It scares me

Matt taught me everything I need to know about

more than the crying adults.

life. He was really smart and knew a lot, like what the Milky Way is, and the capital of Brazil.

Daniel’s acting like he’s going to speak now,

the awful funeral. Mom pulls me aside and gives

standing up there on the floor, but when he opens

me a pep talk before Daniel can even pull up in the

his mouth, no words come out. He tugs at his tie,

driveway in his blue boxy car.

loosening it, his face turning red.

Daniel about anything that might upset him,

“Is he choking?” I whisper to Mom, shocked

Daniel moves into our house two days after

“Now, Sophie. I don’t want you to talk to

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

especially his parents and Matt. Okay?” her face is

breakfast and none of them talking.

pinched, like she’s going to cry. Again.

my board,” I announce, holding up the poster.

“Okay,” I say, slouching off. What fun will

Daniel be if I can’t talk to him?

“Mom, I need you to staple something on “Not now, honey,” Mom says, looking at me

but not in me, as though I am a dirty mirror.

Daniel is a big grouch. He gets in the house

“Do you want some breakfast?”

and doesn’t say hi to me or anything. He just

tiptoes up to his room and whispers the door shut

“Can you get breakfast later?”

while Mom and Dad look at each other. Well, if

they are all going to act strange, then I can too.

Daniel?”

I stomp upstairs to my fairy-themed bedroom,

which is right across from Daniel’s, and slam my

my foot. “All my friends get help from their moms

door.

and dads. It’s science, like that Carbomb Mono-

“Sophie, please don’t slam the door,” Mom

“I can’t staple anything by myself,” I say. “Honey, can’t you see we’re talking to “Why won’t you help me?” I say, stumping

thing.”

calls, but I don’t pay any attention to her. The

makings of a science project spread on the floor

It means I don’t have to look at him.

like butter on a jelly sandwich. I want to win the

Junior Scientist Home School Fair, so I’m putting

charge voice. “We’ll talk about science later.”

together a poster board of all my data and stuff.

My project is about the Stroop effect, something

Mom and Dad both get to their feet, but I’m not

I heard on a podcast my mom lets me listen to in

done. Not even close. “Matt knew how to make

the car sometimes. I don’t understand most of it,

volcanoes out of soda and baking powder, and

but I liked the word ‘Stroop’ and my mom helped

how spiders have eight legs ‘cuz they’re arachnids,

me look it up. It’s this brain psychothingy where it

and he knew about Galileo, and –”

can take a person longer to read the color a word

is printed in than the word itself. I wondered what

way, “Maybe you should go to your room.”

would happen if you had black-and-white words

I bang the door just for spite as I go.

too, so that’s what I built the experiment around–

I sit on the floor of my bedroom, crying. My

color versus noncolor. As I cut out picture with

parents love Daniel. They’ll talk to Daniel. But I’m

safety scissors and stuck them on my gigantic

the one who won’t win my medal. I stare at the

poster board with scotch tape, I lost myself in

stapler in my hand, then at the board.

visions of that shiny, 1st place medal. I was going

to win.

someone knocks on my door.

The next morning, I galumph downstairs to

Daniel’s face is hidden beneath his bangs. “Sophie,” says Dad, in his big-papa’s-in“But you’re talking about Matt now!” I say.

“Sophie,” says Dad, in a ‘conversation-over’

“You can’t come in,” I say, sniffing, as “Hey,” Daniel says, poking his head in

talk to Mom. I find her and Dad sitting with Daniel

anyway. I’m surprised to find that he has a voice.

on the back porch, none of them touching their

“Go away,” I say, tucking my knees to my

The Death Effect - Helen Coats

chest. “You’re ruining my life.”

people say there’s no life after death, that it’s all

God’s fault, that it’s your fault, that it’s ugly, that

He doesn’t leave. He just stands there,

leaning against the doorframe, scratching the

it’s unfair.’

back of his neck, frowning at me.

but his face is quite steady. “And then there’s

“How did you know that Matt loved

I look at him, afraid that he might be crying,

science?”

white,” he says, pointing. ‘That’s when people

“I listen.”

say ‘they’re in a better place’. But this,” he says,

He came and sat down next to me, his

picking up the word ‘white’ printed in orange, the

basketball player’s body too tall for my room.

card that had caused him to blurt out Matt’s name.

“This is what death is really like. Conflicted. It’s

“What’s this?” he says, pointing at my

science project.

orange, garish or beautiful.”

“Stroop effect. It’s about how long it takes

Then he looks at me. “I miss them, Soph.

for you to say the color a word is printed in.’

But I know that you miss your family too. I don’t

I hold up the word blue printed in green. “So

want you to be abandoned by them. So, if you’ll

what’s this printed in?”

help me be a big brother again, I’ll let you have

“Green.”

your parents. Deal?’

“This?” I say, holding up another card.

“Matt,” he blurts. Then he starts to say a bad

my poster and staples the stray figure to it, then

word, stopping when he looks at my face. “Sorry,

I don’t say anything. He nods, leans over

leaves the room.

just… orange. It was Matt’s favorite color.” He looks around at the cards strewn all over the floor,

The medal is heavy around my neck, the

black, white, and colored. “You know something,

ribbon pulling at me like I imagine that Daniel’s

Sophie?” he says, picking up a couple of the cards

tie pulls at him, there in the crowd. Memories of

and shuffling through them. “I didn’t come here to

Matt must be strong here, with all the science.

take over your life.”

I glare at him with suspicion. For some

lady who gave me the medal. “Is there anything

reason he finds my scary face funny, and laughs

else you would like to tell us about the Stroop

a little. “No, really!” he says. “I’m here because…

effect?”

well, because death is like your project. You said

that this is called the Stroop effect?”

the crowd, their hands clasped in pride. I think

I nod.

what it would be like to lose them, t go through

“Well, then call this the death effect,” he

what the big kid is going through. He doesn’t look

“Congratulations, Sophie,” says the smiling

I look at my mom and my dad, beaming in

says, spilling cards out of his hands and onto the

quite so big anymore.

floor. They are all jumbled together now, a mix

of colors. “There’s black,” he says, pointing at the

up and I see the tears on his face for the first time

word ‘green’ printed in black and white. “When

since the funeral. I know that he’s had them since

“Yes,” I say, surprising myself. Daniel looks

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

then, but he hasn’t shown them to me. I swallow.

‘I never meant my project to be about a

prism,” I said. “But it is. My project deals with color. And color comes from white. You break the white light, and you can get color. You can get yellow, purple, and green…”

And orange.

And Daniel.

The Death Effect - Helen Coats

The

Sixth Stop

by Charlotte Pollack

“Good morning, Myka! The time is 7:00, on

Myka grumbles at the computer’s flat

April 26, 4096,” the monotonous voice calls out

imitation of regret, as she sits down on a solitary

from inside the girl’s head, instantly waking her.

chair, facing the kitchen. The kitchen was a small

She groans, flopping lazily back onto the pillow.

space, but complex. A sink, surrounded by a neat

“Go away,” she mumbles, even though she

pile of pots, pans, and utensils lay to one side,

knows it’s no use. She pulls the blankets over her

connected by a conveyer belt to the stove and

head, as if that could shield her from the voice

InstaFreezer. A wide pipe sat above each station,

planted inside her brain. Immediately, the pre-

spitting the desired food onto the desired station.

recorded voice grows louder.

“Good morning, Myka…” it says over and

to life on the stove, a pan sliding slowly on the

over, louder and louder and louder until finally,

belt. Egg whites pour into the pan, followed by the

she throws the cover back, and tosses her legs over

plopping down of two round sausage patties. The

the side of the bed.

sound of sizzling grease and machines humming

“Fine! I’m awake! Are you happy now?”

fills the air, but it retracts almost as soon as it

she yells at the voice, stepping into her slippers

appears. A faint ding resounds in the small space,

and sliding out of the comfort of the new-edition

and a platter appears in front of her.

PlastiFeather bed. Slowly, half stumbling, she

“No coffee?” Myka asks.

steps across the yellow line which then signals

“No; you have already had your weekly

her sleeping area to fold up into a box. Without

caffeine ration. May I interest you in milk or

a sound, it slips into the indention in the wall. As

juice?”

her Brain-Chip turns off, she begins her usual fight

with the Airtram’s service system.

throughout the day without her cup of coffee,

“What would you like for breakfast?”

moans as she lifts a glass of milk from the counter.

“The usual.”

Begrudgingly, she walks towards the door,

“With or without orange juice?”

anticipating the gruelingly tedious meal in the

“Since when did I like orange juice?”

Adolescent Dining Hall. Before she can make it

“Pardon me, Myka; I am programmed

out of the doorway, the sickeningly gentle voice of

to offer excess vitamins when a Big Day is

P.C.P (Personal Computer Psychologist) calls out.

scheduled.”

Bored, the young girl watches flames sputter

Myka, being the type who can’t stay awake

“Dear, would you like to talk about what is

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

troubling you?” Huffing out a frustrated breath,

droned. The realization causes Myka’s blood to

she stands to face the wall. As much as she would

freeze still in her veins, and her stomach twists

like to keep walking, she knew that the door would

uncomfortably. She pushes the door out into the

remain locked until P.C.P gave the final okay.

hall, leaving as quickly as she can. But not quick

enough to avoid what came next.

“I don’t want to go to the Dining Hall,

because I feel awkward around the people there,

“Happy sixteenth birthday!”

and they never let me sit with them.”

The Adolescent Dining Hall is bustling by

“Wouldn’t Jorge let you sit with him?” she

the time Myka arrives. Still, despite the numbers,

asks pleasantly, reminding her of the love-chips

the rows of gossiping girls manage to scoot over

imbedded under their skulls. At birth, their genes

enough to give Myka her own little private eating

were matched, and the Scientists placed love-chips

space. Hunching over her plate, she tries to ignore

into them, only to be activated at sixteen, when it

everyone else’s glares as she slowly shovels her

was healthy to court.

portions into her mouth. After today, she wouldn’t

“Yes…” she responded slowly. You weren’t

have to worry about it, though. As is tradition

supposed to know whom you were matched with,

when a couple has their love-chips synced, she

but Jorge was a whole year older than her, and

and Jorge would have their first cosmetic and

had thus been ogling at her for that entire time.

behavioral surgeries. The purpose of it was so that

She couldn’t imagine liking him. He was too tall

it would be like meeting each other for the first

and too skinny, with hair so red that it made his

time.

too-pale skin look even paler. Not to mention his

failure to undergo the dreaded voice-change.

to, though. She was looking forward to the Social

“Yes… but I feel weird around him, too,”

Behavior Upgrade box that her father had checked

she says. It was true. Myka dreaded every day of

off on the Available Behavior-Altering Procedures

that year that she knew she was meant to be with

sheet. Even as she mourned the loss of her old

him. She couldn’t believe that she would soon be

self, and her old disgusted feelings toward Jorge,

forced to be as head-over-heels in love as he. She

she didn’t mind the fact that she couldn’t actually

choked on a gag.

make friends.

“Don’t worry,” the voice assured, optimistic

That wasn’t what she was looking forward

Myka satisfied herself with that thought as

as always, “soon you won’t have to worry about

she finished up her meal, standing up to dispose

it.” Myka nods in agreement, trying to appease the

of her tray. Unfortunately, before she could even

P.C.P as much as herself.

take a few steps forward, she felt herself collide

with someone else, her dishes clattering to the

“Yeah,” she says dryly, not quite convinced,

“sure.”

floor. Laughs erupted. She didn’t even have to Finally, the door clicks as it unlocks, and

guess who they were.

she reaches for the knob.

the ceramic fragments, she curled her hands into

“Oh, and one more thing,” the voice

As the bots quickly rushed out to pick up

The Sixth Stop - Charlotte Pollack

fists and faced the group of girls.

her pretty red lips parted in a half smile, Zarin

looks her over, as if judging a cut of meat. Myka

“What’s so funny?” she demands, looking

at them each in turn. One of them stands out.

narrows her eyes.

Zarin — the daughter of the High Scientist. Myka

scowls at her perfect features, each artistically

voice convincing. I’m sure one of the teenage boys

arranged in a repulsive expression of innocence. It

has fainted by now. “I mean, you can’t control the

was no secret that Zarin had already had surgeries

way you are; I never meant to ridicule you for your

before. Even though it wasn’t technically allowed

clumsiness. The doctors had to give most of us at

until age sixteen, when your father is the head of

least a few bad traits…”

genetic and cosmetic procedural sciences… well,

you can get away with a lot of things.

Myka grits her teeth, as if that could keep her

Zarin bats her ultra-thick eyelashes in feign

raging thoughts inside. A nail splits from where

confusion. “I don’t understand why you’re being so

she clutches her fists too tightly. But more

sensitive,” she chirps in a clear, soprano voice that

significantly, a horrible hatred burns in her chest

had the heads of all the non-love-chip-activated

as she realizes that it’s the way it was meant to be.

guys turning, eyes bugging.

A doctor implanted chromosomes in her mother’s

A sickly pale hand grabs Myka’s arm, and

belly, delicately manipulating the genes to her

she jumps back. Jorge looks back at her, expression

parents liking, and quite frankly, their wallet.

showing just how well his brain chip worked.

Typing notes into a computer: this one will be

“Give it a rest, M,” he says, looking her over

quiet and awkward, with an 89% higher chance

like he’s blind to everyone but her. He leans close.

of being a victim to bullying than the average

“They’re not worth it.”

child.

Again, Myka steps back, trying to mask her

“I won’t judge you,” she says heroically, her

Appalled and humiliated by her words,

Now, all she can hear are the jeering voices

revulsion. She opens her mouth to tell him to back

in her head— the doctor, her parents, and all the

off, but can’t bring herself to. Somehow, looking

snide comments she’d heard for the sixteen years

into his face, the slave of a piece of metal in his

of her existence. In that moment, nothing mattered

brain, she just knows she can’t do it. Giggling

to her but letting it all out. She didn’t care how.

resumes, and this time, taunts join them.

mouth wide and let out a scream. Not the type

“What’s wrong, Myka? Cat’s got your

Tipping her head back, she stretched her

tongue?”

of scream you hear from film reproductions of

damsels in distress, to be exact. No. This scream

“Why so scared? He’s your future after

was worse. In it were all the fear, and the anger,

all.”

“Just can’t give a guy any credit for trying,

and the frustration that had welled up inside for

can you?”

sixteen long and painful years. So loud that no one

hears the automated voice announcing ‘Stop One.’

So many taunts from so many different

people. And yet only one seems to matter. With

At least now I’ve got everyone’s attention,

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

she thought, letting out a mirthless, humorless

be whole, except…” Myka draws it out, enjoying

laugh. Understanding immediately what’s going

herself more than she ever has, “… except her.”

to happen, Jorge reaches out to pull her back. Too

late.

than any noise ever heard by a human being.

A palpable silence follows a silence louder

Myka storms over to the table, grips her

Letting them all bask in her own horror, she makes

hands around Zarin’s neck, and forces her to the

her way out of the room, making a point out of

ground. A unified gasp fills up the room as she

stepping over Zarin’s body, frozen on the floor.

struggles on the floor. Too proud to beg or call

for help, she just lays there, hiccupping in panic.

out, threats by the boys trying to boost their

Bending to her knees, Myka looks down on the

reputation. Girls gossiping loudly, snickering. Yet

terrible girl, jabbing a finger in her face.

there is one voice that makes everything else seem

nonexistent.

“I don’t care who your father is,” she

And then the spell is broken. Clamor breaks

whispers, her voice pure venom, “the High

“You won’t get away with this!” It’s Zarin.

Scientist is no more than the cleaning bots if he

When Myka turns around, she sees that the girl’s

raised a rat like you.” She stands, walking to the

usually perfect, creamy complexion is now ruddy

center so that every girl who swooned over being

with insult. Her hazel eyes are bloodshot.

Zarin’s friend, and every boy who prayed that her

love-chip was for him, could see her.

see you placed with the rest of the psychopaths!”

“I may be clumsy, and you may deride me

Myka laughs at her pride, continuing onward.

for it,” she calls out, encouraged by the enticing

Finally, she’s spoken her mind; put the hag in

feel of courage and power rushing through her,

her place. Still, there was something about her

“but tomorrow, I will be cured. No matter how

haughtiness that caused a shiver to run up the

many times she—“ Myka motions angrily in

length of her spine. The rest of the psychopaths?

Zarin’s direction, “has her daddy bend the rules,

What was that all about? She knew it was

no matter how many surgeries she has…” another

impossible— anyone who was crazy just had a

gasp fills the room. She laughs as adrenaline

genetic alteration or surgery to fix it. Suppressing

courses through her— she has planned this day

a shudder, she tried not to think about it, striding

for a long time, but never dreamed of it ever

confidently into the Adult Hall.

“My father will avenge me, you coward! I’ll

happening. Especially the day before she would be cured.

Leaning close to the door, Myka used two

“She will never be rid of her arrogance. One

fingers to open her eyelids, just as the sweeping

day, we will all have perfect genes— I’m having my

laser reached out to read her eye. She winced. The

own procedure today, and soon you will too. All

quick flash of light burned, and her father refused

of us will one day be seated in the Adult Dining

to get her a healing surgery. “It’s not worth it,” he

Hall with all the beautiful people, preening over

had said, “You want to wait until you’re older so

how wonderful the human race is. All of us will

that the risk of defect is smaller.”

The Sixth Stop - Charlotte Pollack

After all, there are no procedures that are

“It is. I thought you would want to fill it out

riskless, she thought as the door opened itself.

yourself, because neither your mother nor I had

Every now and then you would hear of someone

much of a preference. Your mother just wanted me

on the news who got a defect because surgery went

to tell you that she thinks you would look good as

wrong. Nothing to worry about, they said. Usually

a blonde.” There was an obvious change of tone as

blamed the anesthetics or the person’s inability to

soon as he said the words your mother. Even he,

cooperate with the doctors.

who could never have affection for any other, was

incapable of speaking of his wife without looking…

Putting aside her thought, Myka stepped

inside her father, Henri’s room. Clearing her

in love.

throat, she walks up next to the table where he is

intently staring at a sheet of paper.

plastic, wear-free carbon pencil in front of her.

Picking it up, she begins checking off boxes, and

“Hi, Dad,” she says tentatively, looking for

Myka nods as a little pipe dispenses a

some recognition in his face. Some sign that he

writing notes in the margins.

knew his daughter.

particular, immediately checking off the box for red

“Henri will do just fine. Myka. You know

“Good to know,” she says to no one in

I’m no longer interested in being your father.”

hair instead. Intently scribbling away at the paper,

Sighing, she responds, “Yes, Henri.” Like

she finds herself wondering at the uselessness and

most parents, when Myka became old enough, her

strangeness of the variety of procedures. Green

father had a brain operation that would stop all

skin that contains chloroplasts? Fingernails

affections for her. It was wise, really. A girl couldn’t

made out of diamonds? Teeth filed to fangs? How

properly grow up while being coddled and loved.

shallow were these people?

Still, as logical as it was, Myka wished he hadn’t

gone through with it. It was so hard feeling like

droned out, “We will reach stop three in fifteen

no one loved you, and she vowed that she would

minutes.”

never do that to her own children.

Pushing the paper closer to her, her father

surgeries as natural looking as possible,’ Myka

grunted, “Last week I got the mental surgery form

slaps down her pencil, and faces her father. It

filled out. Checked off every box. You need the

wasn’t something she enjoyed—talking to a dad

surgery more than anyone else ever has, you know

who wasn’t really like a dad ranked up there with

that?”

having shots (which she was told was an ancient

“Yes, Henri.” Her voice was exasperated,

“We have arrived at Stop Two,” the intercom

Writing the final note to ‘make the

form of torture). But her anticipation got the best

a little disheartened. She had enough problems

of her.

with the children her age— she didn’t need her

father stepping in as Zarin’s sidekick. “Is this the

“Yes?”

cosmetic portion?” she inquired, taking a closer

look at the form.

there?” Nervously, Myka drums her fingers on

“Fath— uh, Henri?” “Can you tell me what’s going to happen

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

the table. Stop Five was something of a rumor. No

one got to know about it until they were there for

people do if they’re being picked on,” she replies,

the first time at age sixteen, and for all anybody

confused, purposefully excluding the part where

knew, it was a haven for mythical creatures. And

she grabbed her by the neck and made a big

surgeries? Would they hurt? She knew there was

dramatic speech. That was certainly not what

anesthesia, but what about afterward? Instantly,

normal people did.

Zarin’s words popped into her head, and she

cringed. What happened if the procedures didn’t

forcefully, his usual dignified movements frantic

work?

and afraid. He runs a hand through his perfectly

“No,” he said simply, “telling you would

“I… stood up for myself… like most normal

“What did you say to her?” he inquires

engineered hair.

be like easing your fears for you. You need to be

able to face them on your own. From a logical

time. All former befuddlement is replaced with a

perspective—“

disgusted anger. All those times he made her feel

weak for not speaking up, and now it’s a problem?

“— What if I don’t care about logic?” she

“Why do you care?” she says, loudly this

cuts him off, and that same feeling of power as

before rushes through her. “I just don’t want to go

girl!” he shouts, lip curled back from his teeth in

in there blind, that’s all.”

revulsion.

Henri looks at her for a while, eyes

“Her father is the High Scientist, you stupid

“And? She’s just his daughter, Henri!”

narrowed as he takes her in. “Where’d you get

Myka yells back in frustration. All she wanted was

all that courage?” he asks suspiciously, “you’re

some knowledge of the ceremony! She didn’t ask

an antisocial coward who has always been too

for this.

scared to talk above a whisper to anybody. What

changed?” Unbidden, a mischievous smile rises to

the shoulders, and brings his hand down across

Mykas’s lips.

her face. She cries out, clutching the burning skin

and stumbling backwards.

“Why are you smiling?” he snaps, slamming

Shocked at her audacity, he grabs her by

his hands on the desk. Immediately, she replaces

her grin with a grim line, pushing down the urge

brim in her eyes. She blinks them away furiously.

to laugh. She was still having trouble believing she

She didn’t want to give him something else to hold

did it.

against her.

“I finally stood up to Zarin Rousseau!”

“How can you do this?” she wails as tears

“How can you look at me, your daughter,

she says excitedly. Maybe for once he would be

and not feel anything? How do you convince

proud of her. All these years of him reminding her

yourself it’s right when you humiliate me or hit me

of her social failure, and now she’s finally done

or treat me like I’m not a human being?” Henri’s

something about it.

eyes narrow at the confrontation not accustomed

to this side of her.

Instead, his face goes white with shock, and

his features harden. “You did what?”

“Because…” he seethes, “you may not be a

The Sixth Stop - Charlotte Pollack

human being if the High Scientist finds out. You’ll

to elaborate. He shifts, looking uncomfortable,

be a corpse!”

but makes no sound, gives no hint as to what he

means.

The last word is like a slap to the face, ten

times more stunning than the literal one she first

received. This time she doesn’t try to hold back the

reach Stop Four in fourteen minutes.” The voice

tears. She doesn’t even attempt to wipe them away

drones, and the expressionless reminder is like a

as they dribble uncontrollably out of her eyes.

countdown to her death. Myka shivers.

“What have I done,” she thinks.

and with that, she finally leaves, feeling worse than

“What’s going to happen to me?” She asks,

voice breaking.

“We have arrived at Stop Three; we will

“It’s time for you to go, Myka,” Henri says,

ever.

“I don’t know,” he says gruffly, before his

iron façade finally cracks. Something like sympathy

plays on his face. “I don’t know,” he repeats. This

cloud over her head that even the P.C.P cannot

time he just sounds tired. She was his only child.

disperse. Lying down on her bed, which unfolded

Even if he didn’t love her, he wouldn’t want her to

neatly on command, she finally allows herself

die. Or worse.

some rest.

“I think you should go and clean yourself

The thoughts and the predictions are a dark

But even sleep does not ease her thought.

up,” he announces as he straightens himself out,

Every time she drifts off, all she sees is a doctor

that iron mask once again covering his genetically

with blood spattering his smock, a scalpel in hand.

altered heart. “I’ll try to straighten things up with

She sees the Stops swirling around her too.

the Board of Scientists for you.”

choose not to live on the AirTram.

Numbly, she nods standing and making her

Stop One, the living quarters for those who

way towards the door. Each heartbeat feels like a

punch to the chest, but she’s glad for it. She may

are run.

not have a heartbeat after Zarin’s father finds out.

Stop Three, the recreation center.

Or will she?

Stop Four, where the Scientist-controlled

government works.

Pausing with her hand on the doorknob,

Stop Two, where all businesses and schools

she asks one more question.

passage is performed.

“Henri, what if the surgery doesn’t work?”

Stop Five, the place where every rite of

Myka asks, her voice raising an octave as she asks the question that’s haunted her ever since the

fight. The question that she fears the answer to.

supposes, but she’s not sure. She wakes up before

He sighs, his face defying all the anti-aging

she can see what it is. Standing, and stepping back

surgeries he’s had. “Oh, Myka…” he says softly,

over the yellow line, she sits down in a chair beside

“I really wish you wouldn’t ask that.” There’s

her desk.

a long silence after that as Myka waits for him

And then there’s another. A sixth, she

“LapTablet,”

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

she

commands,

and

dispenser pops out her favorite high-tech laptop-

Sciences, she and Henri check in at the eye-scan.

tablet hybrid. To distract herself from everything

This time, she hardly registers the burn of the red

else that’s going on, she tries playing games, and

light, and switches her mind onto autopilot as she

when that doesn’t work, she tries movies, and

follows one of the white-swathed assistants.

when that doesn’t work, she slams it back down

on the table, huffing out an exasperated breath.

white, with a gurney at the ready. She tries not to

look at the pointy, wicked-looking tools that are

She supposes that when your slow demise

Myka finds herself in a small room, all

could be in the process of being planned, it’s hard

splayed out on the table beside it.

to go on as normal.

A ping sounds.

be the one taking care of your paperwork,” says

Looking at her LapTablet, she sees a message

the overly peppy woman who led them there. “I

splayed on the screen. Speaking of normal, she

understand that this is your first surgery, Miss

thinks as she notes that it’s from Zarin.

Myka, and I assure you that there is nothing to

worry about!” She takes the papers that Myka’s

“Heard your Daddy tried to cry for your

“My name is Nurse Hawkins, and I will

forgiveness,” it reads, and Myka grits her teeth.

father hands her, smiling brightly.

This is the last person she wants to talk to right

now, understandably so. Turning away, she hopes

Myka. And Mr. Henri, we ask that you please wait

that if she just ignores her, she’ll go away.

outside.”

Another ping.

No such luck.

and leaving Myka alone in the terrible white room.

“You can go on avoiding me,” this one says,

Hunching her shoulders, Myka feels as if she could

and Myka feels her palms go clammy. Why can’t

never be more alone. Paranoia and exhaustion

she just butt out? Why did she have to hate Myka

rage through her, and this time there is no person

so much?

or even a P.C.P to ease her pain. As she drowns

herself in self-pity, she hardly realizes when the

“… But even you can’t keep this up forever.

“Your surgeon will be right with you,

Curtly, he nods, carefully stepping outside,

I’ll see you at Six.” With that, Zarin seems to be

door creaks open, and a new person steps in.

satisfied, but it is quite the opposite for Myka.

Even as Zarin ceases to send messages, Myka

in a calm and authoritative voice, rousing her

can almost feel the girl in her head, taunting, and

from her thoughts. As soon as she sees him, her

teasing… threatening.

heart freezes in her chest. Exactly whom she was

By the time she hears “Stop Five,” she’s

trying to avoid. Myka tries to mask her terror with

ready. Not ready to die or to face her fears, though.

a brittle smile, but the movement seems foreign to

Ready to get as far away from Zarin as possible.

her paranoid state.

Yes. That was the plan.

After taking a rented AirJet from the Station

he adds, a small, knowing smile tugging at his

to the Center of Genetic and Cosmetic Procedural

mouth. Myka nods, too stunned to speak, knowing

“Hello, I am Dr. Rousseau,” the man says

“If you didn’t know, I am the High Scientist,”

The Sixth Stop - Charlotte Pollack

immediately why the High Scientist himself would

making that impossible. The Scientist smirks, eyes

bother to operate on an average young girl.

chastising.

Pleased with her discomfort, he goes on,

“Ah, my dear, but you did,” he replies, voice

“I’m sure the nurse already told you that there is

too gentle-sounding for the circumstances, “Have

nothing to worry about. You won’t feel a thing.”

a nice rest.”

He reaches for a syringe on the table, and Myka’s

stomach does a little flip.

No more panic. No more fear. No more thoughts.

“What is that?” she asks apprehensively,

Her eyes close, and everything goes black. “I’ll see you in Six,” he whispers as he straps

eyeing the silver liquid. He chuckles, as if this

the lifeless body onto the gurney.

is something he goes through on a daily basis.

Something about the sound makes her feel open,

exposed. As if he can feel everything that’s going

do, she realizes that she’s all alone again. But

on inside her.

she’s not in the same room as before. This one is

“It’s an injection so that you won’t feel me

about the same size and color, but has a full length

cutting you open,” he says simply, not sparing her

mirror against one wall. Standing up on wobbly

in the least. Well that helped, Myka thinks.

legs, she makes her way to the mirror, gasping and

stumbling away from it when she does.

“An injection?” she questions in horror, “As

Mykas’s eyes flutter open, and when they

in the ancient torture device?” He laughs again,

the sound harsh and grating.

but she was beautiful all the same. More so than

“Is that what they tell you in school these

all the other adults. Myka smiles. Even he could

days?” he responds, eyes sparkling with his

not bear to not show off his work. Her perfectly

laughter. He brings the needle up to her neck.

straight hair is black instead of red, shimmering

“This will only pinch a bit.”

halfway down her back. Her skin is pure white,

completely at contrast to the vibrant green irises

Myka gasps from the sudden insertion,

No, the doctor did not follow her instruction,

squeezing her eyes shut. She shudders as she

that peek out under lush eyelashes.

feels the steady stream of liquid emptying into

her bloodstream. And then the needle’s gone. And

that she wears—someone must have dressed her.

there’s this feeling of warm tiredness taking over

And whoever did must’ve really enjoyed snipping

her. Her eyelids feel like they’re made of lead as

and snipping away at the fabric until it showed off

she tries to hold them open. It’s in that moment

all of her perfectly constructed curves.

that she realizes what will happen. This liquid

will make her defenseless, all at the mercy of this

the door, which opens automatically upon her

vengeful man.

arrival.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezes, her voice not

She also takes note of the tiny green dress

More confident than ever, she strides for

“Surprise!” a chorus of people yell as she

obeying her, “I never meant to insult you.’ She

steps out. Laughing, she embraces Zara, her

should be panicking right now, but the drug is

mother, and the rest of her family who hadn’t

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

had the anti-affection operation. It’s obvious that

her shyness is gone, replaced with flawless self-

control of his emotions now. Myka smiles back.

assurance.

turning to face the Scientist in traditional robes.

“How do I look?” she asks them, striking a

pose.

“You look beautiful,” he says, completely in “And you look good too,” she replies,

And thus the ceremonies began. Reading from “Marvelous, darling!” her mother gushes,

a long script, the Scientist went through and

fingering a strand of her dark hair, “you look so

revisited the “glorious history of our country,” and

much better raven than blond!” Murmurs of

the purpose of love-chips. The ritual was long, and

assent follow, and she grins madly.

had many parts in Latin and Greek, which nobody

“Whoever has your love-chip is a lucky

except for maybe Henri understood. For crying

man,” someone says, and Myka giggles even as her

out loud, Myka thought, they’re just activating my

stomach churns. Lively conversation commences,

chip!

and she finds herself wandering with the group

away from the Center, her charisma catching

says, finally in English, “are there any objections

every pedestrian’s eye. Before she knows it, they

to this match?” There is silence, and Myka’s

are standing in front of a large building. The

breathing shifts with anxious expectation.

famous Convention Hall. Her heart stutters in

anticipation.

he continues, “are there any objections to this

match?” More silence.

“Nervous?” Zara asks, and Myka nods. This

is it.

“Don’t worry, dear, you’ll do fine,” she

“To the family of Jorge Smith,” the Scientist

“And to the family of Myka Van Engel,”

In response the Scientist smiles widely,

motioning towards a woman typing commands

reassures, giving Myka a gentle push. “Go on.”

onto a LapTablet.

Stepping into the Hall, her breath is taken

“If there are no objections, then Myka, we

away by its beauty. Columns painted in gold, jewels

shall activate your love-chip.”

dripping from the ceiling. Candles everywhere,

splashing bits of color across the room. And then

tremor inside her, as if her body is resisting the

there’s Jorge.

change. And then she feels a pop, a little sting

He stands, quite a few inches taller, at the

in her head that recedes only a second after it

back of the room. He looks… handsome. A word

appears. Opening her eyes, she can’t believe she

that before, would never be used to describe him.

ever disliked Jorge. Seeing him there after the

Giving her shoulders a little shake to get rid of the

surgeries was the most beautiful thing she thought

last of the nerves, she starts forward. Left foot,

she would ever see.

right foot, left, right, she chants in her head as she

goes, until finally she arrives in front of him.

leaned close. The whole room burst into applause,

and she felt stupid for ever fearing that something

A wobbly breath escapes her, and Jorge

gives her a knowing smile.

Closing her eyes, Myka suppresses the

Throwing her arms around his neck, she

would happen to her. Obviously, she would only

The Sixth Stop - Charlotte Pollack

ever be safe.

the building. Putting on a pretty face, even as she

And then something went wrong.

watches her future crumble, he lets them chain

“Ah!” Myka screamed, clutching her head

her to her seat.

and stumbling away. A loud ringing resounded in

“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice

her head, preventing her from thinking or feeling

wavering despite her efforts.

anything. She yelled out again. This time the noise

“You’ll just have to see.” Before long, the doors open, and a guard

was painful, and her while body shook.

‘What’s going on?” Henri shouted angrily.

“What’s wrong with my baby?” Zara wails.

dressed in black un-cuffs her.

Shouts fill the air, and Myka cannot process

“Where do we take her?” the woman asks,

any of them. All she knows is that she’s on the

her face obscured by a mask. Myka keeps her own

floor, shuddering uncontrollably, by the time the

face strong— they have taken everything from

pain stops.

her— they will not take this as well.

“She has incompatible genes!” a voice calls

“The worst place you can find,” the Scientist

out from the back of the room. It was the High

retorts, voice cool and nonchalant.

Scientist, striding forward, each step crashing

down with dominance. “I tried to fix her, but I

guard pulls her into a dark building, wrought

can’t! She’s a mutation that will become a threat

with cruel, iron gates. The air is cool and damp,

to the superior race!”

smelling sourly of mold and human filth. In the

“You did this!” Henri yells, lunging at him,

darkness, Myka sees a pair of eyes, all full of

but the Scientist expertly twists out of his reach.

rage and insanity. Myka’s breath falters with her

Before anyone can process what’s going on, he’s

realization.

pulling a syringe out of his sleeve, and he stabs it

This is the Sixth Stop.

into Henri’s back. Myka’s father crumples lifelessly

The place no one hears about, because no

onto the ground, and his wife screams.

one escapes to tell the tale.

“I already killed one of you,” the man calls

Dragging her by her hand bindings, the

The painful noise in her head resumes as

out, “how many more of you will I have to go

they chain her down, and she thrashes beneath

through to get to her?”

their hands, madness creeping in.

“Me!” Jorge yells out, not missing a beat.

This was no accident.

But Myka will not have it. Despite her former

A doctor implanted chromosomes in her

disgust, she cannot bear to see him hurt now.

mother’s belly, sixteen years ago, as he typed notes

into a computer.

“No!” she counters him, standing, “I’ll go.”

Staring him down with her bright irises, she waits

until he lowers his head in submission. Keeping

unfortunate state, and in challenging it, will meet

her chin held high even as she knows she’s heading

her end in an asylum…”

to her death, she follows the wretched man out of

… she will eventually become tired of her

All this time they knew, and yet they would

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Entry

let her suffer for the sake of a science experiment.

This was not an accidentâ&#x20AC;Ś

There are no accidents.

The Sixth Stop - Charlotte Pollack

Neither Bond

Nor

Jordan

Free

Flachman

I raced across the slick cobblestone streets

towards him. I then threw back the curtain and

as the rain drizzled steadily down. My head

pounced. Much to my surprise, it was not Isaiah,

pounded, my lungs felt like they were about to

but Micah. He laughed uncontrollably, and held

burst, and my unruly curls stuck to my face. My

up my book. I snatched it and turned to run for

skirts were getting tangled around my legs. I made

my life. Having a brother a foot and a half taller

a mental note to get an old pair of Micah’s pants. I

than you doesn’t help escapades. He swooped

ran unceasingly through back alleyways trying to

me off the ground swung me around and placed

avoid detection. The urgency of the situation was

me gently down on my feet. I turned to give him

forever present in my mind. I thought back to just

a good scolding. I looked up at my twin’s clear

three months ago when all seemed perfect in my

blue eyes, which were partly covered by his crazy

life.

blonde curls, and were dancing merrily. My

“Isaiah! Isaiah! You bring back my book

quiet, gentle brother loved being naughty almost

RIGHT now!” My voice echoed through the

as much as Isaiah. Then my beautiful mother

many halls of our mansion. My mischievous

walked toward us gracefully, leading Isaiah

older brother had stolen my book. Again. One

by the ear. My brother was laughing his big,

would think that at twenty years of age, he

booming laugh. At the sight of my small mother

would have stopped. Unfortunately for me, he

leading her giant, grown son by the ear, Micah

hadn’t. I searched behind curtains, in drawers,

and I burst out laughing. My mother proceeded

and opened every door for any sign of my book

to scold my brothers playfully. I kissed her, and

or my brother. There were thousands of nooks

my naughty brothers before running off to find

and crannies to hide yourself or a book. I was

my sisters. My recently married sister was in my

desperate. To my advantage, though, was my

room looking out my expansive windows. Her

brother’s big size. Being tall and muscular didn’t

black ringlets fell prettily down her back. I knew

help hiding. As I searched down and around

without looking that her attentive violet eyes

the hall, I happened to spot my brother’s big

were catching notice of everything in the front

feet sticking out from under the curtain at the

yard below. She heard me come in, turned and

end of the hall. I pretended to keep looking and

smiled at me.

calling for him, all the while, walking quietly

“Have the boys been messing with little

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

Haddassah again?” I grunted. She laughed

table to take care of later. The ink bottles and pens

and we sat on my bed. “Beth?” I inquired. She

went back in their rightful drawer, or place on

shrugged. My bubbly little sister was nowhere to

the desk. Then I started to organize the massive

be seen.

stack of letters and important papers. As I sifted

through, a paper slipped out and drifted to the

As we were debating whether or not to go

find her, Beth burst into my room screaming

floor. I stooped to pick it up and accidentally

“Isaiah’s chasing me Isaiah’s chasing me!!!”

caught a glimpse of what it said. Intrigued, I read

Miriam and I giggled as we hugged her. Our girls

further. NOTICE

meeting commenced.

To the head of the McCain household,

Now as I stumbled through the slippery

streets, I realized that had been one of my last

The Army of the United States of America, demands

care-free, worry-free days. It was not long after

that a member(s) of your reputable household be

that I accidently stumbled on something that

sent to help with the war effort. They must help by

would forever alter the outcome of our lives.

means of

Walking

down

our

royal

staircase,

1. Assisting in the secret services,

I headed towards my grandfather’s office.

by giving us information which might be of benefit

Every Wednesday I cleaned it for him. He was,

to our effort.

unfortunately, not the tidiest person in the world.

I entered the bright, sunlit room, and surveyed

our valiant cause.

the damage. The desk was cluttered with papers,

pens, ink bottles, plates, mugs, and books. His

blankets, clothing, bandages, etc.

chairs by the windows were piled high with

clothes. Dust was gathering on the books and

manual labor like digging trenches and building

shelves that enveloped his office. I wondered

walls.

how it had gotten so dirty in a week. I had left

We thank you for your understanding and co-

it spotless the last Wednesday. I decided to start

operation. We need to hear of your consent by the

with Grandfather’s clothes. I picked them up

15 of March, 1864. However we must inform you

in one giant pile and took them to the basket in

that if no one is sent, or if we do not receive a letter

the kitchen. While in the kitchen, I picked up a

of consent by the above date, we will be forced to

feather duster to clean the shelves and books. I

come and forcibly take the supplies, and people

returned and spent the next half hour making the

we need. If need be, we will even take the house as

shelves and books shine. After that I was finally

a hospital or station for the generals. We hope to

able to turn to the big problem; Grandfather’s

see a sign soon. You can send a letter to the above

desk. I picked up the dirty dishes and piled them

address, or send a person to the American Fort

precariously high on the tray. I set it on the side

Adams.

2. Enlisting in the Union Army to fight for 3. Giving supplies such as food, 4. Using their valuable time to assist us in

Neither Bond Nor Free - Jordan Flachman

leave my family alone. You signed a contract!

How dare you? Don’t you trust me? Haven’t I

Yours Truly,

shown you I’m trustworthy?”

General A. W. Lauring

He scowled, “Who is to know? Only you

and I were in that room. You could have forged

I felt a flood of emotions rise up within me;

it. Just do as I say.” Anger burned in my heart

anger, fear, sadness. Anger towards this General

toward him. I would only do this for my family.

guy for threatening to take us or our home, and

anger towards my grandfather for doing nothing,

I noticed a lone slave battling the rain. He was,

saying nothing. Fear of losing our house, and

no doubt, on some errand for his master. The

everything I held dear and loved. Sadness at the

sight of him brought back memories of the day

prospect of losing it all. I wondered what could be

when I decided that I was against slavery, and

done. I could not address Grandfather. He would

the business. The very business that kept my

be angry at me for snooping, and would forbid

grandfather rich and me in a mansion was also the

me from doing anything, while he continued to

business that kept thousands of innocent people

do nothing. My mother and sister would be on

in chains of bondage.

his side. Isaiah would put his life on the line, as

would Micah. I could not let anyone endanger

day in the barn. Up to that point, I knew almost

themselves. A brave and foolish thought arose in

nothing about the evil part of slavery. Micah had

my mind. I knew what I needed to do, and what

talked to me briefly, but I thought he was just

should be done. March, 15th was less than a week

jealous since he wasn’t going to inherit any of the

away, and fast approaching. I hurriedly finished

plantation. That bright, sunny day, I was in the

cleaning the desk, and dashed out of the room. I

barn not long after my discovery of the letter. I

needed to get ready for an escape.

was in the stall with my horse, Frost, and I was

I was now almost to the place arranged.

My hatred for slavery all started one

looking around in wonder at how well the new

I ran now with my heart burning, and my

slave, Jim, had cleaned it. The stall shone, as did

thighs yelling at me to stop running. I wondered

the horses. For some reason the overseer, Mr.

what would have happened if I had not taken

Hartfield, did not think it was clean enough. He

action. Would my life be so different?

stormed into the barn screaming at Jim, telling

I remember the last words the General

him, he was a lazy and insolent slob. Jim said

spoke to me, “Now Miss McCain, you do this

nothing. Mr. Hartfield slapped him. Still, Jim

important mission, and your family’s safety is

didn’t move. The cruel man yelled all the louder.

assured. However, if you fail me, I will take your

I figured Mr. Hartfield didn’t see me in there or

brothers, and burn your plantation.”

he wouldn’t have acted like he did. I slid down in

I retorted angrily, “You promised me! You

the stall next to Frost. I dared a peek over, and

promised that if I worked for you, that you would

saw Mr. Hartfield grab a horsewhip and beat

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Entry

Jim with it. Stifling a gasp, I slid further down

filling the street. I crossed the slippery road and

in the stall. I heard more whips and some grunts.

made my way to the door. I looked up at the giant

Tears slipped silently down my face. I wanted to

sign reading “Freedom Tavern.” I could hear

stop it, and I knew if I commanded him to, Mr.

music and singing mixed with shouting coming

Hartfield would stop, but I was afraid of my

from inside. My hand reached for the handle. One

Grandfather. What he would do if he found out? I

last memory flashed before me. I thought back

waited until the whipping and grunting stopped,

to when this nightmare truly began, exactly four

then tip-toed out of the stall. Jim was lying on the

days after I found the letter from the Union to my

floor with blood dripping off his back. A fresh set

grandfather.

of tears ran down my cheeks. I ran to the kitchen,

grabbed clean linens, water, and some salve that

somewhat dangerous plan into action was dark

Meredith, our kitchen slave, had made. I rushed

and overcast. I had found directions to Fort

back to Jim, and cleaned his back with the water,

Adams, and had readied my steed. I told everyone

added the salve, and wrapped him in the linens.

I was going on a long ride and would not be back

He looked at me pleadingly, begging me

until that evening. My conscience burned with the

not to help him, “I’m so sorry that he did this to

burden of the lie, but I prayed they would forgive

you. I will do whatever is in my power to stop it. If

me when I told them why. Cook made me a nice

anyone does this to you or your family members

lunch and I was off. I rode in the way I had been

again, please tell me. I will have them punished.”

directed and took the pace leisurely. I didn’t want

I whispered. I knew he was afraid of being found

to arouse suspicion. As soon as I had turned the

out, and being beaten worse.

corner and passed a grove of trees, I started to

gallop. Mentally following the route to the fort,

He looked at me with tears in his eyes, “Did

The day I put my adventurous and

you see all that Missy Haddie?” he asked.

I drew nearer. I could see its walls towered high

“Yes. It was awful. Why did no one tell

above the buildings inside. Seeing guards posted

me this happens?” I said my sorrow turning to

at the gate, I wondered if I would be stopped, and

anger. I should have believed Micah before! And

if I was what I would do. Then I remembered that

thus began my relationship with Jim. I did talk to

I had taken the letter General Lauring sent to my

Micah about it, but neither he nor I had the power

Grandfather. It was tucked inside my coat. I rode

to stop it. Grandfather would not have stopped it.

swiftly up to the gate and slowed down.

After that day I saw Jim whenever I could. His

back healed nicely, and the pain was soon gone,

business, please.” His accent seemed strange to

but he will forever be marked by the white man’s

me. His new blue uniform was starch and clean.

power.

The brass buttons glistened.

As the memory receded to the back of my

One of the soldiers halted me, “State your

“I have a letter from the General to my

mind, I reached my destination. The shabby two-

grandfather requesting services. I am here to talk

story building was surrounded by other shops

with him.” I replied with more courage then I felt.

Neither Bond Nor Free - Jordan Flachman

“Do you have an appointment?” he

smile was returned with cold, harsh stares. Only

inquired.

one young man returned my smile. I took courage

from that, and tried to remember his face; young,

My heart sank, “Am I supposed to? I was

not aware.”

slightly boyish, with unkempt black hair, and

bluish green eyes.

He laughed heartily, “Nah, just teasing

you. Go on in. The General’s in the second building

on the left.” I did not see what was so funny in

again, “So, you said you wanted to talk. Well, I’m

the situation, and I had to breathe deeply to keep

here and listening, so talk.”

from saying something I would regret. I rode

Frost in and found the building. Built of wood,

statement, I spoke up. “It is my understanding

the general’s office was well kept and sturdy,

that you want, excuse me, demand our help with

though a little small. An American flag waved

your war effort. Since it is either help, or lose our

proudly in the front. After dismounting and tying

plantation, and be taken, I have come. However;

Frost to the hitching post, I straightened my

my help comes with some conditions.”

skirts and strode confidently in. There were five

soldiers gathered around a tidy desk. They were

“What are your conditions?” he inquired.

deep in conversation. I presumed they were of

high authority. Clearing my throat, all five men

stated, “One—no harm will come to any member

glanced up at me in unison. Their faces held looks

of my family, or our plantation. Two—I will be

of surprise.

the only person to be sent on missions and you

“I am here to see General Lauring.” My

will send all information to me. Three—No one in

voice rang out. It seemed loud in the still room.

my family is to know. Four—you will allow me to

The men cleared away from the table, which left

complete your missions with freedom, and in my

me looking into the face of a middle-aged man

way.”

with dark brown hair.

His green eyes stared at me questioningly,

my offer. “Fine. I need you to sign here that you

“Yes? May I help you?” He asked in a clear,

will help us until June, 18, of this year. After

slightly agitated voice.

that date you are free. Also that you will do the

missions we send you on.”

“My name is Haddassah McCain and you

After they left the General turned to me

Even though slightly angered by this rude

His eyebrows rose, in surprise and anger, Holding up my finger, I counted as I firmly

He looked deep in thought as he considered

sent a letter to my grandfather asking for help.

I’ve come to talk to you,” I replied.

quickly before I could change my mind. “Now

“Ah. The McCains. Yes…well. Gentlemen,

you will sign this piece of paper that you agree

we will continue this meeting later.” The officers

on my conditions.” I pulled a slip from my pocket

standing around me seemed slightly annoyed at

and placed it on the table. He willingly signed.

having been ordered out of an important meeting

Grabbing the paper, I went outside after bidding

because of a tiny young girl. My attempt at a

good day to him. A sigh of deep relief escaped

I grabbed the pen he offered, and signed

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

from my lips as I mounted Frost. My family was

of me. I quickly prayed for his safety. I laid the

safe. I enjoyed the rest of my ride and the day.

paper on the table.

As the sun was setting over the trees, I returned

home. No one suspected anything. The first part

done well. Thank you. When we attack next

of my mission was complete.

month, your plantation will be spared. Remember

Now, I entered the tavern and looked

though, the slaves are to be freed. I will come to

around. Tables and chairs were set up in cluttered

check up on you. If I find you have not done as

bunches around the messy room. Men and women

I commanded, the plantation will be taken.” I

were sitting and drinking. I stood still a moment

nodded as a sign of my consent. I had less than

to catch my breath. When it had slowed enough,

a month to June, 18, the date when I would be

I went to the now familiar room that was in the

free from helping. I walked out with my head held

back. Seven men in blue uniforms awaited me.

high. I left the tavern and walked slowly down

They all looked up as I entered, “Miss

the street. I racked my brain for a way to tell my

McCain, welcome. What news do you bring this

family of my adventures. I also wondered how I

time?” General Lauring questioned me. Part of

would convince Grandfather to let all his slaves

my job was not just to go on missions, but also

go. I decided to pray, “Heavenly Father, please

to find out information from the Confederate

show me what to do and how to do it. Please don’t

soldiers, who were frequent visitors in my house.

let anyone die, or get hurt because of me. Thank

My grandfather knew as everyone did, that if the

you for helping me during these long months. In

Union won, slavery would be over. That would be

the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, Amen.” Peace

devastating financially to all the plantation owners

immediately covered my body. I proceeded to walk

of the South. I felt torn. I did not want slavery and I

home contently.

did not want the South to secede. At the same time

though, I felt as if I was betraying my grandfather.

I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I checked the

I did not mind losing the plantation and our

calendar, just to be sure of the date. I remembered

wealth, but the blow of it would hurt Grandfather

my first mission for the Union and what a rookie

immensely.

I was. My first assignment was to get three Union

I breathed deeply, “The Confederate army is

soldiers across the Confederate line, and to their

mounting a surprise attack on Friday night. They

station. They had been on an important mission

will be coming from the North and they will attack

and had secret information to tell the General.

Fort Adams. I have the paper with the entire plan

mapped out. I obtained the information; I’ll leave

climbed down the vines that crawled up the brick

it up to you to figure out what the scribbles on

wall. Once my feet were planted firmly on the

here mean.” I pulled out the paper with the plan

muddy ground below I took off for the stables. I

the soldier who attended dinner at the plantation

hooked up the work horse Chester to the wagon

willingly gave me. I felt sick. He might die because

with the stealth of a cat. Thankfully all the slaves

The General nodded his approval. “You’ve

When the day of June 18 finally dawned,

I quietly crept out my window, and

Neither Bond Nor Free - Jordan Flachman

slept in either the house or Slave Lane. If Jim

11 tomorrow. Here’s my pass.” I handed him the

happened to wake up, I would just explain to him.

Confederate pass General Lauring had given me.

I could trust him. In the back of the wagon were

I tried to look annoyed and impatient instead of

5 baskets full of clothes. We were going to donate

nervous. He looked at it and finding it authentic

them in the morning. I felt uncomfortable in my

gave me a nod. I rode slowly through resisting

scratchy garments, which I “borrowed” from one

the urge to gallop.

of the slaves. As I rode into the moonless night I

thought through my rough plan. Get the soldiers,

behind, “ Stop! Stop!” I breathed deeply to calm

and hide them in the baskets. If I was asked, I

my pounding heart and slowed the wagon to a

would say that I had clothes that I needed to

halt.

clean and deliver by 11 tomorrow. I was going to

be a washer woman. I needed to pick up the men

do ya want? I already gave ya my pass, and I

from different stations all over the town. One

need to get home.”

from the edge of the woods, one from someone’s

house, and one from the back of a tavern. I didn’t

need to check the baskets. Just for safety’s sake ya

know the names of the soldiers or the people who

know.” I grumbled but nodded, even though

hid them. My first stop was the soldier in the

woods. I pulled up to the edge of the forest, and

“Ya can if ya must, but all that’s in thar is dirty

whistled like a robin. A few moments later, my

clothes.” He mumbled an apology and went to

whistle was returned. A man dressed in farmer’s

searching. I prayed hard and by some divine

clothes appeared and silently crawled into the

providence he searched the two baskets without

wagon. I helped him into the basket and covered

the soldiers in them. He looked flustered, and

him with clothes. I moved on to the house where I

apologized profusely. He left and I rode away.

repeated the whistle, had it returned, and helped

By the time I reached the Union line, my heart

a man into the basket. The same thing happened

had slowed, and my breathing had returned to

at the tavern. This all went smoothly, and I was

normal. Once again I was asked for my pass,

relieved. Next came the hard part. I rode in the

and gladly gave them the Union pass and the

wagon, and grew more nervous as I approached

letter from General Lauring. I was allowed

the Confederate lines. Finally I drew up to a man

admittance, and rode straight to the Fort. Once

in a light gray uniform. He looked tired and

there, I dropped off my “laundry” and rode home

hungry.

a different way. Although I still had to pass

through the Confederate lines, everything went

His voice was gruff as he ordered, “State

Just when I started to relax, I heard from

I tried to look annoyed and asked, “What

The man looked flustered and answered, “I

I wanted to shout at him, but simply said,

your business.”

much more smoothly. Without the soldiers in the

I made my voice sound less refined, and

baskets, I was not afraid. Finally I reached the

said, “I’ve got to get these here clothes to my

plantation. Exhausted I rode into the barn and put

house, an’ clean ‘em up. They haf’ to be back by

the wagon and Chester away. I climbed back up

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

the vines and through the window, and crawled

beat Jim, had gone to the fort, and had been

into bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was

on countless missions. They all stared at me in

asleep.

wonder. When I was done, there was an awkward,

Now here in my house it dawned on me

stunned silence. I hardly dared to look at their

that I had one week to tell my family of my work,

expressions. Mother and Miriam seemed slightly

and of the General’s plan. One week to tell them

horrified. Isaiah and Micah looked at me with

that their daughter, sister, and granddaughter had

admiration. Beth seemed almost jealous. Finally,

been helping the Union army. One week to tell

I dared a peek at Grandfather. He seemed angry,

them that they had to release all the slaves, and

yet astounded.

change their lives forever. I decided today was as

good as any other for the job. I dressed, put up

spoke, “Haddassah Joy McCain, why did you

my hair, and exited my room. My mother was just

not tell us? We could have helped or sent your

leaving hers.

brothers.”

“Mother, I—” My voice broke.

She looked at me concerned, “Is everything

would go and then the General would have sent

alright Haddie? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

them into battle. I couldn’t let that happen. Beth

I nodded my head, “Yes. I…I have

is too little, Miriam has a duty to her husband,

something I need to tell y’all though. Would you

you have to stay here and hold down the fort, and

mind gathering everyone into Grandfather’s

Grandfather is too old. The way I saw it, I was

office?” Her eyes questioned me, but she nodded

the only person for the job. Unfortunately, I have

and went off to get everyone. I started to walk

more to tell.”

down the stairs, and met Grandfather on the way

up. I told him the same thing I told Mother. He

of eyes bore into me. I felt uncomfortable, but I

nodded, and escorted me into his office. I had just

ignored them and spoke again. “General Lauring

cleaned it. It sparkled and he thanked me. My

says that because of my work, he will spare our

brothers and sister slowly filed in. All of them were

plantation when he attacks. However, we have

looking at me quizzically. I took a deep breath, and

to let all the slaves go; otherwise he will take the

whispered a prayer for help. After they were all

house and possibly the boys. I couldn’t tell you

seated, I sighed and started talking, “I don’t know

until after I was released from my promise to work

exactly how to tell you this, but…um...”

for the Union, which is today.” I was met with

more silence and astounded looks.

Miriam looked at me with compassion,

After what felt like an eternity, Mother

I replied, “I couldn’t tell the boys, or they

Six heads snapped my way and six pairs

“Just say it Haddassah, and don’t worry about us.”

Grandfather stood quickly and grew angry,

I nodded and spilled it all out, “Well it all

“I will not let them go! I have spent my life building

started a few months ago, when I was cleaning

this plantation prosperously, so that Isaiah will

Grandfather’s office…” The whole story came out.

have something. They will not go!”

How I had found the letter, had seen Mr. Hartfield

I took a deep breath and spoke gently,

Neither Bond Nor Free - Jordan Flachman

“Grandfather, if you don’t let them go, you won’t

was a long whoop and the celebration started. My

have a plantation and possibly not even a grandson

heart swelled with pride for my grandfather doing

to leave it to. Please, I know General Lauring. He

what I knew had to be one of the hardest things

is a man of his word. He will take the plantation.

he had ever done. He turned and went inside. My

Trust me.”

family silently followed. I remained outside to

celebrate. I found Jim and we spent the rest of the

My grandfather looked at me skeptically.

“Haddie, you are sure of this?” I nodded vigorously.

day together.

He sighed and looked ten years older than he did

five minutes ago. He rang the bell beside his chair

attack. From the start of that day we could hear

and our house slave Susie appeared, “Susie, ring

the guns popping and cannons booming in the

the bell in the yard. I want to gather all the slaves

distance. Finally, they made their way down the

in the front yard. I have an announcement.” Susie

river to capture loyal Confederate men, set their

looked nervous and quickly left the room to carry

slaves free, and take their food and supplies. He

out the task. My heart went out to her. After she

eventually made his way to our house, and the

left, Grandfather stood up, motioned to us to

closer he came the more nervous I became.

follow, and left his office. We followed and prayed.

Out on the massive front porch of our mansion,

takes the boys? What if all my work and sacrifice

we stood as the slave bell rang and the slaves ran

was for nothing? The thoughts continually

toward the front yard. All of them looked very

rang through my head. Around 5 o’clock in the

confused and anxious. Some looked ragged and

afternoon, he entered our plantation yard. We

tired.

slowly spilled out of the house to meet him. He

Once all had gathered, Grandfather stood

Five days later, General Lauring made his

What if he doesn’t keep his word? What if he

pulled his horse up to the porch, jumped off, and

tall and spoke clearly, “You have all worked for me

came to greet me.

diligently for many years and I thank you. I have

heard that Haddassah has bravely worked for the

I have sent my men to check and make sure

Union army, and has learned that they are going to

you carried out my final orders. Have you?” he

attack and take over our area.” There was a unified

inquired. I looked at my mother, who gave me a

gasp as Grandfather paused to catch his breath

reassuring nod.

and allow this to sink in. He continued, “However,

because of her work, the General has promised we

have been set free. The few that remain are here

will be spared from the attack under one condition.

because we are paying them to work for us. They

I must let all my slaves go free. I will write up

stay of their own free will.” The General seemed

your papers today if you would like. Anyone who

satisfied and then he walked boldly into our house.

would like to stay and work for pay is welcome

Mother gave me a mortified look, which told me

to.” After he finished, I don’t think the ex-slaves

she couldn’t believe he would be so rude.

knew what to do or what to believe. Finally, there

“Miss McCain, how good to see you again.

I nodded and spoke. “I have. The slaves

General Lauring spoke up. “You know I have

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

been riding hard all day with little to eat or drink.

Lauring in the newspapers, but never saw him again

Would you be so kind as to get me something?” I

(thankfully). Although I was back with my family

felt anger rising up within me. Before I could say

and my brothers still teased, my sisters and I still

something out of anger, Micah gently grabbed my

giggled, I was forever changed by my few secretive

arm, and shook his head at me. Oh! What would I

months. I never wanted to go on missions or lie

do without him?! My mother graciously waited on

to my family again. I now understood things that

General Lauring. Once he had eaten, he thanked

were mysteries to me before. My Grandfather died

Mother for the food, me for the work, and then

not long after the War ended, much the frailer due

turned to leave. He got on his horse and handed

to the many worries of the new life. My brother,

down a bulging notebook to Mother.

Isaiah, inherited the plantation, and life went on

“Mrs. McCain, this is a full report of all the

much the same. Grandfather’s office is my place of

missions I sent your daughter on. Thank you for

solitude now. I am ready for whatever adventures

sending her. She greatly helped in our effort. Any

come my way, knowing I have my family at my

time she wants to help, we would greatly appreciate

side and a Heavenly Father who covers me.

it.” My mother nodded, and General Lauring rode off into the sunset. Though it may be disrespectful, my first thought was Good riddance! That man is a nuisance and a bother!

After that day, our lives changed forever.

Grandfather’s plantation was one of the only ones remaining in our area. Although he couldn’t keep slaves anymore, Grandfather paid the freed slaves, and even employed a few of the poor farmers nearby to help with planting and harvesting. Grandfather spent the next few weeks planning the income and expenses. It took some getting used to, but we made it work. New clothes and fancy food was scarce in our house. The war ended a year later. Although the guns were put down and peace was made, many people still held grudges against our neighboring Northern friends. Negroes were treated harshly by most and what little pay they received didn’t go far. The few people left, who were loyal to the Union, mourned the death of the great president Abraham Lincoln, my brothers and me included. I occasionally saw news of General

Neither Bond Nor Free - Jordan Flachman

Fadeto

Black

I stepped into the room. No, not room;

by Rileigh Pack

The mother, the young girl (who now looks

Theatre. The massive space consisted of a giant,

slightly older) and the man are crying. That’s the

blank screen and a grand total of twenty or so

first thing I notice. The second thing is that the

seats. The seats were quite nice, I think. Dark,

man, who I presume is the husband and father,

velvet arms accented the leather seat. Taking a

is in a uniform. Military. The daughter hugs the

seat in the middle row, I glanced around at the

father tightly, as if holding on to him would keep

empty theatre. The lights began to dim. Was there

him grounded forever. I feel a tear trickle down

a movie playing? I peered around at the abundance

my cheek. I place my hand to my eye, not fully

of empty seats.

realizing why I was crying.

Numbers started to count down from ten

The next scene is no better. Two tall men

on the screen, like in the older movies. I guess it

knock at the family’s door. The daughter, who is

was an audience of one for this showing. Not that I

now a pre-teen, opens it curiously. Automatically,

mind. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. I shrugged as the numbers faded.

her eyes full with dread. “No.” She seems to say,

A young woman, probably in her early twenties,

denying the pending, morose tidings. The mother

appeared on screen. She was in a hospital bed;

appears and immediately starts crying; she

she was giving birth, I think. I can’t specifically

reiterates her daughter’s words. The two men nod

tell what’s going on, as the camera is extremely

solemnly, offering their condolences. After they

out of focus. It’s also silent. The other figure, who

leave, the daughter collapses, curling into herself,

I presume is the nurse, gives the newborn to the

as if doing so will make her and the previous events

mother. The scene cuts.

disappear. Deja vú coils around me, and I squint

The

camera

comes

ever-so-slightly

my eyes, trying to recollect where the sensation

more into focus, but I can still hardly tell the

originates from.

surroundings, as it looks like I’m staring at it

through frosted glass. The small figure is blowing

is dancing its way across the girl’s, now young

out candles over a cake. The cake is small, but the

woman’s, face. The mother sits in an audience

figure doesn’t seek to mind. Whether the number

among many parents. The diploma clearly

of candles is three or five, I’m clueless. Presuming

reads, “Harvard School of Law.” An intense pain

it’s a female by the long pigtails, I study the scene.

courses through my skull. I know this girl. This

There are more figures, at least a dozen, are

girl, all along... This girl has been me. Suddenly

crowded into the small space. This scene, like the

the screen kicks into fast forward. A marriage, a

last, cuts abruptly.

rather successful career as a lawyer, three births,

The next scene is much later. A smile

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Short Story

the mother’s death, children of the girl’s children, my grandchildren. The scenes slow down.

A man, age 84, approximately, is sitting

in an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair. He’s in a hospital room. The screen focuses. It’s my husband, Elijah. He’s crying. He’s whispering, too. Or maybe he’s talking, but I can’t make it out. Eli is shaking and as the camera pans down, I can see that he’s holding a hand. He kisses the hand’s knuckles, trying his hardest not to sob. He always does that, you must know. He has a strong distaste for sad things. The camera starts moving up. The hand, which is connected to an arm, leads to a face. The wrinkles don’t mask the fact that it is, without a doubt, the same girl from all of the aforementioned scenes. The same me. The nametag above me confirms, “Rose M. Fletcher, Born 1931: Breast Cancer.” As the screen settles on this, it pans back out so that I’m viewing my husband and me. The screen dims. I look around the theatre, gazing at the still-empty seats. The movie fades to black, and with it, so do I.

Fade to Black - Rileigh Pack

One Who Brings Light by Jane Janick

Over and over I tried to write a poem for you A poem that would capture The sparkle of your big brown eyes The rough texture of your hands in mine The comfort of your strong embrace A poem funny enough It would get stuck in your head And maybe even set loose The deep melodic sound of your laugh A poem worthy enough Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d put it on your dresser or in your car So you could read it And hear me when Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not around A poem deep enough It would drip down to your heart And melt together the cracks of emptiness With my love

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Poetry

A poem powerful enough That it would speak volumes Just like your voice in my head A constant example of right and wrong And of who I strive to be A poem meaningful enough That it could paint that smile across your face The one that radiates throughout your entire body And right into my heart Typing and backspacing Typing and backspacing I finally realized it isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t possible Twenty-six letters are just not enough There are no words or rhymes That could even begin to describe The ways I see you shine

One Who Brings Light - Jane Janick

Part and Parcel by Carrie Lee lancaster

Today I unpacked. I unwound my insecurities and broke the seal. Underneath the sticky, overpackaged envelope were words. She is proud, I thought. She is proud of my activism that stays up too late, that speaks up against the wrongs, that is never silenced by the word “Feminist.” Underneath it all, underneath the excess of corporate packaging, the bundles of nonsensical tape and interrupting labels, she is waiting for the moment – the moment we all unfold the insecurities and establish the unestablished. She is waiting for the moment – the moment we use the uncertainty and self-doubt to expose her essence, to awaken her voice. Unpack. Unwind. Break the seal. Underneath it all is just us. No envelopes, no tape, Not a single label.

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Poetry

Falling

by Jane Janick

I only write when I’m falling Falling in love Falling out of love More like falling apart Falling ‘cause you pushed me And all I can do about it is write They tell me my words are good Maybe cause you’re good So good you blindsided me with the snap of your fingers Ironic because I’m the one who knows you can’t even snap with both hands And neither can I You put a crack in me And now I’m an earthquake I’m falling Falling as I pull over on the way to school Because I can’t see through the tears Falling as I watch you with her Pretending it doesn’t ignite a fire inside of me Falling like you feel in nightmares Falling like I can’t wake up

Part and Parcel - Carrie Lee Lancaster | Falling - Jane Janick

A Life of Quiet by Charlotte Pollack Lying cold and still and forgotten In the hard and unforgiving ground The sticks prodding like the bones Which are hardly bones Bones which no longer give the strength To breathe and to walk and to live I am dust My flesh has faded, one with the oaken walls Of my underground cage My eyes do not see, not through the dead gray irises That choke out every spot of blue But still, the one thing that time has not worn Is my consciousness I am not new to this way of living If one could even call it that Centuries have passed since a person knew my name Or the blank pages Which should have been my story

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Poetry

And yet, I know it didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to end like that I had the whole world at my fingertips Opportunities that none else could salvage And yet I did nothing I had a whole book of deeds I could have done But instead I stared at empty sheets of paper I could have been everything the world needed And never had But I was silent A life of quiet is not a life worth living Now I know Because here I am, rotting in my grave, With not a chance or a choice or a soul to remember They said that my death was a shame But I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t agree After all, a person cannot die If she never lived

A Life of Quiet - Charlotte Pollack

Aftermath

by Jane Janick

I remember late nights cuddles past curfew Holding hands in church I remember your special scent left in my hair Your picture on my wall I remember the passenger seat of your car The smell of the air freshener hanging in the dash I remember the comfort of your warm embrace How your body was my home I remember the sound of your deep voice Begging me to never leave I remember going to sleep with thoughts of you Waking up from dreams of you I remember who I was with you The carefree happy girl Wild and crazy with a heart full of love But then I remember the lies The truth I remember what you did to me How you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even realize As the silence sets in I remember the reality And the weight of my heart

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Poetry

I remember the tears The loneliness I remember looking in the mirror Reteaching myself how to smile You used to bring out the best in me Now you bring out the worst I remember seeing you in the hallway You walked by as if I was invisible As if I don’t know the story behind the scar on your left hand Or about your secret fear of heights As if I’ve never felt your body twitch against mine as you slowly drift asleep Or played pictionary with your family As if we didn’t use to complete each other’s sentences And never leave each other’s side As if I never was a part of you When you were everything to me I remember seeing you with her I remember the pain The defeat The jealousy The girl you broke me to become And I start to think Maybe I don’t want to remember after all

Aftermath - Jane Janick

My South

by Grace Tong

My south is long, hot, sickly sweet summers Where thin sheets clung to sun-kissed skin just before dawn Barefoot we would run outside, mosquitoes nipping at our legs and fireflies lighting the way Spending hours draining the nectar from honeysuckle bushes My south is where a foreigner married a true southern woman One who taught us the golden rule; treat others the way you want to be treated Who still hummed songs of praise everyday My south is grandfathers I never knew Died too young before they could hold me in their arms Mamaw’s hands still wrapped around wedding rings on the chain around her neck Grandma’s mind too far gone to remember what her husband was like My south is my father’s expensive cigars Their smoke still filling my nose Mixed with the smell of my mom’s sweet perfume My south is where elementary school was a joke Bloody noses and bruised knees Each scar was like a gift and a story to be told Rumors and jokes that never grew old My south is children staying out till darkness flooded the sky Laying in the backyard singing and gazing at stars Cicadas singing their songs that still rang in our ears My south is my heart and home

2014 Literary Magazine - Youth Poetry

nfected I

by Jane Janick

Say no to drugs they said

They didn’t warn you about the ones in your head You were my dealer You were my healer Your arms around me beat any prescription Your love so wild beyond description Now what happened I’m addicted So strong I could’ve never predicted You infected me I’m trapped and I can’t be set free Reality hits and the withdrawal kicks in As your love for her quickly begins The symptoms are intoxicating As I’m left in the dust, hopelessly waiting I miss the boy you were The boy I fell for in a blur Now all you do is lie You broke me with your goodbye Yet your words still give me a high That is sick and so am I

My South - Grace Tong | Infected - Jane Janick

Lefty Goes

outh

by William Kezziah

Eddie saw him walking on Main Street,

hair that shone in the bright sunshine and the gates

along the two-story buildings that blocked a spring

were those long arms that flailed in the spring air

sun and cast shadows, but there was no shadow on

that was May in small-town Morgan.

this guy. He had a swagger – bouncing, swaying,

flying arms like a bird soaring low to the ground

– brown slacks, open collar white shirt and tie,

looking to land.

and brown and white shoes that said he was, yes,

different.

Anyone from Morgan, North Carolina

His dress was anything but small town

dragged their feet, looked straight ahead, didn’t

acknowledge anyone if they “weren’t from these

from home plate to first base when he stopped on

parts.” Their outlook was, “outta my way.” The

the sidewalk, dropped to his feet on the pavement,

people knew the natives, the “locals;” they knew

and watched what he later remembered as

the faces with bodies that walked these same

someone who must be a ballplayer. And since this

streets every Saturday — people in overalls, or

was a spring day, that meant one thing to Eddie –

print dresses that were clean or dirty depending

baseball season was here and maybe, just maybe,

on whether they worked in the textile mills that

this was a Morgan Johnnies, who would play for

day, or in their small gardens at the rear of their

his town’s professional Class D baseball team.

homes.

wide-mouthed grin, the flop of red hair and a “hi-ya”

Not so for someone with his bright red hair

Eddie was on his bike about the distance

Eddie also thought that this guy with the

now taking in Main Street’s sights.

friendliness could be someone to know, someone

His red head bobbed all around, looking

whom Eddie could say to his friends, “Yeah, he’s a

up and then down, his body like an out of control

friend of mine.” He had that looseness, and a gait

machine that someone flipped to extreme. Eddie

that said I can run, I can pitch, I can hit, I can do

then realized he was talking and at the same time

anything on a baseball diamond.

gesturing with his arms to anyone who would look

him in the eye. He didn’t need to say hello; he was

hero. So, how did he know he was a lefty? He

hello.

reached into his pocket and pulled out a card or

Eddie also knew that Lefty could be his

Passersby stopped, looked at this strange

at least a piece of paper and signed it with his left

person walking by as if he were a speeding train

hand when someone stopped those flapping arms.

coming at them. The crossing lights were the red

Eddie knew, just knew, that this guy was different

2014 Literary Magazine

because no one in Morgan signed autographs. But

youse guys, the Johnnies, so I want you to come

why was he signing his autograph? People were

to the park, especially when I pitch, or anytime.

laughing and laughing while he was around them.

Come early, we can play some catch, OK.”

They were drawn to him just as Eddie was.

as the man now known to Eddie as Lefty walked

Then he came close to Eddie, who was still

“I’ll be there,” Eddie managed to blurt out

balancing his bike between his legs in front of

away, down the street.

John’s Clothing store. Eddie hadn’t moved because

“Say, what’s your name?”

he thought he was watching a movie, a character

“Lefty. I’m from Brooklyn. That’s in New

on the screen at the Golden Theater playing to an

York. I’m a Dodger through and through.”

audience that included Eddie in the front row.

His red hair was even brighter than when

“Hey, Lefty, youse goin’ South?”

he first saw it a block away, but now he saw the

It was like a high hard one thrown from

hair, the teeth and a smile that said I want to talk

across the street on a busy Flatbush Avenue in

with you because you’re important.

Brooklyn, but this wasn’t a leather patchwork

As Eddie straddled his bike, the man looked

stickball the size of a golf ball that Sammy DiGerno

at the glove hung over the bike bars. It was a well-

was throwing. He said it with a smile, but at the

worn glove, a Christmas present several years ago.

same time as a taunt to the guy he couldn’t hit

It was worn from use but it was also preserved

playing stickball or baseball – Lefty Gross.

with leather oil that Eddie rubbed into its pocket,

its fingers and a strap, and then a baseball was tied

Lefty said after a pause and a look to see who was

into the pocket to preserve it during the winter.

shouting at him. He waited for about a minute

The leather strings that traveled from the fingers

before answering because the noise from the

to the pocket were still strong even though Eddie

passing trucks made even their normal shouting

had used the glove playing youth baseball since he

conversations difficult.

was 10. He was now 14.

they were placed in a small wading pool – naked–

“Youse a ballplayer, kid?” the stranger now

“Yeah, tummorow. I’m packin’ my stuff,”

Sammy and Lefty had been friends since

asked, opening a wide mouth showing a row of

when they were two.

teeth and extending his right hand to shake Eddie’s

“Will ‘ur mom let youse go?’

hand. At the same time, the stranger put his left

Another taunt, but one with a smile as

hand on Eddie’s bike that wobbled as Eddie put

Sammy gestured with his index finger that had

his hand into a hand that was as big as a catcher’s

been broken a couple of times – the last time

mitt.

catching one of Lefty’s fastballs, and the first

“I sure am,” Eddie finally muttered still

time when he snatched Lefty’s leather ball that

looking up to this tall man that blocked the midday

he smacked during one of the frequent stickball

sun.

games near their homes.

“Well, you know, I’ve come here to play with

“Youse say that from a distance, but if youse

Lefty Goes South - William Kezziah

da cross that street, I’d showed youse a left that’s

arrived and this was the year, the year that the

in youse face like my fistball, youse clown,” Lefty

Dodgers would bring home the pennant to Ebbets,

shouted and showed him his index finger that

where, fans believed, it would hang high over the

was calloused at the end from throwing baseballs,

field to let it wave in a breeze that fluttered not only

leather balls and an occasional tomato that he

from the wind, but seemingly from the very breath

frequently bought at the corner fruit stand just

of fans who shouted in unison at every pitch.

to sling at someone’s head during just a shouting

confrontation.

into Ebbets Field and shout, scream, ring their

But, he had no tomato. Lefty then showed

faithful cow bells, and die and be reborn with

him a fist, and waved it at him, and smiled, flashing

every loss and every victory, a life and death battle

those very white teeth, stretching the freckles that

that had taken place since the Dodgers walked

dotted a face with an openness that most on the

on that hallowed ground. But strangely there had

Brooklyn streets knew as a kid who was a hero,

been very few who had come from the Brooklyn

a young man with a destiny– to pitch for the

neighborhoods and made it to the Bums. There

Brooklyn Dodgers.

were always those who bragged they would wear

His mother knew that he would pitch

the Dodger blue. But they came and went. Lefty

for the Dodgers – dem Bums – his teammates

knew one from another high school, but he didn’t

knew, his high school coach knew and Lefty knew

compare with him. “Too wild,” Lefty said of this

himself as he waved off Sammy and headed home

kid.

in the Brownville section, but he wasn’t far from

Ebbets Field, the home of the Dodgers, to take a

pitcher, a lefty at that, could walk from the

walk around the park and live the time he would

Brooklyn streets to the Ebbets Field mound and

walk to the mound.

throw for the Brooklyn Dodgers. And maybe, just

The storied Dodgers, who flirted with

maybe, just lead the team into the series against

greatness, but then were denied the top spot

the Yankees. The Yanks. But that was in the future.

in recent years that goes with the best team in

Major League baseball – a World Series victory.

but as far as he was concerned that was about to

The Dodgers had been usually turned back by the

change. He looked up the street, past the rows

hated Yankees in the Bronx, a place where many

of buildings to Ebbets Field and smiled an all-

from Brooklyn would never venture except when

knowing smile. Lefty wore his nicely pressed blue

the Dodgers played in Yankee Stadium.

pants and white shirt. His black shoes were so

The Dodgers’ home, Ebbets Field, was to

polished that he didn’t need to lean very far over

many people the hallowed shrine to baseball, and

to see the reflection of a man who had the world in

with it the Dodgers and the only team in baseball.

his left arm.

And now in the spring of 1955, the Dodger faithful

were ready for another season. “Next year” had

and his friends symbolic of making it, and thus

2014 Literary Magazine

The faithful were ready, in short, to crowd

But now, some saw that a native-born

For Lefty was just a kid of 19, unseasoned,

The Dodgers and Ebbets Field were to Lefty

Lefty’s signing was akin to kissing the pope’s robe,

moment. But first he needed to pack for the early

or at least having Cardinal Spellman lay his hand

train ride down South, to North Carolina where he

on your head, if you were Catholic.

would start his journey.

Sammy DiGerno waved him away from

Lefty had an easy smile and a long, lanky

across the street as they traded insults, and smiled

body that his mother Adel fussed over because she

at Lefty Johnson (for Walter Johnson, the great

couldn’t get him to gain any weight. He weighed

Washington pitcher) Gross, who stood in front of

165 pounds and stood 6-2, a beanpole. Lefty didn’t

Ebbets Field and said out loud, “I’ve been signed

worry about his weight. Everybody called him

by the Dodgers.” “I ain’t crazy, just happy,” he

Lefty, but he was Jerry to her, her only child, and

said to the empty Ebbets Field, shuttered with an

one she busily made preparations for as he packed

iron gate.

for Morgan, North Carolina, and the Class D,

Western Carolina League Morgan Johnnies.

“I’ll be back to open the gate,” he promised

himself as he turned and made his way home and

to his bedroom whose walls were adorned with

hung on her son by his friends. But he was left

pictures of Dodger greats.

handed. He wrote that way; sometimes she even

looked at him leaning to the left as he walked.

“Someday, my picture will be up there, right

She didn’t like the name, “Lefty,” that was

with these guys.” He looked around his sparsely

furnished room, with its small bed where he lay at

you’re leaning.”

night thinking about fame and fortune.

“I’ll get me a better bed, you bet,” he said,

his middle name. She had heard her father speak of

looking up at the wall and when he was there,

the great Johnson, Washington Senators’ Walter

tuning in his radio to see if he could catch a

Johnson whom she saw pitch in his prime at

Dodgers’ game.

Yankee Stadium. Her father wondered at his fluid

motion on the mound and how he carried himself

It was one of those May days when the sun

“Hey,” she shouted. “Stand up straight; She was the one who gave him Johnson for

warms a room slowly, peeking early through a

as he walked toward the dugout triumphant.

slit of the drawn curtain, and then quietly in the

afternoon revealing every grain in the furniture,

and a pitcher who knows what it means to be a

every bit of dust, every baseball scattered about

baseball player,” she heard her father say, and

the room, the clothes thrown casually on the floor,

thus, when it came time to name her only child,

the top of his chest of drawers where he kept his

she new his middle name would be Johnson.

glove, now worn and dark from use. He opened the

curtains, and when the room was fully enveloped

the big leagues,” she told her husband, who threw

with the sun’s warmth, Lefty felt deeply in his heart

up his hands with her insistence of the middle

that he was destined to be on the mound at Ebbets

name. He couldn’t argue with her, she was a

Field listening to the crowd chant his name. The

baseball fanatic, and so her only son had to have a

day would be glorious and he couldn’t wait for that

baseball name somewhere in his name.

“There’s a man who knows how to pitch

“Johnson will be the name he will carry to

Lefty Goes South - William Kezziah

“So, where is this town, Morgan?” she asked

“He’s got speed, a God-given arm that can

everyone, including Dodger executives who signed

throw a ball through concrete. He’s got a gift,”

Lefty in Ebbets Field a week ago. She and Lefty

she told Abe, who waved her away like one of the

had walked over to the Dodgers’ offices. Lefty’s

customers who thought he charged too much for

father, Abe, was at work in his deli on Flatbush

his sandwiches.

Avenue and didn’t go.

“I’m too busy makin’ a living,” he said as

Lefty had a chance, but she didn’t tell him that.

an excuse to miss the big moment. Actually, he

She looked at that scrawny kid and wondered if he

wanted Lefty to work in the deli, learning to make

was big enough to make it to tomorrow. And to the

the pastrami and liverwurst sandwiches that were

Major Leagues? When she went to the Dodgers’

staples for the men who came in their yarmulkes.

games and saw how big Duke Snider was, for

It was like a synagogue meeting in the deli as the

instance, she thought, “no way is my kid got a

men crowded into the small space where they

chance. Look at Newcomb – he’s a giant.”

greeted Abe as he stood behind the counter dressed

in a white apron, his belly protruding and pushing

a midget; my kid could tie him in knots trying to

from his white pants. Abe would shout greetings as

hit his fast ball.” But then she saw PeeWee go

he used his knife to cut mountain-high sandwiches

5-for-5, and hit a home run to boot. Good hitters,

that were too big for any mouth, but the men tried

she now realized, could hit any pitcher.

anyway, opening them like some giant whale and

biting only half, letting the pastrami fall on the

asked his wife one day when they were arguing

plate and cover the kosher pickles that Abe made

Lefty’s future. Baseball was a hot dog and popcorn

at home. Some of the men – Dodgers fans to the

for Abe, something that you did when you got off

core – leaned into the counter where the smells of

from work, which wasn’t often, because you were

meats and cheese mingled in the air with the loud

working to allow others to play.

arguing over sports and politics and asked, “So,

when is Lefty starting?”

didn’t, but he knew the company that did and they

Abe would throw up his hands before he

were always working. “Work is how you’s make a

splashed mustard on rye. Baseball to Abe was a

living and live. What if he throws his arm out in a

roll of the dice, but he didn’t tell that to those who

game? He’s got notin’, I tell you. And he’ll be back

crowded in around the counter.

up here looking for a job, a handout if you ask me.”

“Get a real job and play stickball when you

She sometimes wasn’t so sure herself that

But then she looked at PeeWee Reese. “He’s

“How many make it to dem Bums?” Abe

“Who’s going to supply the hot dogs?” Abe

“No one is asking you, Abe. And maybe

ain’t working,” he told Lefty several times. His

this kid’s got something,” Adel said to him as she

mother scoffed at him.

looked over his head as he sat in his undershirt

reading the paper.

“He’s gotta a chance,” she said, meaning

that Lefty had destiny, or at least she thought

destiny was on his side.

on his side,” Abe finally said, looking at his wife

2014 Literary Magazine

“He’s your kid and let’s hope he’s got luck

with a smile of resignation.

– someone who had an arm that could throw a ball

Maybe Abe is right – he should help him

with the kind of speed that made leather mitts pop

in the deli. At least he would have a job, a future.

like a firecracker, and make players stop and stare

Where was he going? Down South! That was a

and then ask, “What wuz that?”

foreign country as far as she was concerned. It was

like going to the moon – who knows what he will

came from. Goodness knows it wasn’t from the

find there? She didn’t know anyone who had even

size of Lefty’s arm. In fact, Lefty’s arm was like a

been down South.

thin piece of bologna hanging in a meat market –

a reject by any standard. Abe’s father called it a

“Your Uncle Hymie was in the army down

Martell didn’t know where such power

South, but what does he know?” she told him one

piece of sausage.

day. The she looked at the young man who was

leaving on a train to some place he might never

mound and made his exaggerated wind-up and

find and most likely would never return.

threw as if a whip suddenly was unhinged from

“He’s barely been out of Brooklyn,” she

his shoulder. His ball came to the plate like a

lamented to Abe one night, but, again, he threw

light beam that ran true but not straight. The ball

up his hands, waved her off, and said, “Youse two

jumped wildly, rising and falling, depending on

are responsible for this little adventure.”

the force that Lefty exerted on the pitch. He found

“He’s no bigger than the kid who delivers

that when he let up on the pitch – didn’t let it go

the paper,” she said to herself, noting that he wore

with all the force he knew he had in his left arm –

size 12 shoes, had huge hands that protruded

the ball had a tendency to ride up and down as it

out prominently from the sleeves of his suit.

neared the plate. He had learned that trick from a

His fingers were like a handful of snakes, wiggly

former neighborhood pitcher who watched Lefty

fingers that were inherited from her side of the

throw in high school and sought him out after the

family. Her brothers had long fingers, and thin

game.

arms, but none of them had the fastball of Lefty.

She knew a lot about baseball, learned mostly from

grizzled old man said in Lefty’s face just after the

her brothers and father who talked nothing but

game. “Youse got a gift kid; just let up now and

Dodgers baseball and who analyzed the pitching,

then and you’d be surprised what that ball will

hitting and fielding of the players from the early

do.”

days. Burleigh Grimes was their favorite. He was

a rotund, barrel-like man who liked the pleasures

the classroom.

of the table and the bar, and was known as “Old

Stubblebeard” during his Brooklyn playing days in

He was a daydreamer, someone who looked out

the 1920s.

the window, drew baseballs and players on his

Lefty’s coach, Eddie Martell, looked and

worksheets while others bent over theirs, their

heard Lefty’s fastball and knew he has a phenom

pencils scratching numbers or filled in blanks with

But Lefty was no reject when he took the

“Don’t through no curveball, ya hear?” the

Baseball was his destiny. It sure wasn’t in Lefty wasn’t a good student in school.

Lefty Goes South - William Kezziah

the correct English grammar words.

baseball season at a time when cool mornings gave

“Where’s your work,” a teacher would ask

way to smells of the Mimosa trees flowering their

Lefty at the end of class, but Lefty would just shrug

pink and white flowers that fluttered down like

his thin shoulders and break out in a wide grin

miniature parachutes, covering Sterling Street

as he handed in a sheet with drawings instead of

that led into downtown from the railroad station.

numbers or completed sentences.

trees a good omen.

Lefty maintained his academic eligibility

Lefty thought the smells and the colorful

and graduated from high school but barely.

“Baseball’s my game and that’s where I’m going to

rode in the taxi downtown.

make my way in this life,” he told teachers and his

mother when they discussed his grades. Abe told

carried three changes of clothes, his glove and

him: “You don’t need an education to cut meat.”

spikes before he stepped down from the train to

the Morgan station platform where about a dozen

“I ain’t cuttin’ no meat,” Lefty told him. “I

“Rose petals, yeah,” he said to himself as he He had hauled down his lone suitcase that

got an arm and I’m going to use it,” he told his

people were there to meet the train.

father.

“Be ready to use that arm cutting pastrami,

Some of the men on the platform were

dressed in overalls on this warm spring day, and

kid,” his dad shot back.

the women wore hats and loose-fitting dresses

And now Lefty was about to make that start

as they stared – almost as a group at the people

– in the minors, at the lowest level you could start

who left the train. Lefty wondered if this was a

– class D baseball in Morgan, North Carolina.

town welcome committee for the baseball players,

“Where’de hell is that?” Lefty asked when

but when he looked around, he saw that he was

the Dodger scout said the big club wanted to sign

probably the only guy who even looked like a

him and send him to the minors for seasoning.

baseball player.

“I don’t need seasoning,” he told the scout

No one said hello or even raised a hand in

who smiled, grasped his left arm and gave him a

greeting, so Lefty thought they might be there to

smile of reassurance.

pick up a casket from the freight car.

“Kid, everyone needs some seasoning,

“It sure looks like a funeral party,” he

pitching to different batters than what you’re used

thought to himself as he walked away from the

to. Go down there, crank it up. If you can get’em

crowd. Some looked as his brown and white shoes,

out, you’ll be on the mound at Ebbets in no time

his pressed pants and tie.

facing the best. You gotta prove to the baseball

guys in the offices up here that you got the stuff

looks men gave him. He passed by the group who

to make it. And you’re young; you gots plenty of

walked around the crumbling wooden decking,

time.”

kicking the rotten wood with the toes of their

He was different, at least judging by the

Although he had never been in North

shoes. Some in the crowd continued to stare at

Carolina, he had come to start the Morgan Johnnies’

Lefty as he passed up to the platform and to a car

2014 Literary Magazine

on the other side of the station that had a crude

“You ain’t from around here?”

“taxi” sign bolted to the top of a 1953 Chevrolet.

“Nah, I’m from Brooklyn.”

There was no reaction from the driver, who

“Need a ride,” he told the driver who was

sitting in the car, his head cranked to one side as if

finally said, “Where’s dat?”

he had been sleeping. He was wearing a white cap

that was stitched in red, “Morgan Cab.” The man

down here, right?”

reached back and opened the back door.

“Morgan Apartments,” Lefty said, reading

asked as he threw his head quickly back to get

from a slip of paper with the Dodger logo given to

a second look at this guy who talked like he had

him by the Dodger secretary. He put his one bag

stepped not from the train, but maybe from a

in the back seat and settled in to the dirty cab with

celestial beam, a brown and white streak dressed

discarded paper cups and papers strewn around

like a preacher, but he wasn’t a preacher, that’s for

the floor.

sure.

The car swung out of the station’s driveway

“New Yawk; you’ve heard of New Yawk “You play for the Johnnies?” the driver

“I’m more than a player for the Johnnies;

onto Sterling where Lefty noticed the Mimosa

I’m going to be da main man, buddy,” Lefty said

trees that the driver said bloomed in the spring

with a wide smile and finger that he pointed

and which were the namesake for the town.

toward the driver.

He leaned back in his seat, looked out the

“What’s your name?”

window at the small stores, the hosiery mills, the

“Lefty. Spread the word, will ya?”

windows of which were open to allow air to pass

“I sure will, Mr. Lefty. You have my word

through the long buildings that were painted

on that.”

white.

“Hey, cabbie, where do you find a good

“Now take me to a bar. I’m real thirsty.”

Lefty had never been in a bar in his life, but who

time here?” Lefty asked as if he were being driven

would know?

on Flatbush Avenue.

town, but you can make it wet real quick, if you

The driver, a large hulk of a man, with a

“There ain’t no bars here. This here is a dry

firm jaw that was crammed with a tobacco plug so

know what I mean,” was the cabby’s answer

lovingly placed there about two hours ago, had a

simple answer: “Yo’all go to the ballpark.”

“Herby.”

“Well, that’s good, because that’s where I’ll

“Herby, what can you do for me?”

show youse guys some real action,” Lefty said as

“You name it, Mr. Lefty, and Herby can

he placed his hands on his knees and looked out at

supply it.”

the passing stores that included a junk store with

tables overflowing with brightly colored dishes,

said.

bowls and towels. The driver looked back at him

quickly and said:

off and make, uh, my rounds,” Herby said as he

“Ok, what’s your name?”

“How about a pint of Four Roses?” Lefty “I’ll deliver it to your door after I drop you

Lefty Goes South - William Kezziah

wheeled the black Ford in front of the apartment

building at 102 S. Meeting Street.

you’ll find some other Johnnies inside.”

Lefty and his buddies had started drinking

“This is it. The Morgan Apartments. I think “Lefty paid Herby $5. “Will that cover the

on the sly when they were in high school, but when

fare and the Fours?” he asked.

Coach Martell heard about his drinking, he took

Lefty aside in the school hall and talked tough.

said, smiling and showing a smile that included a

chipped tooth in front of the mouthful of tobacco.

“I catch you drinking and you’re off the

“It sure will, with some to spare,” Herby

team,” was what Lefty remembered about the

conversation. That threat stuck hard and fast with

him his Lefty smile – toothy and wide, including

Lefty. When his friends passed a bottle of Four

stretching the ski up to the 19-year-old eyes – and

Roses after the talk, Lefty let it pass to the next

then picking up his suitcase, bounded up two, four

guy.

steps and the short walk into the home.

“What’s da matter, you don’t like our stuff?”

Lefty patted Herby on the shoulder, gave

“Inside, he saw the sign, “Manager,” and

someone asked.

pushed the bell just to the left of the white door

“Nah, I just ain’t drinking,” Lefty said.

with the sign, “Private.”

But now in Morgan, Lefty felt he was on

A pot-bellied man about 60 flung the

his own, a professional baseball player who could

door open quickly. He was wearing a sleeveless

drink liquor, smile at the girls, be a man, even if he

undershirt, a pair of gray pants and blue house

was just 19 and in the eyes of the law a kid.

slippers.

“Here you are. Your home away from

“Hi-ya, I’m Lefty. You get a message about

home,” Herby said as he pulled to the curb, and

a room for the baseball season?” Lefty said as he

opened his door and then threw open Lefty’s.

flashed that big smile that he thought could make

anyone feel like Lefty was your friend.

Lefty looked from the cab’s door to the

large white framed two-story home that looked

like the pictures he had seen of southern white

up and down, starting at his two-toned brown and

mansions. There were white columns, a row of

white shoes, the brown pants, the white shirt and

windows both downstairs and upstairs, but the

tie, and the red hair.

house had seen better days. Paint flaked from the

“You a salesman?” the man asked.

sides, and the sidewalk leading to the front door

“Nah, I ain’t no salesman. I’m a ballplayer

was broken and split. The sign in front said, “The

for the Johnnies. I’m Lefty. I got youse address

Morgan Apartments.” He chuckled at that name

from the Dodgers’ office.

as he grabbed his one suitcase from the seat beside

him and pulled it out the door at the same time he

minutes.”

planted his two-toned shoes on the pavement.

behind a door. Lefty could hear a key chain and

“You sure this is it, 116 Meeting Street?”

Lefty asked squinting at Herby.

2014 Literary Magazine

The man didn’t smile. He just looked Lefty

“Oh, yeah, I remember now. Wait a The man left Lefty waiting as he disappeared

then the man appeared with a ring of keys in his

hand.

“This way and watch the steps. They can be

slick.”

“Come on in, we’re listening to the Dodgers

and this new pitcher who’s on the mound,” said one.

Lefty followed the man up the stairs,

“Yeah,” said Lefty. “And who might that

around the corner to an end room where the man

be.”

put a key from the chain in the door and opened

the door that hesitated for a moment, but then

was — what was it, George, Koufax, a lefty who

opened when the man put his shoulder to it.

has one incredible fastball — a ball that no one can

hit.”

“In here. Here’s your room,” the man said,

“The play-by-play announcer said his name

stepping aside to reveal a room furnished with a

sofa, two upright chairs, a table and floor lamp

kind of pitcher that’ll get the pennant for the

between them.

Dodgers this year.”

“The kitchen is in there and the bedroom on

“Hey, another said this kid Koufax is the

“You ever heard of Koufax, a lefty, kid?

the other side,” the man said, gesturing to his right

Hey, hey where did that new kid go?”

and left from the entry covered with linoleum.

“I think you’ll like it.”

shut with a bang.

Lefty looked it over and sighed. The bedroom

They heard a door scrape open and then The radio could be heard down the hall of

was smaller than his bedroom, he thought, but he

the Morgan Arms.

thought he would be playing baseball, not sticking

around his room all day.

he’s the real deal and listen, he’s only 19,” the play-

by-play announcer kept repeating. “He’s only 19

“Ok, gimme the key,” Lefty said, taking it

“And this Koufax, You just gotta believe

and placing a dollar bill in the man’s hand. “Thanks

and he’s from Brooklyn.”

a lot.”

Lefty left the apartment building and

The man looked at the dollar.

headed for downtown. But as he went outside the

‘What’s this for?” he asked.

front door, he drew back his left arm, started an

“It’s a tip and if I need anything, I’ll call ya

exaggerated wind-up and threw an imaginary pitch

for help, OK.”

toward an oak tree in the front of the building. His

The man blinked, closed his hand over the

right arm went up – a strike. Then with customary

bill and nodded. Then he turned and walked out,

gait, he walked down the sidewalk, but in his mind

closing the door that scraped the top frame with a

he was coming off the mound, heading for the

distinct sound that Lefty thought meant he was in

dugout as the crowd roared.

for some surprises in this town.

He found there were other ballplayers in

the boarding house. They were lying on their beds listening to a baseball game when Lefty came out and waved to one group sitting in a room.

Lefty Goes South - William Kezziah

House of Ruth

by Craig Faris

Lucy was born on the right side of the tracks,

growth. “The old road bed follows that fence line

I on the left, but I was still smitten as the three of

to the right,” I said. “She’s about three hundred

us ran down that railroad bed in 1972, crossties

yards into the woods.” I pointed to a small white

beneath our feet, and how their varying heights

rectangle in the photo. “That’s the roof of the

commanded hypnotic concentration. My buddy

house. The barn is gone.”

Dan, who was used to running, led Lucy and me

by about ten paces. The hot September sun and

moved or burned back in ’57,” Lucy said.

the high humidity of South Carolina’s piedmont

‘This one survived. I saw it yesterday.”

did little to quell our excitement as we neared the

Dan looked at the vines and shook his head.

site of the old abandoned crossing.

“We’ll need a sling blade.”

A paper mill, built in the late ‘50s, replaced

“Aw, it’s not that bad. Come on.”

the houses and farms that had once occupied the

We were seventeen – young, bored, and

left side of the tracks. On the right side, countless

eager for the adventure.

acres of trees and kudzu vines had returned those

farms to the wilderness.

of undergrowth as we forged our way through a

“Hold up,” I called out to Dan. “This is it.”

twisted mass of honeysuckle, kudzu vines, and

The three of us slowed to a walk, gulped in

briers taller than we were.

“My dad said all of those houses were either

The sunlight faded under the thick canopy

air, and wiped the sweat from our faces with our

shirttails. I caught a glimpse of Lucy’s bra and

tangled in a brier, and I stopped to help her free it.

smiled at Dan. It was amazing how a brief sight of

“I can’t believe my parents lived down this road,”

white material could send the testosterone surging

she said. “I was only a baby when they moved.”

through our veins. Lucy either didn’t notice or

care. She was one of us.

she lived about a mile from my home. She was

“So, where is it?” Dan said. He was incredibly

pretty, the youngest of three sisters, and a tomboy.

smart and athletic, playing on the varsity teams

She could hit a softball farther than most of the

for baseball, basketball, and football, but his hair

men on our church league, and she ran like an

was never neat. Maybe he had some of Einstein’s

antelope. It was all I could do to keep up with her

genes.

and several of my cuts and scrapes were owed to

I unfolded an old aerial photograph taken

Lucy’s shoulder-length brown hair got

Lucy was our “girl next door” even though

the fact that her rear was far more interesting to

in the 1950s from my back pocket, and nodded

watch than the crossties my toes encountered.

toward a fence post barely visible under the dense

2014 Literary Magazine

We followed the old roadbed away from the

railway, the thicket soon giving way to non-native

decaying newspapers. Beside him, in the center

plants that had once occupied a front yard. The

of the room, was a broken cast-iron bed frame, its

yard was now only an overgrown clearing with a

rusted springs standing against one wall. A bare

wall of vines at one end.

dusty light bulb dangled from a twisted wire over

the foot of the bed, and Lucy clicked the switch as

“That’s it,” I announced. Except for a rusted

tin roof, the wall of kudzu completely covered the

if expecting it to glow to life.

aging structure.

from a newspaper headline glued to the ceiling

Lucy furrowed her brow. “We’re going in

“Look at this.” Dan began reading aloud

there?”

directly

“We didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

BASEMAN SHOT BY DERAGED FAN.” A photo

Dan led us around the left side of the house where

of an attractive brunette behind prison bars

the briers were thinner. There, the side porch had

accompanied the article.

collapsed level with the ground and a back door

stood ajar. With cautious apprehension, we crept

Lucy said.

across the rotted porch and stepped inside.

A quarter inch of gray dust covered the

aloud. “RUTH ANN STEINHAGEN, 19, INVITED

floors and counters in the kitchen. Despite years

FIRST-BASEMAN EDDIE WAITKUS TO HER

of neglect the tin roof had kept the main structure

ROOM AT CHICAGO’S EDGEWATER BEACH

dry and the floor seemed sturdy. Vines covering

HOTEL WITH A NOTE SAYING SHE HAD A

the windows shaded most of the sunlight and

BIG SURPRIE FOR HIM. WAITKUS ENTERED

every windowpane had long since rotted from its

THE ROOM, WHERE STEINHAGEN SHOT

sash. Down a hallway we entered an empty room,

HIM POINTBLANK IN THE CHEST WITH A

its walls and ceilings covered with brown peeling

.22 CALIBER RIFLE. SAYING THAT IF SHE

newspapers.

COULDN’T HAVE HIM, NO ONE WOULD,

STEINHAGEN CALLED AN AMBULANCE AND

“Some wallpaper,” Lucy said. “This is

over

the

bed.

“PHILLIES

FIRST-

“Leave it to you to find the sports page,” “This sounds strangely familiar.” Dan read

downright creepy.”

HELD WAITKUS’ BLOODY HAND UNTIL THE

“They used newspapers as insulation in

POLICE ARRIVED. A FORMER CHICAGO CUB,

winter,” I explained. “See, they kept adding layer

WAITKUS, AGE 30, PLAYED IN THE 1948 ALL

upon layer over the years.”

STAR GAME BEFORE BEING TRADED TO THE

PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES IN DECEMBER.”

Dan, who grew up in California, had never

seen anything like it. An old fireplace stood against

Dan, who played first base on our varsity team,

the interior wall, and Dan ventured through a

looked at us, “I’ve read about this somewhere.”

small closet doorway that opened into another

“That’s horrible,” Lucy said. “Did he live?”

room. “Hey, guys, I think I found the bridal suite.”

“I don’t know. The rest of the article was

disintegrated.”

We followed his voice through the closet

and found him staring up at a ceiling covered in

At our feet the floor was littered with scraps

House of Ruth - Craig Faris

of newspaper that had turned brown and crumbled

Waitkus,” Dan said.

to dust, any missing pieces of the article crushed

beneath our shoes.

Lucy and I promised to ask around, while Dan

tackled the code. That night, I showed my parents

“Maybe we can find that article in a library,”

Before heading to our respective homes,

I said. “What’s the date?”

the aerial photograph and told them about the old

house and newspaper article we had found.

“Looks like June 15, 1949 or ‘47. I’m not

sure which.”

early ‘50s?” I asked.

“What are those circles, squares, and

“Do you remember who lived there in the

triangles for?” Lucy was pointing to pencil marks

scribbled on the page.

pretty sure that Mrs. Ratterree used to rent out

that house after she moved to town.”

Neither Dan nor I had noticed the faint

Mom was putting dinner on the table. “I’m

symbols drawn around various letters in the

article. Dan and Lucy studied them closely as I

there?” It was a stupid question. An escapee would

examined the surrounding papers on the ceiling.

surely use an alias.

None had similar marks.

washing and ironing. I think she had a teenage

“I think a girl did these,” Lucy said. “See

“Did anyone named Steinhagen ever live

“I have no idea. There was a lady who did

how she looped the ends of her circles like I do?”

daughter with long brown hair.”

“Right.”

immediately

regretted

I brightened. “Do you remember her

sarcasm when she glared at me.

name?”

“It’s been twenty years, son.”

“Anyone have a pencil?”

After supper, Lucy called to confirm that

I rummaged through the kitchen cabinets,

the house wasn’t on their former property. Other

finding a broken grease pencil, while Lucy found a

than that, she hadn’t learned anything. We chatted

faded clothing receipt in a closet to write on. The

a while about the mystery and school until I ran

light was quickly fading as Dan jotted down the

out of ideas to keep her on the phone. It was nice

symbols and letters.

having a girl call me even though she was just “one

of the guys.” I finished my homework and called

“This is some sort of code,” Dan said.

“It’s getting kind of late, guys.” Lucy’s voice

was edgy. “Maybe we should come back when we

Dan before I went to bed.

have more time.”

Exiting the house, we retraced our trail

word,” Dan explained as if code breaking was an

back to the railroad by the last rays of sunlight. All

everyday task. “It’s really simple, but the letters

the way home, we speculated about the article and

are scrambled and whoever did this apparently

the symbols.

couldn’t spell.”

“How do you know?”

hiding there,” Lucy suggested.

“Because the first word was only three

letters. The other two don’t make sense.”

“Maybe Ruth broke out of prison and was “More likely just some kid who was a fan of

2014 Literary Magazine

“Each symbol spells out a different

“What did it say?”

two misspelled words. That’s why it took me so

“Big,” he said.

long to decipher it.”

I went to sleep trying to picture how the

“Well, what was it?” we asked, cold chills

baseball player must have felt when he saw

rising.

Steinhagen’s rifle pointing at his chest. The story

“Big Surprise,” Dan said. “Root Cellar!”

had filled my mind with all kinds of questions, but

Returning to the house took us twice as

not a single answer. Obviously, she was crazy and

long due to the shovels, picks, and flashlights we

why would anyone choose that particular article to

had to carry. It was nearly 7 p.m. by the time we

write a coded message? Maybe Lucy was right and

arrived, and the house seemed even darker and

Ruth did escape. After much tossing and turning

creepier. Before going inside, Dan got on his knees

Dan’s call woke me at 7 a.m.

and shined his flashlight under the crawl space.

“I think I’ve got it,” he said. “First I have

“There’s a ladder going down into an open

to look up something in the library. I’ll explain at

pit,” he said. “It’s near the fireplace.”

lunch.”

The minutes and hours at school seemed to

to cast eerie shadow in our flashlight beams as

creep by until finally the lunch bell rang. Lucy and

we entered and the air had turned unseasonably

I met in the hall and raced to the cafeteria where

cool. We found a trapdoor in the floor of the closet

Dan was waiting.

between the two bedrooms, and it took two of

us to pry it loose while Lucy held the flashlight.

“She spelled the second word SIRPRIZE

A breeze caused the shreds of newspaper

with an ‘I’ and a ‘z’!” he said.

The rusted hinges squealed in protest as the door

unveiled a net of spider webs that covered the

“She?” Lucy nudged me with her elbow. “I

see someone agrees with my loopy circles.”

opening and inky blackness beyond. Dan brushed

them aside and tested his weight on the ladder’s

“I knew this story sounded familiar,” Dan

said, “then I remembered this baseball novel I

top rung.

once read called The Natural.” He held up a copy

“Come on, guys,” he said. “It’s just a hole.”

of the book. “It was written in 1952 by Bernard

“Just a hole,” I kept repeating until my foot

Malamud, and the foreword said it was based on

found the dirt floor ten feet down. A large hole,

the Waitkus shooting.”

that’s all it was, dug into the red clay and littered

with dried cornhusks, rusted farm tools, and moldy

“Did it say what happened to Ruth?” Lucy

asked.

broken furniture. Above us, spider webs hung “No. Look, I don’t know who lived there,

from every floor joist – an ideal hatchery for the

but whoever it was took a keen interest in this

Brown Recluse, the Black Widow, and whatever

story.” He tapped his index finger on the book.

else might crawl or slither into a cool cellar on a

“That article is like a treasure map.”

hot day.

“Treasure?” I said. “How?”

“Because of the third word; actually it was

my arms. She turned, looked into my eyes and

I held the ladder as Lucy descended into

House of Ruth - Craig Faris

rewarded me with a hug and a quick kiss on the

forgotten our brief moment together at the foot of

lips – our first.

that ladder.

We took a step forward and a small rabbit

In my hand was a newspaper obituary Dan

shot out from behind an old bucket causing our

sent which answered some lingering questions

heart rates to leap as it ran up a mat of dead vines

from our night in the root cellar. Now a Ph.D. and

and out of the cellar. We all took a deep breath and

living in Illinois, Dan wrote that his wife taught

tried to hide our anxiety with grins since it wasn’t

in Chicago near the site of the Edgewater Beach

cool to show fear.

Hotel. The hotel was long gone, but his research

Everything was covered with dust and

revealed that Eddie Waitkus survived Ruth

leaves, and we searched for ten minutes before

Steinhagen’s attack. He helped the Phillies win

finding an old trunk half-buried under junk in one

the pennant in 1950, while Steinhagen spent three

corner. Clearing it off, we nervously pointed three

years in a mental institution. Waitkus recovered

flashlight beams on the lid as Dan used his shovel

but was never the same. His marriage failed and

to break the lock.

he spent his latter years looking over his shoulder

Reaching for the hasp, we had no idea if

while drowning his anxiety with alcohol. He died

the trunk would make us all fabulously wealthy, or

of cancer on September 16, 1972, the same day we

subject us to decades of sleepless nights. Despite

found the root cellar.

these misgivings, we slowly, carefully opened a lid

into the past.

revealed that after her release, she lived reclusive

To my surprise, Ruth Steinhagen’s obituary

another sixty years with her sister in Chicago Forty-one years after reading that headline glued

mere blocks from her crime scene. She even

to the ceiling over Ruth’s bed, I was looking at the

autographed several copies of Bernard Malamud’s

exact spot where it had once been. The newspapers

book, The Natural which became quite valuable.

had vanished to dust, but incredibly, after sixty

She died on December 29, 2012, so the only part of

years of neglect, the house was still standing,

Ruth Steinhagen that ever entered this house was

eerie as ever, the trapdoor still open. No way was

her photo and her story glued to the ceiling. But

I venturing down that ladder in its current state.

that newspaper article became an inspiration for

another unstable girl sleeping in the bed beneath

I thought of Lucy and how that first kiss

was also our last. It was just a kiss, and as a friend

it.

I think she sensed my fear and knew exactly how

to calm it. It certainly worked, but there were

that trunk, but it wasn’t someone’s bones or a

other reasons. Her family was well educated; mine

treasure. What we found was a diary from 1950,

were mill workers, and even in the ‘70s there was a

and a moldy, moth-eaten uniform from a minor-

social prejudice that frowned on such unions. Still,

league baseball team called the Durham Rams.

looking into that hole, I wish I had listened to my

The diary’s pages revealed the sad story of Ruth

heart instead of my parents, since I have never

Burns – a poor, uneducated girl, whose abusive

2014 Literary Magazine

I don’t know what we expected to find in

mother, and obsessive love for a baseball player,

– to know she existed.

nearly led her to suicide.

last entry in the diary. It said, “I’M PREGNANT.”

Burns wrote that she had attended a

We found Tommy’s baseball card with her

Rams baseball game while spending the previous

It seems like nothing now. But this was

summer with her cousin in Raleigh. It had only

1950. It was the Deep South. And the Durham

taken a smile from the pitcher, Tommy Sands, to

Rams were in a Negro league.

captivate her heart, and throughout the following year she schemed of ways to win him over. The opportunity finally presented itself on a summer trip to Myrtle Beach, which coincided with a Rams game in the area. Following Steinhagen’s example, Burns lured Tommy Sands to her motel room with the words ‘Big Surprise” scribbled across a partially nude photo of herself. Her plans for Tommy, however, were interrupted when her mother burst into the room. Tommy fled with only his socks, leaving Ruth with just her fragile sanity, the treasured uniform, and his baseball card.

That night in the root cellar, Lucy had sat on

a bucket reading the pages of Ruth’s diary under the fading light of our flashlights beams. She couldn’t understand why Ruth would leave her precious trunk buried in a cellar and the cryptic message on her ceiling. None of us understood until the last page. Like Steinhagen, Ruth wanted the one thing she couldn’t have, but decades of prejudice made that impossible. She had to flee, and her trunk had to disappear because it contained the evidence of her crime.

I can only imagine Ruth Burns standing

here in her bedroom with all of her bags packed, staring up at the ceiling from the middle of her broken iron bed frame with bruises on her faces and tears in her eyes. The cryptic message might have been a cry for help, a message to Tommy, or maybe she just wanted someone to know the truth

House of Ruth - Craig Faris

The Appointment

by John Cauthen

The strikingly beautiful woman sitting at

high ceiling.

the desk fascinated him. Her flaming red hair

and high cheek-bones highlighted her green eyes

the room and demanded his attention.

and classic looks, almost making him forget his

the years smoke from its thousands of fires had

purpose.

blackened the white marble mantle and streaked

“…Smith…Roger Smith,” he said.

the granite wall. Its expansive opening was guarded

“Yes, I know,” she replied, in an accent he

by massive andirons cast in the ominous images

could not identify. “He’s expecting you. Please

of gargoyles. Their sinister, evil appearance did

have a seat. It’ll only be a moment.”

nothing to make him feel welcome.

Roger Smith had the look of a Hollywood

But it was the great fireplace that dominated Over

Above the mantel hung a larger-than-life

painting of a thirteenth century warrior holding

wore a tailored dark gray suit, and had an overcoat

a sword and standing guard like a paragon of

draped over his shoulders. In his hand he carried

virtue—probably a past defender of the castle. It

an expensive leather briefcase. It would be an

was a strange painting, and regardless of the angle

important meeting and he wanted to make a good

from which it was viewed, the penetrating eyes of

first impression.

the subject relentlessly followed any who dared to

look.

mogul or an important corporate executive.

As he walked toward the large leather chairs

facing the fireplace, he got his first good look at

the huge, musty room. It wasn’t what he expected.

statue of a Phoenix, its wings proudly outspread

The almost ghostly mood was alien and unfriendly,

in a defiant gesture of conquest. A large snake

different from anything he’d ever experienced.

dangled from its capacious beak.

Polished marble floors magnified the sound of

Without doubt, there was the eerie, unmistakable

each footstep, while the granite walls echoed every

feeling that one had stepped back centuries in

spoken word. Faint glimmers of light entered from

time—possibly never to return.

the narrow slits of windows that bordered on two

sides. They were like the embrasures of a parapet

from the inimical, unreal mood inside and the

from which archers discharged their crossbows,

bitterly cold and stormy world outside. As he stood

and permitted only a glimpse of the outside world.

at the open fire, he thought of his important meeting

Two enormous chandeliers made of wrought iron

with the man in the next room and wondered why

and hand-hewed, wooden beams hung from the

he wasn’t more apprehensive. Possibly it was the

2014 Literary Magazine

In the far corner stood a magnificent bronze

The roaring fire was a welcome relief; both

tranquilizing effects of the flames that brought him I hope I ain’t disappointed.” this delusive sense of calm.

“Yes, I understand. By the way, my name is

The room was quiet and despite the heat Smith...Roger Smith.”

from the fire, the penetrating chill soon proved

“Uh—oh. Tony Marlette.” The large man

the victor. He reached for the heavy, wrought iron offered his huge hand in a half-hearted gesture of poker that rested on the hearth and punched at the cordiality. coals causing the fire to burn even brighter.

“Hey, pal, you got the time?” a deep, gravely

voice from behind him asked.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Marlette.” “Just Tony—if you don’t mind.” He was

obviously preoccupied and never looked at Smith.

Startled and thinking he was alone, Smith

“Tony...yes...and please call me Roger.”

turned and was astonished by the appearance of a

“You got it—Roger.”

huge, menacing-looking man standing there. The

Neither man spoke for several minutes.

large man wore sunglasses and a dark, pin-striped In the silence, Smith tried to crack his knuckles double-breasted suit. His shirt was open at the but couldn’t. Then, in frustration, he lit another top and his tie hung loosely from the open collar. cigarette. From the heavy accent and dark, acne-scarred

The large man leaned back and crossed his

complexion, Smith judged him to be Italian or legs. “You ain’t from…” maybe Sicilian.

But Smith didn’t allow him to finish. “No,

“Oh...yes. It’s half past ten,” Smith replied, no. I’m from the states. A Yank, as they say around

looking at the expensive Rolex watch that hung these parts.” loosely from his wrist.

“…your seat?” the large man asked as he

dropped his overweight body into the equally

“What do you do—your job?” “I was a police detective, but I’ve retired.” “A retired detective,” the large man said.

overstuffed chair. The question was rhetorical. It “That’s good. Look, I know it ain’t none of my was obvious he intended to sit there regardless.

“Uh...no,”

Smith

answered,

business, but what in hell are you doing in this

belatedly, God-forsaken place?” He continued to crack his

knowing the man wasn’t asking his permission. knuckles as he talked. “Please...have a seat.” He replaced the poker and sat down himself.

“I was invited,” Smith answered. “They like

my work and have a proposition for me.”

“Been waiting long?” the large man asked,

“Invited? That’s a laugh.” The large man

looking nervously over the room, and obviously stood up and walked to the fireplace to warm not interested in the answer to his question.

himself. “Look, you’re just like me. You had to

“Twenty minutes or so.”

come. You didn’t have no choice.”

“Well, pal, I’ll tell you this,” the large man

Smith smiled. “I believe they’re interested

said, cracking his knuckles as he talked, “I’ve been in what I can do for them—what I can contribute.” worrying about this meeting for a damn long time.

“Look, pal, if these sons-of-bitches want

The Appointment - John Cauthen

your ass they’ll get it. Hell, I don’t think you

understand what this operation is all about.”

antagonize the large man. “But, still, if I don’t like

what they have to offer, I’ll just turn them down

Smith nodded again, but said nothing. The

“Maybe,” he answered, not wanting to

man was making him feel uncomfortable—and he

and leave.”

certainly wasn’t his pal.

“Leave? You must be kidding.”

“I don’t really need them. I still have my

“And I guess you know this fancy office ain’t

what you think,” the large man continued. “It’s

money—twelve million dollars.”

just a front.”

“Twelve million dollars?”

“Yes, twelve million dollars in cash and not

“Well…yes. Yes, I know it’s a front. All

operations like this have what you call a front. But

in the banks—and mostly in small bills.”

to be honest, I didn’t expect it to be quite like this.”

searching his mind for a connection.

“I guess you also know they don’t recruit

The large man hesitated a moment, Finally,

people like them big corporations do,” the large

he asked, excitedly, “Say, you ain’t one of them

man said. “They just select ‘em—and then make

bastards that knocked off that armored car in

‘em an offer they can’t refuse.”

Boston and walked away with twelve million?”

“It was Bristol Bay—in Maine.”

wanting to argue the point.

“Whatever…”

“Once they take you in, pal, you’re in for the

forward in the chair. Smith obviously had his

duration. If you don’t like what they got for you

interest. “Well, pal, I heard a lot about that one.

and you wanna get out...no way! Well, you get the

They said it was the perfect crime. And they ain’t

idea.”

caught the perps yet.”

Smith smiled and nodded again, not

The large man he leaned

Smith smiled again.

“I tell ya this, it’s the biggest damn syndicate

interest. “Yes, I guess it was the perfect crime.

there is. They control the drugs, the prostitution,

They haven’t caught me. And they’re not going

the numbers—hell, they got it all, and they’re

to.”

world wide.”

The only sound was the large man cracking his

“Yes, I know. That’s why I came. I told

Smith smiled, sensing the man’s genuine

The two men sat silent for several minutes.

them I wanted something in a warm climate—

knuckles.

maybe in the tropics. I’ve had enough of the snow

in New England. I just hope it’s some place I like,

made up my mind a long time ago that crime does

something that…”

pay—and it pays very well. The secret is, don’t get

involved in a lot of small jobs. That just increases

The large man didn’t let him finish. “Look,

pal, you ain’t listening.

“I’ll tell you this,” Smith finally said, “I

I said you ain’t gotta

your chances of getting caught. A man can do as

concern yourself with that. Once you get this

much time in prison for a hundred dollar robbery

far the decision is made. This interview is just a

as he can for a million dollar job. I wasn’t…?”

formality.”

2014 Literary Magazine

“Good point!” the large man interrupted.

He slid back in the chair, crossed his legs again,

of chief-of-detectives of a three-man department.

and this time began nervously wiggling his left

foot. Smith noticed that the foot-wiggling routine

them,” Smith said.

had replaced the knuckle-cracking—and for that

he was glad. He never liked hearing people crack

vacancy?”

their knuckles.

their chief-of-detectives to have a little accident.

“How about telling me how you pulled off

“At least, the vacancy was unexpected for “How did you know there would be a Smith laughed. “You see, I arranged for

the perfect crime,” the large man persisted.

He was shot to death by an unknown gunman.”

“Well, I guess it’s okay to tell it now. They

“…an accident…an unknown gunman. Hey,

can’t find me here.” Smith stopped talking only

that’s good!” The large man had a morbid sense of

long enough to light a cigarette. “I decided it had

humor.

to be a perfect crime. And it had to be a big hit—

big enough to last a lifetime. I made up my mind I

and excellent reputation with the Boston police,

would do only the one job, and would retire when

they didn’t hesitate to hire me. And as chief of

it was over.”

detectives, I would naturally have full control over

The excitement of re-telling the story had

all robbery investigations and could manipulate

his adrenaline flowing. “If the job was chancy,” he

the evidence any way I wanted. It was just the

continued, “I wouldn’t consider it; simple as that.

situation I was looking for. I knew then I would

I was patient. When the armored car thing came

have no trouble pulling off the perfect crime. And

up, it was just the situation I was looking for. It

the armored car job was just what I was looking

was the perfect opportunity.”

for. The whole thing, from start to finish, took just

“The one in Boston?” the large man asked.

three years”

“Bristol Bay!”

“Okay, Bristol Bay. But why?”

surprised. “That’s a long time!”

“It’s a small town with a small police force.

“I applied for the job. With my experience

“Three years?”

The large man seemed

Smith smiled, “Let’s face it—twelve million

And it’s isolated. The roads leading to it aren’t

dollars for three year’s work isn’t bad. And it’s all

well traveled, especially during the winter. Wells

tax free.”

Fargo routinely ran an armored car through there

on Fridays on the way to the banks in Portland,

ain’t bad pay,” the large man admitted. He began

and that’s what interested me.”

cracking his knuckles again, but also continued

his foot-wiggling routine.

Smith explained that the plan was to use

“Well…yeah, I guess you’re right.

That

his outstanding reputation and twenty years of

“How many partners did you have?”

experience as a detective on the Boston Police

“There were no partners. I did it alone—

Department as qualification for filling what would

all by myself. I didn’t want anyone around who

be an unexpected and upcoming vacancy on the

might talk, and I didn’t want to share the money

Bristol Bay Police Department. It was the position

with anyone.”

The Appointment - John Cauthen

“You robbed an armored car by yourself—

they stopped, I began walking towards then. When

without any help? That’s hard to believe. How in

I got about thirty feet away, I suddenly stopped,

hell did you pull that off?” the large man asked.

grabbed my chest like I was having a heart attack,

“First I had to find a way to stop the

staggered around a bit, and then fell face down on

armored car and get the driver and guard out

the ground, apparently unconscious. You see, I’m

without creating a confrontation that would cause

was in the Bristol Bay drama club and I’m a pretty

them to send out an alert over their radio. That

good actor.”

was important.”

“Fake heart attack! Hey, that’s good.”

“And how did you do that?”

“Well, it worked.

“I went to the police motor pool and told

desperately need help, jumped out and ran to

them my car wouldn’t start, and I needed another

where I was laying. The Wells Fargo driver had

car while mine was being repaired.

Since the

no idea they were about to be robbed, so he had no

department had only three unmarked cars, and

reason to sound an alert on the radio. When they

they were all assigned, I knew they would give

kneeled down to turn me over, I shot both of them.

me a standard Bristol Bay patrol car with all the

Then I quickly got the bags of money, and drove

regular police marking on the sides and a blue and

away. ”

red light bar on top. I then went home and put on

“And nobody saw you?”

my official police uniform—the one I wore only for

“No. It all happened too fast.”

formal police functions. I had previously reviewed

Both men, thinking I

“Damn…damn…damn!”

The large man

the route the armored car always took and found

could hardly believe what he had just heard.

an ideal place to stop it. It was a lightly traveled,

isolated section, but still in the city limits, so I had

Of-Detectives, I made sure the investigation ran

jurisdiction.”

into one dead end after another. Even when the

“How did you stop it?”

FBI and state investigators came in, like they

Smith smiled. “That was easy. When I

do in all cases like this, I was able to hide any

saw the armored car approaching, I turned on the

evidence that might point to me. After eight or

patrol car’s flashing blue and red lights and pulled

nine months the case ran completely out of leads

across the two-lane highway, blocking it. Then I

and the investigation just petered out. It turned

jumped out and began frantically waving my red

into a cold case.”

flashlight for them to stop, making sure it looked

“What did you do with all that money?”

like there was an emergency ahead.”

“I hid it in a rented storage unit. Next I

“And they stopped?”

had to disappear from this earth never to be seen

“Sure they did. If you saw a police car

again—and I had a plan for that, too. I began

blocking the highway with flashing red and blue

telling people in the police department that I was

lights on top, and a uniformed policeman waving

getting death threats—revenge for a drug bust I

for you to stop—what else would you do? When

made several months earlier. Everybody got real

2014 Literary Magazine

Smith smiled, and continued. “As Chief-

concerned for me. I stopped a homeless man who

and a big, expensive Mercedes sedan—a big black

was passing through town. He was just the type I

one. But the Mercedes part didn’t work out too

was looking for—about my size and had no family

well. I hardly got the thing out of the showroom

or friends to report him missing. So I suffocated

when some local yokel in a pickup truck pulled out

him with a plastic bag, dressed his body in my

right in front of me. I was going pretty fast—and

clothes, with my badge, my ID, and even my gun,

wham! I don’t think the man in the truck even

and put him behind the wheel of my police car. I

knew what hit him. The Mercedes caught fire and

rigged the car with a bomb. It exploded and burned

I...”

in my driveway. His body was incinerated in the

process. The evidence I’d planted on the body

him finish. “Excuse me, Mr. Smith, he’s ready for

was so convincing that the other detectives on the

you now.”

Bristol Bay force had no problem concluding I was

the person in the car, and the car had been rigged

from the leather chair. “Sorry, Tony, but I have to

with a bomb to murder me. The coroner’s report

go. I’ll finish the story later.”

said the body was burned ‘beyond recognition’

and concluded that I’d been murdered by person

double-doors at the far end of the room and into

or persons unknown. And everybody believed it.”

a long corridor. “It’s the last door—the one at the

end.” She stopped and smiled, leaving him to walk

The large man laughed again, only this time

But the receptionist at the desk didn’t let

“Thanks,” Smith replied, lifting himself

The receptionist led him through the large

much louder and longer. “…smart, damn smart.”

the corridor alone.

“Yes, I agree,” Smith said. “I don’t exist

As he approached the door, he began to

anymore as far as this world is concerned. All the

worry for the first time. His face flushed and hot

records show that Roger Smith was a victim of

flashes tore through his body. Sweat began to drip

organized crime.”

from his brow. He tried vainly to dry his palms

“What then?” the large man persisted.

on his trousers. He didn’t want to appear nervous

“Simple! I got myself a new name and a

and apprehensive.

new set of IDs. I’m a new person.”

When he finally reached the office entrance,

“—and with all that money.”

he paused for a moment to catch his breath. As he

“Yes—and with all that money.”

grasped the glowing-red doorknob—his sweating

“What have ya been spending it on—

hand sizzling against the hot metal—he noticed

women?”

the gold-lettered name plate on the door. It read

“No,” Smith said, as he punched out the half-

simply: “BEELZEBUB.” When he opened the door,

smoked cigarette in an ash tray. “Until recently I

roaring hot flames greeted him with a vengeance.

hadn’t spent one red cent of it. Then I figured it was time to start enjoying life—time to start living it up. I went to Miami and I told everyone I was a retired stock broker. I bought an expensive condo

The Appointment - John Cauthen

No, Mama

By Bob Jolly

Edward and Annette met at a Halloween party. self-assertive mother gave birth to and reared a girl Annette was dressed as a witch. She could not of Annette’s retiring nature. However, feistiness have been more out of character. Edward wore a notwithstanding, Della Mackey loved her children, black business suit, which he tried to disguise as and wanted for them the highest social status Dracula, with red cape and false fang teeth. Lola, meager financial means could attain. She struggled Annette’s former schoolmate, introduced them at to dress the children fashionably, reminding them the punch bowl. “He’s really handsome without often that, “Being poor doesn’t mean we have to those teeth,” Lola said.

Edward removed the look poor.” The climb up to status necessitated

teeth so that Annette could see the natural man, that language was used properly and that good brushed back his hair with his hands, raised the manners were cultivated. Above all, high station brows, put on a suave face. Indeed, he was good was facilitated through refined taste in the arts, looking, Annette thought.

especially classical music. “Don’t be common,” she

“Dance with me, Miss Annette?” Edward often would say.

said and began to lead her to the floor before he

Della’s social impetus was something of a

got an answer. The music was a bit doleful for contradiction for her background was ordinary, fast dancing, but Edward whirled her around as backwoods genealogy. Born and raised in an if it were a quickstep. When the music stopped, unpainted clapboard house situated in the North Edward, with Annette still in his arms, looked into Georgia hills, what music she heard was the her eyes. They were hazel and captivating. “Say, nasal twang of Bluegrass and what manners she sweet Annette, do you square dance?

There’s witnessed were rustic. But sometime around the

one at the Armory next Saturday… Why don’t we age of eight or nine Della was drawn to righteous go…together? Okay?” Annette had never square Eula Hargrave, pianist for Simpson’s Corner danced, but, as she looked up at this commanding Methodist Church. Eula was a proud, spinster man, she knew that “No” was an impossible lady, largely unconformed to the mundane answer. Besides, if it had been to a pig-wrestling “carrying-ons” of her community. She saw special event, she would have gone. As had many people potential in Della and took her on as a protégé, before her, Annette soon discovered that Edward’s offering to give the child piano lessons for free. charm was irresistible.

Della’s mother jumped at the offer. The child took

Edward began to call on Annette regularly to the instrument like “crows to corn seed,” as

at the West End house where she lived with two Eula put it. And what Eula taught to the receptive younger brothers and a divorced mother. It was youngster were Chopin and Beethoven, with side something of a paradox that her fiery-tempered, dishes of moral responsibility. “Women are to set

2014 Literary Magazine

the example, you see. They are divinely appointed

she wished to cajole. Mr. McShields retreated

to inspire through their manners and principles,

before the insistent Della and agreed, providing

the proper way to live.” This adage stuck in Della’s

that Mrs. Mackey would see to it that Annette

mind for the rest of her life, and after marriage

practiced diligently. “You can be sure of that,” Della

and the move to Atlanta it remained the guiding

said. With her eyes beaming, her hands clasped to

principle in the raising of her children, especially

her bosom, she told Annette the news. Dutifully,

in Annette’s case.

Annette took lessons with Mr. McShields for the

next six years and tried very hard to satisfy her

So, when Annette was six years old, Della

began teaching her to play the piano.

mother’s wishes. “Oh, I can just see it now, you

The child seemed to have a natural talent,

on the stage, sitting at the concert grand, playing

or so Della thought, and with good reason, as

with the New York Philharmonic,” Della said after

Annette soon learned the same mechanical skills

one of Mr. McShields’ class recitals. She kissed

of sight-reading as her mother.

Annette on the cheek, clasped her tightly around

the shoulder, gave her a little shake and beamed.

“And with the added gift of poetic

interpretation,” Della often boasted.

Annette’s

“You have the gift,” she said and with a sigh, added,

progress prompted high-flown expectations in

“I never did.”

the mother, giving Della reason to imagine that

her daughter would one day become a concert

the mother, however, and after all those years of

pianist, thereby lifting the family to its rightful

lessons and recitals she came to understand her

place of distinction. After just over three years

limits. “Oh, Mama, I’m not that good.”

of home training, blinded by anticipations of

Annette’s stunning achievement, Della decided

daughter…. They’ll write about you in the Atlanta

that her daughter had a talent beyond the mother’s

Constitution. We’ll have to find a way to dress you

capacity to cultivate and should be trained by a

right.”

professional instructor.

She made an appointment with Mr.

and higher achievement at the piano, reiterating

McShields, choir director and organist at the West

often the assurance that her child, her gifted

End Methodist Church, intending to coax him

daughter, would propel the Mackey name into

into giving Annette lessons. Word was that Mr.

national prominence. Annette began to show

McShields was not taking any more students, but

disaffection. “Mama, I wish you wouldn’t get your

Della was prepared to weaken all resistance with

hopes up. I don’t even know if a concert pianist is

domineering persuasion. This included a reminder

what I want to do.”

of her faithful contributions to the church, even

if it were only the “widow’s mite.” Whenever she

It takes too much time away from your practice,”

wanted to beguile, Della was expert in turning up

Della said dreamily.

her brow and focusing pleading eyes on whomever

The daughter was more perceptive than

“You will be. I’ll be so proud. Just think, my

Della continued to prod Annette to higher

“Sometimes I wish you didn’t go to school.

“Mama, you’re not listening. I said I’m not

No, Mama - Bob Jolly

sure I want to be a concert pianist. Besides, I like

that she had made a date with Edward the

school. I have friends there.”

following Saturday, Della protested, “But we were

going to hear Barring Allison play at the Erlanger

“The boys and girls you meet there won’t

be worthy of your friendship. Think high, dear. that night, remember?” She said this with a bit Think high. We weren’t meant to be common, you

of a whimper, which Annette understood to be as

and I. The piano, the piano, that’s your route to

much strategy as sorrow.

success...to respect.” A tear formed in Della’s eye.

She wiped it away with a napkin and continued,

us to go to. If I don’t go with him he might not ask

“Please, dear Annette, don’t let those clods side

again. I like him a lot. Please, Mama, I want to go

track you. Focus on tomorrow. We’ve had so many

out with him.”

ne’er-do-wells in this family. Oh, that worthless

“But….”

father of yours…. I don’t want you to make the

“Mama! I am going!”

mistake I made.”

Della was taken aback. Annette had never

“Oh,

Mama,”

Annette

said,

“Oh, Mama, there’ll be lots of concerts for

“can’t spoken to her in that tone before. “Dear daughter,

uncommon people have common friends? I like dear, dear child…don’t give up all we’ve worked them. Anyway, I don’t think I’m so uncommon.”

for, all you’ve accomplished. All those years….”

“You are! You are! Please, child, make me

Just then Edward rang the doorbell.

proud. You can. Nothing else in this universe

Annette opened the door, stepped out, turned

can…. Such a life! Such a life! There’s been so

and waved to her mother. “See you later, Mama.”

much potential and nothing to show for it. You

This was the first of many dates, every Saturday

and the boys are all I’ve got. Wasted…wasted…Oh,

for almost a year. Somewhere around the ninth or

Lord!”

tenth date, Annette invited Edward to one of her

Annette looked quizzically at her mother. home cooked dinners. “I’m a pretty good cook if I

Then gazed off into space.

Della continued,

do say so myself.” When she informed her mother

“Please, child. You can be special.”

that Edward would be coming to have supper

with them the following Saturday, she also told

Annette met Edward Vickers the fall after

high school graduation.

She never forgot that

Della that she thought she was falling in love with

night, recalled the dance and the immediate

Edward.

kinship she felt for this man. So when he pursued

the relationship she readily consented, over the

mouth! And what about your music? He seems

objections of her mother. Right after Edward’s

conceited to me. Do you think he will care one

“In love! Dear Lord! With that runaway

first visit Della scoffed at the qualities of manner, whit about the piano?”

Della shifted into a

drive and appearance, which Annette described in pleading mode. “Oh, listen to me. I’ve been there. glowing detail. “Seems like a braggart to me, the

That kind will break your heart sooner or later.

kind who talk big and do little,” Della said. “Like Annette…child, think what you’re sacrificing.” what I married.” And when Annette announced

2014 Literary Magazine

“But Mama, I’m not as good as you think.

I can never live up to your expectations. Ask Mr.

“You don’t seem to think I can be. Don’t

McShields. He’ll tell you I’m not especially gifted.”

keep him waiting. You want me to go?”

“He told you that?”

“Not in so many words, but from what he

inside the house before he’s attacked.”

“Heavens, no! I’d like him to at least get

has said I can tell what he means. When I told

Mrs. Mackey snarled. “You shouldn’t talk

him your ambitions he went silent. Later he said I

to your mother that way. Now let the lout in.”

might be able to play in a church someday.”

“In a church!”

noticed that Edward was almost as tall as the

“Really Mama, I think I would like that.”

doorframe. “Hi. My you’re the prompt one. Seven

“What! Give up Mozart for Rock of Ages!”

on the dot. Come in…please.” She walked him over

“Maybe I could teach piano someday.”

to the settee where Della Mackey sat rigidly erect,

“Oh, Annette, you’ve come so far.”

arms firmly folded under her bosom. “Edward,

“Don’t you want me to be happy, Mama?”

you know my mother. I don’t think you’ve met

“Happy! When can the poor ever be happy?

my brothers. This is Jefferson and this is Richard.

“Mother!” Annette went to the door. She

I thought I was happy when I married your father. Boys I want you to meet my friend Edward What chance now!

If I saw you on a concert

stage…. Well, that would make me happy.”

Vickers.” Edward greeted each brother cordially. He took Della’s outstretched hand and kissed it, to

“Mama, please don’t depend on that. her chagrin. She jerked it away and then noticed

Besides all marriages don’t end up that way. Annette’s pleading eyes. Wouldn’t you like to see me married to a good

“Beautiful family, Mrs. Mackey. I can

man?”

see where Annette gets her good looks. Bet you

“There’s no such thing.”

get mistaken for the daughter sometimes. If I

When Saturday came, Annette was nervous. didn’t know better I’d swear you two were the

She fidgeted with her hair for over an hour. She

same age. Annette tells me you play the piano.

changed dresses three times. She tried playing

I hope you’ll let me hear you sometime. Maybe

the piano but her hands shook over the keyboard

the two of you could play a duet. It’d look like

and she sometimes hit two keys at once. She tried

twins on the bench.” Good Lord! Della thought,

reading but found she could not concentrate on a flimflam artist! She looked over at Annette with the words. She began cooking the roast at four-

an expression of contempt. Edward didn’t notice,

thirty. She would wait until later to start the beans

turned to Annette’s brother, “Tell me, Jeff, do you

and potatoes, hoping everything would be perfect

play baseball? Ever seen the Atlanta Braves? We

when Edward arrived. But everything was not

could go together sometime. Would you like that?”

quite ready at seven, when Edward rang the bell.

Why couldn’t he have been a little late?

baseball real good.”

As she

“I sure would!” the boy replied. “I can hit a

went to the door she said, “Now Mama, please be

“Real well!” Della corrected. “And we call

nice.”

him Jefferson, Mr. Vickers.”

No, Mama - Bob Jolly

“Jefferson…okay,”

changed the subject.

Edward

said

and rose from the settee. She turned her arm away and

“Do you sing too, Mrs. practically bounced up to her feet. Annette pulled

Mackey. I’ll bet you have a beautiful voice. chairs out from the dining room table. “Jefferson, Soprano? Yeah, I’d guess you and Annette are

you sit here. Richard over here. And Edward,

both sopranos. How ‘bout you two singing some

we’ll put you at the head of the table. Mama, over

tunes after supper? You know, Mama Mackey,

there.”

I just noticed your bright, blue eyes. You could

melt a statue with those. And I say it again, you

Edward said. “That’s what you want too, isn’t it

“Aw, Annette, I want to sit by Mama,”

could pass for the daughter. It’s amazing. And Mama?” He patted Della on the shoulder and sat you’ve had three children? I can hardly believe it. beside her. “You know, Mama, I think we’re going Kept the figure of a teenager.”

to be good friends. Um-m, this looks good. You

must’ve taught Annette to cook.”

Della scoffed. “Mr. Edwards, do you ever

let someone answer one question before you ask

Mrs. Mackey drew back and looked sternly

another? As for my beauty, there’s an old country

at Edward. She said, “You take a lot on yourself,

answer to that, but I can’t repeat it here. What sort

don’t you Mr….Ed…?”

of work do you do?”

“Mama!”

Annette

said.

“Excuse

“Come on Mama, you can say it…Edward.

me, Or some call me Eddie. Which ever suits you.

Edward, I have beans simmering on the stove.”

Can I pass you the rolls?” Then Edward looked at

She gave her mother a sharp cut of the eyes as she

Jefferson and said, “You know, Jeff, I’ll bet you’re

went into the kitchen.

a big hit with the girls in your school.”

“Ha, ha!” Edward said. “I think I know that

saying. I’m a country boy myself.”

And we don’t encourage him to flirt with girls.”

“Country boy come to the city? To make

your fortune?”

“Again, Mr. Vickers, we call him Jefferson! “Not flirt with girls?

Now, Mama, you

know that’s not natural. Annette, I’ve never tasted

“Something like that,” Edward said.

“It

a better roast. You taught her well, Mama.”

didn’t take me long to figure out I wasn’t cut out to

“Are you a flirt, Mr. Vickers?”

be a farmer.”

“I was until I met Annette. She’s blocked

“So, what sort of work do you do?”

all other girls out of my mind.” Annette blushed,

“Mama!” Annette shouted from the kitchen. smiled coyly and felt deep satisfaction. The supper

“Well?” Della said with squinted eyes aimed

at Edward.

“Work?

continued with everyone quiet but Edward. He seemed to have something to say between each

Well, I’m still looking.

I just

bite.

Several weeks later he called and told

finished a correspondence course in business.

Annette he wanted to see her that afternoon, that

Something in sales, I hope.”

he had an important announcement. They met

Just then Annette announced that supper

at Bertha’s Tearoom, sat side by side in a corner

was ready. Edward offered assistance as Della

booth. Edward told Annette he had been offered a

2014 Literary Magazine

job in Columbus. “It’s not much, sweetheart, but

left me Mama. Can I come home?” Both women

it’s a start. It’s a start for me… and it could be a

broke down. Della hugged her daughter and led

start for us.” Edward studied her face to see the

her into the house.

unsaid reaction. “Listen, Annette…you know how

I feel about you…I’m….” He put his arm around

the neighborhood children. Day after day, week

her shoulder. “Well, you know. I’m crazy about

after week, year after year, Della drew inward.

Annette adjusted, began to teach piano to

you. I want you to come with me...understand?” She stopped playing the piano. After dinner she Annette looked blankly into his eyes, uncertain. usually went to the old rocker on the porch, back “Listen, sweetheart, I’m asking you to marry me.” and forth for an hour or more, looking vacantly Annette went short on breath. A tear formed in out at the street and at cars passing. One day she one eye. She dabbed it with a handkerchief then

mentioned to Annette she would like to see her

expressed her deep love and consented. But to

old home. “Tell you what,” Annette said. “Cindy

leave Atlanta, she thought, and Mama….

can’t come for her lesson Saturday morning. Why

Della was stunned by the news and

don’t I drive you up there? It’s only about a two

wondered if Edward couldn’t find work in Atlanta

and a half hour drive. Would you like that?” Della

or maybe in nearby Marietta…or maybe Decatur.

brightened, said that would be nice.

But Annette was in that smitten mode that called

up her loyalty to Edward, no matter where he went.

Della said as they entered Bartow county.

“Oh, my child, you sound like me twenty-five years

“Kylesboro shouldn’t be too far.” Annette searched

ago.”

for road signs pointing to the little village, but

“I wonder if the old church is still there,”

Over the next five years Della gradually

found none. She stopped at a gas station and asked

drew down the home nest. Jefferson joined the

directions. The attendant didn’t know for sure but

Navy. Richard graduated from high school and thought it was about seven or eight miles west. got a job delivering milk. She took a job with

They proceeded along State Road 138, passing

Cannon’s Laundry, a counter job, checking in and

several new developments filled with brick front,

checking out bundles of washing and dry-cleaned

vinyl sided houses, built close together. An old

suits. At night the house seemed empty, not of

water tank appeared at a road junction. Defunct

furniture, or even people, but empty of purpose.

now, its rounded sides rusted, kudzu growing up

After dinner she went to the piano and played

the supports. “I remember that,” Della said. “The

Chopin’s Nocturnes, over and over.

church should be around the next corner.” Around

Until one

evening, around seven-thirty, the doorbell rang. the bend they came to an intersecting four-lane Some solicitor, probably, she thought. She opened

highway. “Oh, my,” Della said. “All gone. I wonder

the door with an excuse prepared, I’ve already

if the old house is still standing. There! Turn right.

given or I can’t right now. But, stunned, hands

It should be about a half-mile that way.” They

drawn to mouth, she faced Annette standing on came to the house. Horrors! Della thought. The the stoop with luggage in hand, teary eyed. “He

roofing was peeled back. Large areas of plywood

No, Mama - Bob Jolly

decking had rotted away, revealing naked rafters. Many of the windows were broken out. Kudzu was growing over the porch banisters and on the front steps. “This is enough,” Della said. “We might as well go back to Atlanta.”

2014 Literary Magazine

The

Last October

by John Cauthen

For Alex Howard the walk back from

Baseball was his life, and that meant there would

the batter’s box after a strikeout had become

be good and bad days.

an increasingly long and tortuous journey. And

on this night it was no different. As he escaped

He didn’t like what Alex Howard was telling him.

down the dugout steps the young bat boy reached

Frustrated, he said, “You dumb jerk, you can’t

sheepishly for the K55 Louisville Slugger still

quit. You’re still the best third baseman in the

gripped tightly in Alex’s hand. But the big third

league. We got us a long shot at the pennant and

baseman only shrugged him off and continued on

I’m gonna need all the help I can get. If we...”

his way to the far end of the bench.

Alex had played the game longer than most,

interrupted, in his soft South Carolina low country

and was still good at it, but not as good as he once

accent, “I’m getting too old to play this game. I

was. The lean, hard body, broad shoulders and

want to go home—now! Don’t count on me for the

handsome, tanned face concealed the self-inflicted

rest of the season. I want out of my contract!”

devastation that nineteen years of professional

“So you had a bad night. Everybody does.”

baseball had rewarded him. He had always known

“Look, Matt... I’ve had a lot of bad nights

there would be only two turning points in his life;

lately, and you know it. I just don’t like standing

the day he was too old to play the game, and the

there and letting some fat kid from Costa Rico

day he died. Tonight he wasn’t sure he could tell

throw a pitch at me that’s so fast I don’t even have

the difference.

time to get the bat off my shoulder.”

As ball players go, Alex Howard had grown

old.

This would be one of his bad days.

“Matt,

you’re

not

listening,”

Alex

But the old man did understand. He knew

his third baseman was on the downhill side of a Matthew McKenna, the Red Socks manager,

great career. And he knew the pain that Alex went

was a baseball legend. As such, he had been called

through every time he stepped up to the plate. It

many things—ruthless, brilliant, shrewd, fatherly,

was like an old James Stewart western, the young

the genius of baseball. But he hardly looked the

gunfighter challenging the old gunfighter. If a

part. The left side of his coarse, weather-beaten

pitcher was ever going to throw hard, McKenna

face was permanently distorted by the ever-

knew it would be when Alex Howard was at bat.

present plug of chewing tobacco, the juices barely

visible in the corners of his mouth. His gorilla-

good shape, you ain’t hurt, and you can still hit the

like body was short and fifty pounds overweight.

long ball. You got some good years left and I want

“Look,” McKenna persisted, “you’re still in

No, Mama - Bob Jolly | The Last October - John Cauthen

as many of them as I can get. I’m sorry, but I can’t

your mind. I was unconscious for half a day and

agree to let you out of your contract.”

need this cane just to walk. The doctors say I’ll be

Alex shook his head. “Okay, Matt, I’ll give

out for at least a month—and there’s less than five

you all I got for this year, which isn’t much. But

weeks left in the season. We’re so far behind now

I’m telling you now, don’t count on me for next

we won’t even get in the playoffs. Count on me…?

year when my contract expires. This is my last

No, forget it.”

October.”

“I guess you know I put Anthony on third.

He handles the glove okay, but he still can’t hit it

The first four innings were scoreless. From

out of the infield. I need the long ball. And that’s

his third base fielding position at the beginning of

why I need you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot

the fifth, Alex watched the batter walk confidently

and decided you’re gonna be my DH [designated

to the plate. The powerfully built hitter wasted

hitter].”

no time. He hit the first pitch with a vengeance,

“DH!”

bouncing it off the right field wall. The outfielder

“Yep! And when you get on base I’ll give

made the throw to third as the runner was rounding

you a runner. Doc thinks you can be ready for that

second. Alex set himself for the catch—glove low,

in two weeks. You promised to give it everything

knees bent. He looked first at the runner, who was

you got.”

now charging full speed toward him, and then at

the ball. The throw was short. It bounced directly

hitter hadn’t crossed his mind. He knew his knee

into the path of the two hundred and thirty pounds

wouldn’t allow him the mobility to play third, but

of muscle and bone that was now only fifteen feet

he had to admit, the DH position was something

away and closing fast.

he probably could handle.

“Okay, Matt. I’ll try, but no guarantees.”

It was Alex’s first batting practice since the

Alex only remembered shifting his body,

Alex had promised, but being the designated

hoping to block the ball.

The collision resulted in a bad concussion,

collision at third. He felt good, as rested as he

a severely sprained knee, and ten days in the

had ever been, but he still limped some when he

hospital. It was three weeks before Alex was able

walked to the plate.

to return to Fenway Park. When he did, he found

McKenna in his dugout office stretched out on the

to be sure I can still swing the bat.”

plastic-covered couch trying to take a nap.

“Well, I’ll be! It’s you,” McKenna said as

next four pitches, all solid contacts. His knee felt

he struggled to sit up. “Doc tells me your knee is

almost normal—but he worried it wouldn’t hold

gonna give you a little trouble for a week or so, but

up when the pitching got serious. Those first four

we can work around that.”

pitches were Little League stuff and he knew he

hadn’t been challenged. Just the thought of a

“Work around it! Matt, you must be out of

2014 Literary Magazine

“Okay, Bobby, a couple of easy ones. I want Relaxed and swinging easily, Alex hit the

high, inside fast-ball made his heart pound and

his hands sweat.

around. “Leave me alone, Matt. I don’t want to

But now was the time.

talk.”

“Okay Bobby, let me see one of your fast

balls.”

Alex stopped this time, but he didn’t turn

Dr. Sam Waddell, the team’s physician,

saw what was happening and followed Alex into Tension in his body began to build and his

the locker room. He had known Alex for fourteen

apprehensions grew. Then the pitch…

years and was a close friend.

It looked strange and slow, almost floating

“Something is bad wrong, isn’t it?” Waddell

toward him—not at all like a fast ball. He swung

asked.

and again made good contact, the crack of the bat

echoing across the field. The ball bounced off left

strangest pitches I ever saw. They just floated

field wall.

in...like a balloon. I swear to you I could read the

writing on the ball. Yeah, something’s wrong and

“Okay, but that’s not funny,” Alex shouted.

“It was those pitches.

“Show me your fast ball.”

it scares me.”

The pitcher shook his head, “That was

They were the

“I think we should talk about it.”

my fast ball.”

“Okay, but you got to promise me...this is just

The pitcher again threw as hard as he could.

between us. I don’t want the press or anyone to

This time Alex could actually see the ball leave the

know what I saw out there. And I sure as hell don’t

man’s hand. Like the first pitch, it seemed to float,

want McKenna to know. Agreed?”

like is was in slow motion. Alex swung. Again

solid contact, the ball easily clearing the center

questions. Finally he said, “Okay Alex, we got to

field wall at the 480 foot mark. He took four more

find out what’s going on inside your head.”

pitches; all solid contacts with half of them landing

“Inside my head? My head doesn’t hurt.”

in the outfield stands—and all seemed to float in

“Maybe not, but I’m concerned. There’s a

slow motion.

neuroscientist at Duke, a doctor named Styers. I

Something was wrong, very wrong. Alex

want you to see him. He’s a friend and has done

didn’t know what was happening and it scared

some interesting work with athletes. It’s all about

him. He threw the bat down, and without saying a

what makes some better than others.”

Waddell

nodded

and

began

asking

word to anyone, walked off the field.

“Boy that rest musta’ done you good!”

Alex arrived at the Duke University

McKenna said. “I never saw you hit like that

Medical Center early the next morning. The day

before.”

began with a lengthy series of tests involving

brain wave analysis, CAT scans, PET scans,

Alex ignored him, and continued towards

the locker room.

electroencephalograms, spinal taps, and blood

chemistry. At the end of the second day he met

“Hey! Wait!” McKenna persisted,

“Come back. I wanna talk.”

with Dr. Styers.

The Last October - John Cauthen

“First, let’s talk about that injured knee,”

the proper timing and accuracy. How well they

Styers said. “The orthopedics said it’s just a very

work together determines how good you are as a

bad sprain and it’s only going to take a couple of

batter.”

weeks to mend. But the concussion…well, that’s

something else.”

anything be wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

Styers smiled. “The test results were very

just showed you are activated and controlled both

interesting. We’ve isolated an area in your brain

chemically and electrically. The chemical side has

that concerns us—an area that involves how a

the slowest response. Its role is to set the trigger

person perceives time.”

for the faster acting electrical responses. And this

“Maybe you better explain!”

is where things really speed up. Some of these

“It’s new research and quite frankly, we’re

electrical wavelengths have been measured as

just learning.” Styers began describing the many

short as 400 or 500 nanometers, and that’s super-

complicated systems that control the body, each

fast. One of these neurochemicals is adrenalin,

operating in a delicately balanced environment.

and we are sure it’s involved with your problem.

“Most of these systems are auto-responsive. They

Its function, among other things, is to set up what

determine the individual’s physical and mental

is called the ‘fight or flight’ response. It can make

reaction to a given situation.

Change in their

your palms sweat and your heartbeat speed up.

balance can produce dramatic, and in some cases,

It can even cause your strength to increase to

horrible consequences.”

unbelievable levels. But we’re more interested

Alex was obviously disturbed and confused

in its other role—the trigger for the injection of

by the doctor’s puzzling comments. “Look, I feel

dopamine into the cavities between the brain

great. I’m not dizzy. I don’t have headaches. I

cells.”

sleep fine.”

Styers reached for the textbook on his desk.

key ingredient in the function of the brain. It acts

“Let me show you something,” he said, opening

as the conduit, a neurotransmitter that directs and

the book to a diagram of the brain. “These are

regulates electrical charges to critical points in the

the two areas of the brain where you had the

brain, and helps the body handle stress.

severe trauma. Here, at the cerebellum, located

in the lower sector of the brain, and here, in the

output,

visual center just behind the temporal lobe. The

and strange things happen to a person, like

cerebellum controls your motor functions, like

schizophrenia. If you get too little dopamine it can

the muscles involved in hitting a baseball, while

even cause Parkinson’s disease.”

the visual center coordinates the information it

receives from the optic nerve. The two areas work

Parkinson’s?” Alex asked

together, like a team, making sure you swing with

Styers smiled. “No, no, not that. I’m just saying

2014 Literary Magazine

“I’m hitting pretty well, so how could “It’s complicated. The two brain centers I

Styers explained that dopamine is also a

“If something happens to the dopamine the

critical

balance

breaks

down

“You think I’m schizophrenic or got

that it’s essential to precisely control these

all things.’ And that’s a much safer approach. The

electrical impulses if a person’s visual perception

orthopedic guys say your knee will be okay to play

of time is going to be accurate. Now remember, I

as a designated hitter [DH] in two weeks. But

said visual perception of time. There are actually

unfortunately, I can’t tell you how long it will take

three ways we perceive time. The first is clock time.

for the head injury to heal.”

It is always precise and never changes for anyone or anything. One hour is always one hour, and one

Sam Waddell met Alex at the airport and

second is always one second. Then there’s mental

drove him to his apartment.

time. With mental time, an hour’s time can seem

“I’ve talked to Styers,” Waddell said.

like many hours if you are bored, or it can race by if

you’re upbeat. Like the old saying ‘time flies when

two weeks! That sounds good.”

you’re having fun.’ And then we have visual time

in which a person judges how fast things appear

thing… It isn’t natural and it isn’t right. I’m not

to move—but only to him. And that is where your

going to continue playing the game like this. This

problem is located. A 95 mile an hour pitch might

is my last season. Matt knows it, and I’m going to

appear to be coming in at only 75 miles an hour

announce it to the press tomorrow.”

to an excellent hitter, while that same pitch might

look like 150 miles an hour to me. That’s why I

The collision at third was an accident. Sure, the

don’t play baseball. But that same pitch to you,

head injury changed your perception of time

in your present condition, might look like it’s

and improved your hitting, but the knee injury is

traveling only 20 or 30 miles an hour.”

keeping you from playing third base. Doesn’t that

Alex understood.

kind of balance things out?”

“We’ve proven that a normal person’s

“He says you can play the DH position in “That’s not the point. It’s this slow motion

“Look, the injuries weren’t your fault.

“What you mean is, the Lord giveth, and

visual perception of what is happening can slow

the Lord taketh away.”

down in a high-stress situation like an automobile

accident.

could say that,” Waddell admitted.

These victims often say ‘everything

“I didn’t want to sound pious—but, yes, you

happened so slowly—like in slow motion.’ And

it’s the high stress of the accident that triggers

his hands on the armrest of Alex’s chair, he leaned

this phenomenon. It’s the stress of batting that

down and looked his friend straight in the eye.

triggers your problem.”

“Don’t be a fool, man. Play the hand you were dealt.

“What can you do to help me?” Alex asked,

The next time you might not be so fortunate.”

“In your case, since there is no infection,

drugs won’t help.

Nor is surgery the answer.

He finished his drink and got up. Placing

Alex Howard’s return to the line-up as the

What we’re dealing with is an injury, and nature

designated hitter [DH] was spectacular. Over the

does a good job of healing injuries without our

next two weeks he delivered home runs and extra

intervention. There’s an old saying, ‘Time heals

base hits at a record-setting pace. In the playoffs,

The Last October - John Cauthen

the Red Socks jumped to a 3-0 lead. A win tonight

up on the knee.”

would clinch the pennant and send them to the

World Series.

him in that line-up in three days.” He turned and

left the room.

The Red Socks scored quickly and ended

“Whatever,” McKenna said, “but I want

the first inning with a 1 to 0 lead. In the bottom of the eight, with his team still leading 1 to 0,

Alex went to the plate and was given another

Medical School, the orthopedic staff immediately

intentional walk. The next Red Socks batter hit a

started treatment on his knee. The neurological

scorcher down the right field line.

group followed with their testing to evaluate the

Then it happened!

status of the head injury. By early afternoon Alex

was with Doctor Styers again.

As Alex rounded second, his knee still a

When Alex arrived at the Duke University

weak from the old injury, twisted under him and

he fell. Searing pain shot from the leg. He was

Styers said. “It is a bad sprain and there’s been

helped off the field, unable to put weight on the

some damage to the ligaments. I’m afraid you’re

leg.

not going to be ready to play anymore baseball this

“I’ve talked to orthopedics about the knee,”

The Browns finished the game scoreless

season...not even in the World Series. It’s going to

with the Red Socks winning both it and the

take a month or more for that knee to heal to the

pennant. The World Series would be next.

point you can play.”

But Alex was not celebrating.

In the

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Alex said.

training room Sam Waddell made an on-the-spot,

“Dr. Waddell will be able to give you the

but thorough examination.

kind of follow-up therapy you need, so it won’t be

necessary to come back here. But the knee will be

“It’s the knee again,” he said. “Nothing

broken…but another bad sprain that will probably

good to go by spring training.

keep you out of series play. But I’ll do what I can,

if you let me. That’s what they pay me for.”

in the World Series had always been his dream,

he didn’t want any part of it with his slow-motion

“But the series is only three days away?”

Alex said.

eyes.

“Yes, I know. I’m going to send you back to

Alex was not disappointed. While playing

“Now for the good news,” Styers said, his

Duke for therapy on the knee. While you’re there

mood more upbeat. “Today’s tests indicate there’s

Styers can give you those follow-up tests he talked

been a big improvement in your head injury.”

about.”

“What does that mean?” Alex asked.

“Well, I’d say the body’s natural healing

At that moment McKenna walked into the

room. He overheard part of what the doctor had

process is doing its job.”

said. “What’s this about Duke?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“If we were dealing with a disease like

“Duke has some new ultra-sonic stuff that’s

getting outstanding results. It might speed things

2014 Literary Magazine

Parkinson’s, yes, I’d be very surprised. But with

an injury…that’s different. Remember, nature can

sports world was now watching football and not

mend without our help. But I am surprised that

the World Series.

it’s happening so quickly. I want to run these tests

again in two days, then we’ll know a lot more.”

another unexciting pitcher’s duel. At the bottom

The seventh and final game started as

of the ninth inning the Giants’ starting pitcher was

Two days later Alex was back in Styers’

office.

still in the game and seemed to get stronger with each pitch, and the lifeless Red Socks were behind

“Congratulations!

The latest test results

1-0. But to everyone’s surprise, the first Red Socks

they show your head injury is almost a thing of

batter hit a grounder through the infield for a

the past. You’re vision test were positive. And it

single. The next batter smashed the ball against

happened much faster than any of us would have

the right field wall for a double. That put runners

predicted.”

in scoring position on second and third. With no

“You mean I’m cured?”

outs, McKenna instinctively went to his bench for

“Ninety percent recovered would be a better

some strength at the plate. But the Giants’ pitcher

description.” Styers said, smiling. “You won’t be

would have none of that and struck out both pinch

bothered any more by those slow-motion eyes, as

hitters on just nine pitches.

you call them. The next time you step up to the

plate that 100 miles-per-hour pitch is going to

and winning run still on second, McKenna saw one

look like 100 miles-per-hour fast ball.”

last opportunity. He called time, and then walked

“And the knee?”

over to Alex sitting at the far end of the dugout. “I

“The orthopedic guys downstairs say it’ll

want you to the bat next.”

With two outs and the tying run on third

take at least another month for that knee to heal

enough for you to play. That still means no World

got to be kidding. I can barely walk. I can’t even

Series.”

swing the bat.”

It would have been billed as the Alex Howard

Alex looked up, surprised. “Bat next! You’ve

Sam Waddell, who was sitting beside Alex,

jumped up.

He knew that Alex’s head injury

Series with the Red Socks the overwhelming

had healed and he could no longer see in “slow

favorites. But with the news that Alex wouldn’t

motion,” but his knee was far from well.

be able to play, the odds changed and much of the

excitement faded.

time to stop McKenna’s desperate move. “Alex is

in no condition to play—not even as a DH.”

Even the weather refused to cooperate. A

“Matt, you’re crazy,” he said, realizing it was

northeaster off the Massachusetts coast caused

“Just calm down. Both of you listen to me

four straight postponements, a World Series

for a minute. Our pitcher is the next batter and he

record. At the end of eleven days—six dull games

can’t hit the side of a barn. But Townsend follows

plus a travel day and four postponements—the

him, and he’s hitting a good, solid .318. With him

two teams were tied with three wins each and the

at the plate we at least have a small chance. A

The Last October - John Cauthen

single will tie the game and a double will win it.

all you gotta do. They’ll walk you. I know it in my

All we gotta do is get Townsend in the batter’s box.

bones.”

And Alex, you can make that happen if you go in

as a pinch hitter. And all you gotta do is just stand

bat on his shoulder and looking fit. As much as he

there with the bat on your shoulder. You don’t

didn’t want to, he knew he had no choice.

even have to take a swing. You can do that…and,

damnit, it ain’t going to hurt your knee.”

long, and motioned for a batter.

“Okay, Matt, but I hope you’re right.”

Alex was puzzled.

When Alex walked up the dugout steps and

onto the field, bat in hand, the stands exploded.

“Just stand there?

I don’t understand.”

“That’s what I said,” McKenna continued.

Alex knew he could stand there with the

The umpire wondered what was taking so

“You just gotta stand there in the batter’s box with

“Alex... Alex... Alex...”

the bat on your shoulder and trying look as healthy

as you can. Nothing else. And you can do that on

Even though the knee was stiff and terribly sore,

one leg.”

he made it look good.

“What good will that do?”

“Alex... Alex... Alex...”

“They ain’t gonna pitch to you—not with

Once in the batter’s box, he took a final

He took a few labored practice swings.

runners on third and second. They won’t take that

practice swing to let the world know he was ready

chance. They’ll give you an intentional walk, like

to play. And while none of the 67,000 fans noticed,

they’ve been doing. That will load the bases giving

the pain nearly brought him to his knees.

them a forced out at every base and ending the

Time was called by the Brown’s manager. As he

game. It will also prevent you from getting a single

walked slowly to the pitcher’s mound, the catcher

or double that would win the game for us. That’s

and the whole infield followed. It was a lengthy

exactly what I would do—and so will they. So don’t

huddle. Finally, the manager patted the pitcher

sweat it.”

on the shoulder and returned to the bench.

“Matt, I…”

“Look,” McKenna persisted, “they are going

looked straight at the pitcher. Their eyes met in

to walk you. Trust me. All you gotta do is stand

one brief moment of confrontation. What Alex

there looking like you can swing the bat.”

saw sent chills down his spine. The cold, clear eyes

Alex realized the old man could be right, but

of the athlete standing in front of him said only

he also knew he could be wrong. A called strike-out

one thing: He was not going to give the great Alex

with the bat still on his shoulder would make him

Howard his walk. The catcher didn’t step away for

the series goat. It would be one last, monumental,

a pitch-out. Instead, he crouched low, presenting

pennant-losing, moment to end his career. And

his mitt as a target. Alex knew then what was about

would haunt him the rest of his life.

to happen and only wished he had never agreed to

help Matt in his stupid, desperation move.

McKenna continued pleading. “Just make it

to the plate one more time and stand there. That’s

2014 Literary Magazine

Alex lifted his head, and for the first time

Completely ignoring the runner on third,

the pitcher leaned forward and began his full wind-

to you. They ain’t gonna give you anything that

up. The pitch was a sizzling, inside fast ball that

looks good. They just want you to swing at a bad

missed the strike zone by six inches. For the first

pitch, hoping you’ll dribble something that will let

time in many weeks, Alex Howard saw a 95 miles-

them throw you out at first.”

per-hour fast ball the way he was supposed to—

fast, very fast—and 95 miles-per-hour. And now

walked back to the dugout.

he knew that his worst fear had become a reality.

He was not going to get an intentional walk. They

of the first, but maybe a little tighter.

were going to pitch to him—maybe not down the

“Ball two.”

middle that a rookie could hit, but a pitch just

Alex glanced toward the dugout. McKenna

outside the corners.

smiled approvingly and gave him the wait-it-out

sign.

“Ball one,” the umpire called, almost

casually, and barely loud enough to be heard.

McKenna saw what was happening.

McKenna patted him on the shoulder and The second pitch was almost a carbon copy

The next pitch was a low slider that barely

missed the inside corner.

rushed from the dugout and called time. Alex

“Ball three!”

stepped out of the box and waited, at the same

The catcher called time and walked to the

time doing his best to hide the increasing pain that

mound. The Giant’s manager followed from the

was now throbbing in his right leg.

dugout. The second baseman joined them.

Alex stepped out of the batter’s box. McKenna

“You’ve got to take me out. He’s not going

to walk me.”

joined him. “It’s okay, Alex, we’re in good shape.

“It’s okay,” McKenna said, reassuringly.

He’s way behind—three balls and no strikes. Just

“Just calm down. They’re still gonna walk you.

wait him out. He’s not going to pitch you a strike.

They just decided they ain’t gonna give you an

Don’t swing at anything.”

intentional.”

“You got that right,” Alex acknowledged.

box. For the fourth time he planted his right foot

“But they’re not gonna throw you a strike,

and waited. The pitch was another low, outside

either. They’ll keep the ball away hoping you’ll

fast ball, again just outside the strike zone. Alex

jump on a bad pitch. It’s smart move. They’d

eased back, knowing it would be ball four. He was

rather make you hit a bad pitch and give them a

elated. This was what he had prayed for. He was

ball they can handle in the infield, than give you an

sure now he had his walk!

intentional walk. Just be patient and don’t swing

at anything…nothing! You’ll get your walk. Trust

dropped the bat and took his first painful step

me.”

toward first base.

“Don’t swing! You must be crazy. There’s

Alex nodded and walked back to the batter’s

As the ball struck the catcher’s mitt, Alex

“Ssst-rike one!” the umpire called in a voice

no way I can swing!”

so loud that even the right field bleachers could

hear it.

“Just trust me, Alex. They ain’t gonna pitch

The Last October - John Cauthen

Alex was shocked and looked back at the

pounded and the sounds of the crowd continued

umpire in disbelief. It was a bad call! The crowd

to drum in his head making him feel as if he were

agreed. And so did McKenna who came charging

in some strange, illusory, surrealistic world. He

out of the dugout. The argument was fierce and

watched the determined young pitcher taking his

lasted several minutes. If it hadn’t been a World

sign from the catcher, certain the next pitch would

Series game, McKenna would have surely been

be another 95 mile per hour fast ball aimed just

ejected. As usual, the plate umpire prevailed.

barely outside of the seventeen-inch strike zone.

The pitcher stepped off the mound and

The pitch started in low and outside, and

wiped the sweat from his forehead. He stepped

approached at the same blazing speed as the

back on the rubber and waited on the sign from

others. In the instant that followed, Alex realized

the catcher. For the first time looked at the runner

it was the pitch he had prayed for—another ball—

on first base. After what seemed like an eternity,

ball four. It would be close, but definitely out of

he again went through his full wind up. It started

the strike zone by inches. He would get his walk.

out as another lightning-fast, belt-high pitch. Alex

knew this one would also be just out of strike zone

last pitch. It was also inches out of the strike zone,

and ball four. All he had to do was wait for the

but the umpire called it a strike. It was definitely

umpire to call it.

a bad call. Would the umpire do it again? If he

“Ssst-rike two!”

did the game would end with Alex standing with

Alex couldn’t believe what he had heard.

the bat on his shoulder and the Red Socks losing

But he remembered the umpire’s call on the

It was another bad call. The pitch was definitely

the World Series.

ball four. The umpire had made an awful mistake.

called third strike, with the bat never leaving his

The count went full, three balls and two strikes.

shoulder.

McKenna called time again and walked

Alex would be the goat—a

At some point in the next millisecond, Alex

slowly toward the batter’s box. The noise of the

Howard’s natural instincts took over—instincts

crowd was so loud now that the two men could

that had been indelibly engraved in his brain by

hardly hear themselves talk.

twenty years of professional baseball—instincts

“Everything’s okay, Alex. It was another

he had no conscious control over. He no longer

bad call and we can’t change that. But he’s still

heard the noise of the crowd. He didn’t even

not going to pitch to you. We just gotta hope the

remember cocking the bat over his right shoulder.

umpire calls it right this time. Just be patient.”

He would never know if it was a conscious move

Alex stepped back into the batter’s box. His knee

or one driven by some mysterious force his body

was now hurting so badly he could no longer hide

could not control—but a split-second after the ball

it, and sure the pitcher had noticed.

left the pitcher’s hand, Alex Howard reacted.

As he gripped the bat preparing for what

He gathered all his inner strengths, and

he knew would be the last pitch of his baseball

instinctively took the stride forward, completely

career, sweat poured from his face. His heart

oblivious of the pain that tore at his injured knee.

2014 Literary Magazine

As his body moved into a full swing, his stance opened, his hips quickly followed, and the wirelike muscles of his thick wrists un-cocked. It was then that he felt the familiar, satisfying, solid contact with the ball. The sound—like a crack of thunder—echoed through the huge stadium.

Alex Howard instantly knew he had done it.

He knew the ball would end up somewhere in the upper deck of the stadium, and McKenna would get his World Series victory. It would be the gamewinning homerun the wildly cheering crowd had been screaming for, and he had delivered.

As the bat casually slipped from his hands,

his eyes followed the flight of the ball rising toward center field, arching like a rainbow and disappearing in the frenzied crowd of upper deck. It was his great moment of triumph! And it was the real Alex Howard who had done it—not some freak of nature with slow motion eyes. This time Alex had played the game the way it should be played, the way he wanted to play it—and he had won.

But when he took his first step toward first

base, the terrible pain in his injured knee dropped him to the ground. It took a moment before he was able to slowly and painfully rise to his feet. After pausing to steady himself, Alex was able to begin the triumphant and ceremonial trip around the bases. As he slowly rounded third base, tipping his hat at the exploding crowd and half-dragging his injured leg, only one thought came to his mind— an old spiritual he had often heard in church when he was a boy. As tears flooded his eyes, he began singing that song in a soft, subdued voice. “Going home... going home...Lord, I’m going home...”

The Last October - John Cauthen

The Cheater

by John Cauthen

Professor Charles Myrick was a brilliant and

Myrick’s head was spinning, but there was

respected intellectual. The tall, lanky 52-year-old

only little pain because of the heavy medication.

physics professor with hazel eyes and graying hair

He felt the large bandage wrapped around his

had a kind and caring look. He dressed neatly, but

head, and rubbed his sore shoulder, but nothing

hardly in the latest fashions, and couldn’t drive an

else seemed to hurt.

automobile very well. It was something his wife

always complained about—and with good reason.

pillow that he first noticed the little man standing

quietly in the corner of the room. It was a startling

he made his turn onto the college campus he

discovery. The man, barely five feet tall, looked

failed to see saw the small foreign car. It wasn’t

out of place in the sterile environment. He was

a bad accident, mostly dented fenders.

But it

dressed rather oddly in a baggy, oversized jacket,

was the sharp blow to his head that rendered

wrinkled trousers, and a silly-looking, narrow-

him unconscious and was responsible for his

brimmed hat pushed back on his head. He wore

ambulance ride to the hospital emergency room.

no tie, but his shirt was buttoned up all the way to

The glare of the bright, overhead lights

his chin. His sallow face had no wrinkles, yet he

hurt his eyes and made him realize he was in an

appeared old. There was a strange look in his eyes

uncomfortable and unfamiliar environment. Then

that was unnerving.

he saw the doctor at the foot of his bed writing on

a medical chart, and the nurse as she adjusted the

surprised voice.

bed to raise his head.

foot of the bed. “My name is Alfred.”

Today he displayed that ineptness.

“Wh…what happened?” he asked, in a

weak, unsteady voice.

The doctor smiled.

“You had a rather

It was when he turned to straighten his

“Who are you?” Myrick demanded, in a The little man smiled and walked to the “Alfred…? I don’t know any Alfred. Who

let you in here?”

bad bump on the head—six stitches and a slight

concussion. You’ve been out for more than an

“Not so loud. They don’t know I’m here.”

hour. Nothing too serious, but we want you to stay

“Well, I’m certainly going to tell them.”

overnight for observation.” With that he smiled,

“You shouldn’t bother. They’ll just think

hung the medical chart back on the footboard, and

you’re crazy and won’t believe you. You see, I’m

left the room. The nurse followed and closed the

invisible to them. Only you can see me.”

door.

2014 Literary Magazine

Alfred placed a finger to his lips.

“Look Mr. …. ah, Alfred, you better leave.

And I don’t believe for a minute you’re invisible.”

Alfred picked up the medical chart that

invisible to them.” Then he waved the computer

hung on the foot of the bed and began reading

printout at Myrick. “Look! It is your name.” He

aloud the doctor’s notations. “…lacerated scalp

punched the printout with his finger and then

This is very

looked at his watch. “And it’s 9:36 now. You

…six stitches… slight concussion.

Alfred chuckled impishly. “I told you I was

confusing.”

should have passed twenty-two minutes ago. I

“Get out now or I’m going to call the nurse.”

really don’t understand it.”

“Look, I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job…? You don’t have a job here.

crazy. Look, Mr. Alfred…or whatever your name

“Passed…? You mean dead? You must be

Now get out!”

is…just leave me alone. My head hurts and I don’t

Alfred ignored him and opened the shabby

know who you are or what you’re doing here,

briefcase he had placed at the foot of the bed. He

but I want you to just leave.” His voice now had

removed a computer printout and began reading

a decidedly apprehensive tone to it. This was a

it aloud.

strange, unexplained happening, and he didn’t

“Myrick, Charles A. … 9:14 AM …

February 12 … Bentonville … It all checks out. I

understand any of it.

don’t understand.”

explained. You see, I’m an angel.”

“I’m calling the nurse,” Myrick said, as he

“I apologize,” Alfred said. “I should have

pushed the nurse’s call button.

go to church. And I don’t believe in God, either, so

The nurse was nearby and responded

“Bull! I don’t believe in angels, and I don’t

almost immediately. “Yes, Professor Myrick, what

leave me alone.”

do you need?”

am. You can see me with your own eyes…and the

“Get that man out of here,” Myrick

“Well, just take a good look at me. Here I

demanded.

others can’t. How do you explain that?”

“That…that man?” The nurse was puzzled

It was a good question, and Myrick didn’t

and quickly looked around the room. Then she

have an answer. There had to be some logical

smiled and without saying anything, picked up the

explanation.

medical chart Alfred had just been reading.

finally said, “Okay, for the sake of argument let’s

“Look… He’s standing there at the foot of

With a great deal of skepticism, Myrick

the bed. Get him out—now!”

say you are an angel. I certainly didn’t ask for the

services of an angel.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Myrick. You just need to

rest and you’ll be fine.” She hastily made notes on

“I’m afraid that’s not your option. I was

the chart, smiled condescendingly, hung it back

sent here to do a job. I was assigned to both you

on the footboard and left.

and Mr. Holcomb in Room 626.”

As she walked out of the room, Myrick shouted in

“I don’t know a Mr. Holcomb.”

an angry, exasperated tone, “I bet you can’t even

“Yes, I’m sure you don’t. But he passed on

spell hallucinating.”

schedule just like he was supposed to—9:04 AM,

The Cheater - John Cauthen

Room 626.”

Myrick shook his head.

“Passed on

“What are you doing?” Myrick asked.

“I want to check this printout against

schedule! What are you talking about?”

my latest download of the main database. The

database is always right.”

Alfred held up the computer printout.

“Look! He is dead. …passed in his sleep. And see,

he made it to heaven. Most don’t.”

little man’s face. “Eureka! I knew something was

“Well, I don’t know anything about that.

wrong. The idiots have both the day and the month

What kind of angel are you supposed to be,

wrong on the stupid printout. They transposed the

anyway?”

date 2/10 for 10/2. By gosh, you aren’t supposed

“Oh, a lot of people say I’m the Angel of

to pass until 10/2, not today, 2/10. And look, the

Death,” Alfred answered. “At least, that’s what

town is wrong, too. The printout said Bentonville

some have called me.”

and it’s supposed to be Benton!

The silence that followed was deafening.

They even got the wrong year. It’s supposed to

Then Myrick forced a laugh. “Let me see if I have

be…but wait a minute. I’m not supposed to be

this right. You say you’re the Angel of Death and

telling you all this. It’s confidential information.”

you’ve come to take me to heaven?”

“Well, that’s not exactly correct. You see,

make some sense. Myrick wondered whether he

I said I was just an angel, not the Angel of Death,

might truly be some sort of angel after all—and

and I didn’t say I was going to take you to heaven.

that scared him.

That’s confidential information.

I’m sure you

In a moment a broad grin spread across the

That’s stupid!

By now Alfred’s story was beginning to

“Where does your database say I’m going…

know there is another place I could take you that

ah, to heaven?”

isn’t as pleasant. And you admit you don’t believe

in God and don’t go to church. Think about it.”

tell you that. Like I said before, it’s confidential

information. But I’ll say this—don’t get your hopes

Myrick laughed again, but much louder this

Alfred smiled. “Sorry. You know I can’t

time. “Okay, Mr. Angel of Death—or whatever you

up. You might be disappointed.”

call yourself—take me to wherever I’m supposed

to go,” he said, holding his arms out in obvious

“Okay. Then tell me the year I’m supposed to…to

mockery.

pass?”

Alfred ignored him and continued to study

Myrick didn’t like what he was hearing.

“Look, Professor, I’m sorry, but I’ve already

the computer printout. Then he shook his head,

told you more than I should have. If they find out

“Something is screwed up. Ever since they put

I’ll be in a lot of trouble. All this information is

this stuff on the computer I’ve had trouble. Seems

strictly confidential.”

they can’t get anything right anymore. The old

system was better.”

He dug into the briefcase

skeptical, came to a logical conclusion. “Well, since

again and this time pulled out a rather beat-up

I already know the month, the day, and the place—

laptop computer.

but not the year—I’ll just have to stay away from

2014 Literary Magazine

Myrick, now very annoyed and still

Benton on October 2nd every year. If I’m not there

speculated.

on October 2nd you can’t take me—correct?” But

there was no reply. Alfred had simply vanished,

religion and knew little about Christianity. He

with no explanation.

certainly was not an angel-believer, nor did he

“You stupid little jerk,” Myrick shouted

believe in the Bible. Still, Alfred’s appearance at

angrily, hoping that Alfred would hear him, “Why

the hospital did seem real—very real—and that put

did you leave? But I don’t care. I’m still going

things in quite a different light. He decided then

to cheat you. I’m won’t even be close to Benton

he should find out more about Christianity and

on that day. In fact, I don’t like the town and I’m

the Angel of Death.

never going there again. And I will live forever!

Whether you like it or not, I’m going to cheat you.

hard, unquestioned facts. He began by checking

I’m going to cheat death!”

the college database for references in the Bible to

The impact of what he had angrily

the Angel of Death. He found none—not a single

proclaimed didn’t fully register in his mind. …

word. Angels—yes, but not the Angel of Death.

cheat death? Maybe I can. Maybe I really can

And he was unable to uncover any hard, scientific

cheat death, he thought. And then I will live

evidence that would prove the existence of either

forever.

Nobody has ever done that. Maybe

God or Heaven. Myrick was confused. He didn’t

Alfred was real after all. Yes…! I don’t want to

understand why Christians based all of their

die. It scares me. I want eternal life. And with

religious beliefs on something they called faith,

what I know now, I am going to cheat death! A

while a scientist, in his quest for the truth required

broad grin spread across his face,

more than just faith. If God and Heaven did truly

Myrick made a complete recovery from

exist, there must be hard evidence somewhere that

his injuries. But the angel thing continued to

proved it. The stories in the Bible—from what little

bother him. He was even beginning to question

he had read—didn’t make much sense to him and

whether his encounter with Alfred was real or just

weren’t even logical. Myrick felt knowledgeable

a hallucination, as the nurse had thought since he

researchers must have challenged the credibility

was highly medicated.

of barely legible manuscripts supposedly written

some 2,000 to 3,000 years ago. To him the whole

While time and circumstances had robbed

Myrick had never been interested in any

True to his training as a scientist, he wanted

him of many of the details of the incident, he

subject was an enigma.

distinctly remembered Alfred refusing to say

whether he had come to take him to heaven or to

Myrick asked the head of the religion department

hell—if either place actually existed. But the little

about the relationship of Christianity to the Angel

man did leave Myrick with the distinct impression

of Death.

that since he wasn’t a Christian and didn’t believe

in God, he would not be going to heaven.

his friend replied, somewhat surprised at the

Maybe there is such a place, he

While attending a faculty cocktail party,

“Why do you ask something like that?”

question.

The Cheater - John Cauthen

“Oh—one of my students was asking and I

No…! It’s more difficult than I thought. It’s too

didn’t have the answer,” Myrick replied.

demanding. Besides, staying away from Benton

“There are references in the Bible about

every October 2nd will be a lot easier. That’s the

angels coming down and taking people away, but I

best bet. And it sure beats giving up my boat and

know of none that were called the Angel of Death.”

Sunday golf.

“Just angels then—but not the Angel of

Death,” Myrick persisted.

For the next several years Myrick had no

“Look, Charles, you’re trying to pin me

problem avoiding Benton on October 2nd. Then he

down. I can’t quote you chapter and verse, but I’m

got a phone call from Dr. Walter Jones, President

almost certain there is nothing in the Bible about

of State University in Benton.

the Angel of Death. To be sure, I’d just have to

look it up.”

something important,” Jones said.

“We have

Myrick wouldn’t drop the matter.

an opening at the University and

I think it’s

“The student also wanted to know if the

something you’d be interested in. Could you drive

“Charles, I’d like to talk to you about

rules of Christianity—things like having to believe

up Tuesday?”

in God and the Bible to get to heaven—if they

applied to all people, believers and nonbelievers

2nd. Alfred had chiseled that date in his brain.

alike.”

“Of course! They apply to everyone. That’s

Myrick was aware that Tuesday was October “Sorry, Walter, I can’t make it on Tuesday.

How about Wednesday?”

why nonbelievers end up in hell.”

can have lunch.”

Myrick heard loud and clear the comment

“Wednesday is fine. About twelve—and we

about ending up in hell and wasn’t at all happy

“Twelve it is.”

with his friend’s answer.

That was easy, Myrick thought.

The

Still confused, Myrick decided that the

University

private

dining

room

safest approach would be to become a Christian.

was elegant with its mahogany paneled walls,

It didn’t seem too difficult.

Attending church

upholstered dining chairs, expensive linens,

every Sunday looked like a good starting point.

sterling silver place settings, and a large walnut

But he quickly realized that would mean giving

dining table in the center of the room. It was

up his Sunday morning golf match, something

obvious this was going to be something special.

he could never do. Then he remembered reading

about the 10% tithing and that bothered him too.

He poured wine and then pushed back his chair.

A professor’s salary wasn’t that great, and he had

“Charles, I’ll get right to the point. I want you to

plans to purchase a new ski boat. If he tithed, it

be the Dean of Men at State starting as soon as

would surely rule out the boat.

possible. Dean Morgan had an awful stroke and

is totally incapacitated. He’ll never be able to

After weighing the pros and cons of

becoming a Christian, Myrick made his decision.

2014 Literary Magazine

“I’ve already ordered,” the president said.

return.”

“Yes, I heard. But Dean of Men!” Myrick

have always scheduled the university’s annual

was astounded. Never in his wildest dreams had

strategic planning session with the trustees and

he anticipated this.

department heads the entire first week in October.

Everything at the University is scheduled around

“Yes. But that’s not all. You should know

that my primary mission is to find my replacement

this group being away.

In fact, next year’s

when I retire in two years. And I’ve decided you’re

reservations in Barbados have already been made

that man. The trustees know I’m talking to you,

for that week. Maybe in another couple of years

and they are in unanimous agreement. But we

we can work something out.”

want you to have two years of experience as Dean

of Men before assuming the presidency.”

exactly what to say next. Finally, he said, “Walter,

For the next twenty minutes Jones covered

this is a fine opportunity. I’d like a couple of days

in minute detail the responsibilities and the perks

to think about, and discuss it with my wife. Would

of the position—the faculty house, an automobile, a

an answer by Friday be alright?”

country club membership, consulting agreements,

“Certainly. Friday would be fine.”

come true and fulfilled Myrick’s lifelong ambition

The position at State University was

of being president of a university.

something Myrick had dreamed of all his life. It

And then he remembered October 2nd.

was the most difficult decision he had ever faced.

“I don’t know what to say,” Myrick replied.

Did Alfred and the Angel of Death actually exist or

In truth, he needed time to think of a way around

were they just figments of his imagination. Maybe

the October 2nd dilemma.

his mind was confused from the pain medication.

The president smiled, “You could say yes.”

Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly. He had seen

Myrick had the usual questions, then

Alfred only the one time and the little man has

finally asked, “Just one more thing. It might seem

never reappeared. Maybe he was hallucinating

trivial, but it’s important to me. Every October

like the nurse believed? He had to be sure.

2nd my wife and I go to the mountains and spend

several days at the High Ridge Inn. It’s a special

week. He wrestled almost constantly with what

anniversary of sorts. You see, it was on an October

he considered a true life-and-death decision.

2nd that I proposed marriage to her at the inn. It’s

But eternal life and cheating death had become

a tradition we’ve observed every year for the last

an obsession with him. It consumed him and

twenty-two years.

deprived him of the ability to think rationally.

Myrick took a sip of water, not knowing

to mention a few. The opportunity was a dream

Would there be a problem

There was little sleep for Myrick that

being away from the university on that date?”

The president unconsciously raised his

felt that the possibility that Alfred did truly exist

eyebrows. He thought it an odd and even trivial

was too great to ignore. Being away on October 2nd

request, and it irritated him. “Well, ah, that would

presented a risk he could not take. Myrick made

be a problem—especially this year.

his decision—he would not accept the position.

You see, we

After considering every possible angle, he

The Cheater - John Cauthen

The prospect of eternal life was more important

it out of the truck. Myrick had forgotten to fasten

and something he must pursue.

his seat belt again and was thrown clear.

Friday’s phone call was a difficult one, but

But he didn’t escape injury.

Flaming

when it was over he was relieved. He realized he

gasoline covered his body. The few pedestrians

had turned down the opportunity of a lifetime, but

at the scene made heroic efforts to smother the

was sure eternal life offered him more.

flames.

When paramedics arrived they found

Myrick unconscious, horribly burned and barely

The next few years were the most wretched

alive.

of Professor Charles Myrick’s life. He thought

about the State University offer almost daily and

paramedics said. “We’ve got to get him to the

still wondered if turning it down was a mistake.

Johnson Burn Unit—and quick. I’ll call for the

But he knew that opportunity had passed and

helicopter.”

there was no chance to turn back the calendar.

But Alfred was still an enigma. One day he was

middle of the now cleared parking lot. The flight

sure the little man was real and the next day he

to the burn center would take only ten minutes

thought Alfred might be only an hallucination.

and time was a critical factor.

Golf no longer interested him nor did the dream of

owning the ski boat. Sleep was almost impossible.

burns around the unconscious Myrick’s face and

He would frequently wake up in a cold sweat after

body. “I don’t think he’ll make it,” he said.

experiencing some terrible nightmare. Even his

“But we’ll try.”

job suffered with students complaining about

It was a quick ten minutes. The pitch of

his obvious detachment and lack of concern for

the rotors changed as the helicopter slowed and

their education. The situation eventually got so

prepared to land on the Johnson Burn Center’s

bad that Myrick decided it was time to talk to a

helipad.

psychiatrist. He knew if he didn’t he would surely

preparation for the landing, he opened his eyes for

lose his mind.

the first time.

This was not the eternal life he

“This guy’s in real trouble,” one of the

In only minutes the helicopter landed in the

The doctor on the helicopter examined the

As they strapped Myrick down in

expected.

“Wh…what’s happening?” Myrick asked, in a low,

barely audible whisper.

The psychiatrist’s office was only a short

distance from the campus. As Professor Myrick

made the turn into the parking lot, he failed to

help on the way,” the doctor said reassuringly.

see the large eighteen-wheel gasoline tanker

“Where… where are you taking me?”

approaching in the opposite lane.

“We’re landing in Benton—at the Johnson

It struck

“Don’t worry, old man, you have some good

his sedan broadside, jackknifing the truck and

Burn Center. Those guys are the best.”

sending both vehicles into a brick wall that marked

the entrance to the parking lot. A huge fireball

sedation they had given him, the name Benton

engulfed the area. The truck driver never made

managed to get through his semiconscious

2014 Literary Magazine

“Ben…Benton…?”

Even with the heavy

condition. “Wh…what day is it?” he asked in a

the helicopter on the hospital’s rooftop. Five or

whisper.

six people were standing around it while two men

The doctor ignored the question and

were lifting a stretcher through the open helicopter

continued to work desperately to save his patient.

door. The body on the stretcher was covered from

But a paramedic standing nearby answered, “It’s

head to toe with a white sheet. There was no sense

October 2nd.”

of urgency.

“October 2nd!” Myrick gasped. “No…no! Not

Myrick turned to Alfred. “It’s been a very

Benton! Not there! Please…don’t land!” Myrick

difficult time, these last few years,” he said, almost

began struggling desperately, but the straps held

casually. “In fact, they’ve been the most miserable

him firm.

years of my life—the most miserable years anyone

“Hold him tight.

I’ll give him another

could imagine. I’m glad it’s over.”

injection,” the doctor said. “We’ve got to calm him

down.”

“but I’m not sure you should be glad it’s over.”

Myrick

He moved closer. “I’m taking you on a journey to

continued, mustering all his strength to speak.

eternity, and I’m afraid you’re not going to like the

“I…I can’t be in Benton today. Not today! No! No!

destination.”

No!”

“You…you

don’t

understand,”

“I can understand the misery,” Alfred said,

The needle pierced his arm and the sedative

“Why? Where are we going?” Myrick asked,

this time in a firm but anxious voice.

began to take effect. But Myrick was still conscious

enough to feel the helicopter touch down on the

All I can say is you might want to consider that

landing pad.

flaming accident you just had as a harbinger

“Please…please.

Not here…not Benton.

“You know that’s confidential information.

of things to come. In fact, in a little while that

Don’t take me to Benton,” he begged.

accident won’t seem so bad after all.”

As Myrick closed his eyes, the sound of the

Alfred placed his small hand gently on Myrick’s

helicopter faded in the distance. Everything was

shoulder. “It’s time. I’m sorry, but you should

quiet.

have realized you couldn’t cheat death. Nobody

“I knew you’d be here,” the familiar voice

said.

ever does. And yes—the rules do apply, even to you.”

Myrick opened his eyes and immediately

recognized the little man kneeling beside him. “Alfred…”

“Yes, it’s me,” he said. “And we’re in Benton

at 9:14 on October 2nd. You’re right on schedule.”

Myrick’s mind was clear. There was no

pain, and he felt detached from the real world. Then, to his surprise, he looked down and saw

The Cheater - John Cauthen

The

Declaration of IndePrincess

by Joy Colter

I am the princeless princess standing upright and alone Self-assured within my singleness while ruling from my throne In my strength I know I’m competent with challenges I take In my wisdom, grace, I’m confident I’ll learn from each mistake This my sword I wield for my land, family, for what I believe Not for hope of giving my hand for a man’s love to receive I don’t pine for his attention to lead to a wedding gown Nor see myself his extension to complete me and my crown Given what I’ve heard and seen, my choices won’t fit common form As a princess who’ll be queen, I certainly am not the norm Now I won’t exclude or shun a marriage possibility So I trust God to choose one such prince God knows is right for me I admit, this isolation I’ve imposed conjures some dread Yet I boldly bide my station without fearing what’s ahead And my life lived unafraid shall be the hallmark of my reign For each princeless-princess maid and woman under my domain

2014 Literary Magazine

Tomboy by Donna wylie A twenty-six inch beach cruiser,

Skinny legs pump,

my ticket back in time

force rubber-tube wheels

as an eleven year-old girl.

on asphalt to spin out. My pixie body bonds

Sneaker to the pedal

with structure of bike.

I coast down rain-soaked streets. Breezes laced with mist

I still love to straddle

tickle my sunburned face.

three-cornered seats, clutch cold steel

In this sacred moment,

handlebars,

I am independent of

forge paths down

Home and Family.

cracked sidewalks.

A caravan of childhood friends joins me. We pass rusty juniper bushes, inhale freshly mowed lawns, ignore barks from canine neighbors.

The Declaration of IndePrincess - Joy Colter | Tomboy - Donna Wylie

Hopkins, SC by austin Lange

I never second-guessed anything about my childhood home or the lay of the Midlands; my own pocket of the world. Secrets and tears tucked away in the hips of the driveway, messages in Coke bottles on the bottom of a murky pond. My mother spending hours cutting my hair, I sat motionless on a stool near the budding garden, taking in the smell of the wet earth into the spaces within me. My father taking a shovel to a copperhead while I watched from the porch swing my knees tucked to my chest, my lips tugging on a cuticle. Using the horse trough for a summer swim, meeting boys on bikes at the street corner, escaping in the night through the bedroom window still dressed in a cotton nightgown to disturb the silken path of morning dew.

2014 Literary Magazine

Some summers my cousins and I slept on the front porch, our hair hardened by chlorine, whispering prayers to a fingernail moon. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d hold one another and comfort if shaken awake by nightmares of our grandmother coming after us with a switch for shaking her precious violet plums from the tree. Unable to hold on to it all, I have what remains, A mason jar of baby teeth, Scars from the drivewayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s taste of my knees, And Polaroids of previous suntan lines. I unknowingly let some of it go, unable to hold on to all the fine hairs that slip from my scalp into the yard where the wrens take pieces of me to their homes.

Hopkins, SC - Austin Lange

Hasadera Tokudou in Kamakura

by Susan Helldorfer

In Kamakura

Before the portal

An ancient hillside rock garden sits

Heady incense warms my nostrils

Covered with azaleas

Stand beneath a swaying textured sky

Buds tight, waiting for spring

Of blossoms, pink

Heralds a cherry in blossom

An azalea, festival-pink

Dual spirit reflected, mysterious water

Branches bare

Adrift, a bamboo raft

Climbs skyward

Canes laced together

Hundreds of hot pink butterflies

Swiss clockworks

Scattered amidst bare beauty

Shade for blood-orange coy

On the mountaintop

Hang silent, wait

Below the burial place

Below, calla lilies edge the water

A niche carved out for pilgrims

Follow the weather-worn rocks

Women wrapped in scarves

Set as step stones placed with care

Men, old, wrinkled, in hats

Along the winding stream

To feast after prayer

At the end of the path, a sacred rock

Peel tangerines

Center carved deep, vessel for water

Neon, on the brown tables

Ladle atop

Lick brown fingers, wet, sticky

Copper cup, tarnished with aged

In the cold wind

Handle, wood-rough

In Kamakura

Seasoned in the damp Dip the sacred water Rinse your mouth Spit Hands, one at a time Cleansed, you may enter

2014 Literary Magazine

Night Falls

by Kerri Lynn Pierce

Night falls And I along with it As the hungry dusk sky wicks up the reds and blues from the earthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s horizon So too do memories and fragments of songs seep into my consciousness Thoughts swirl then take form and begin to run down a copper rain chain dripping one by one Into the pool that is my life A train in the distance, a childâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice, a promise almost heard But not quite The theme song of my life Eyes flutter open, then not Scenes on the back of my eyelids, their emotion and meaning transmitted through muted gestures, mime and title cards Like the silent movie that is my life, flickering here Then there In the quiet cool of the falling night

Hasadera Tokudou- Susan Helldorfer | Night Falls - Kerru Lynn Pierce

The People,

a History by Barbra Lunow

In the times before now our Grandfathers entered this land, our birthland

Mountains with two great waters were enveloped by dense, dark forests

Beautiful Girl Lake; blue hues, clear and clean

Fearsome Boy Lake; black, cold and deep

Hearts shook, knees trembled; no one dared make paths down to the shores In time, the Grandfathers ordered, Go, appease the spirits, throw offerings into the waters

They obeyed and gave gifts to the spirits, truly, it was so

Day Light brightened, Night Light dimmed; Sun and Moon awakened and slept

The Sougb cleared the land, hewed down Giants, planted gardens, built houses

Thatched roofs were unseen, hidden from enemies in jungles and rain forests

Wars were fought, lives taken, deaths avenged; peace was negotiated, payments made Sorcery, black magic, spells cast on the enemy; charms and amulets warded off evil

They lived like this, in fear and dread, continually

Traditions, customs and culture; the Laws of the Grandfathers ruled over all

Guardians of behavior and conduct; their voices revered, respected

Decrees, laws, myths were passed down to new generations

Beside night fires, children listened, stored stories in their hearts, obeyed the laws Pledges were promised, kept, broken; marriages arranged, dowry goods exchanged

This is the way it was then; truly it was so in those days

2014 Literary Magazine

Generations of sameness; the land remained, the People survived

Sun awakened, throwing his feet over the mountains

Moon pulled her shadows of darkness across heaven

Grandfathers measured their journeys far and near, calendar knots tied in a string The cycles of Life-Death; counted by one hand or two, one foot or two, one man or more

It was like this before our days, most certainly it was so then

Listen now, in this time, this day, the People dwell by Boy Lake, also by Girl Lake

Pathways lead to the shores, the Giants are hewn down, fear and dread are no more

Our culture, our heritage remains safe, secure

The Sougb voice is written; Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Voice is in our hands, our memories printed in a book Nothing is forgotten, all is carried in our little string bags of remembrance

Assuredly, this is our pathway today, and will be tomorrow, and in days to follow

(Oral history of the Sougb tribe of Papua, Indonesia)

The People, a History - Barbara Lunow

Star Drops and Spider Hair Heaven breaks open atop the ranges Sun’s feet appear over the ridges Light streams spread out, lengthen and flow down the slopes melting away sleepy clouds at rest over Boy Lake Celestial greets terrestrial, golden beams crown the forest canopy Star drops fall, sparkling, glistening gems on slender silken grasses Spider hair is strewn in jeweled threads among drooping petals laced webs woven between bushes and branches Muffled voices in rhythmic chants sing the songs of God’s Voice Smoke seeps through thatched roofs into dawn’s haze Cedar and burnt-wood scents waft out and float upwards into moist air after Night’s rain Bark doors are unlatched; gilded rays streak in, bringing a promise of warmth Shoulders shrouded in faded red blankets shiver, shake Weathered feet step over the doorway into crisp mountain air

ready to welcome Sun’s radiance into a new day

by Barbara Lunow

2014 Literary Magazine

dolize

by Joy colter

Must it matter – the owner of the eye? Glowing, glaring, spying, shining, Crystalled pistol cocked when closed, Readied, aimed, then opened – Shoots a stare straight to the target Welcoming a death to what is stale: Corners, pockets, shadow, shade, The deafening peace of anonymity The beauty now beheld for all to see, for scrutiny, for stabbing jabs in case the spotlight shot has no efficiency to force from back to front-&-center Be the blade a bane or blessing or the bullet good or bad, maybe both, all the better – does it matter – the object, the eyeball, or the owner?

Star Drops and Spider Hair - Barbara Lunow | Idolize - Joy Colter

Orphan

by ellen Caldwell

If we were being honest, I would hold the reflective shard of us between our faces, my arm angrily outstretched and palm cut deep from the grasping. And we would both look, And we would both see, Our Creation of Not Nature, Not Nurture, which is the void of failure called Neglect. If we were being honest, I would ask “Mother?” and you would ask “Who?” and we would both reply “I don’t know.” And we would both listen, And we would both hear, My muffled cries and your stifled gasp as your fingertips quickly retract from the sharp shard of us. If we were being honest, We would both see, We would both hear,

And I would let go.

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2014 Literary Magazine

Sun Bath

by donna Wylie

Sun-screened bathers assaulted by UV rays squirm on beach blankets. Perspiration-soaked bodies slither out of position after unaccounted hours stretched under blistering grains.

Orphan - Ellen Caldwell | Sunbath - Donna Wylie

101

Last Day

by Donna Wylie

Staring up with pensive brown eyes, I ask if she wants to go “out.” Shepherd head rises to the occasion. With small reserve of energy, my fourteen year-old Lady inches down our block, absorbing fragrances of neighbors’ grass and weeds. Preceded by a frail squat, my girl relieves herself. I witness a tiny ripple of joy crossing her fur beige countenance. Back on the den carpet, I massage her solid body, as I speak in high pitched tone. “You are so beautiful and sweet.” Without warning, tears flood my cheeks. I whisper in her ear “Loving you has changed my life.” Canine face reflects understanding and acceptance.

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2014 Literary Magazine

Internal Dialogue

Me, Myself, and I: we talk – no, argue – often Me is raw, unruled, irrational

by Joy Colter

Wants what Me wants when Me wants it I think things through, I constantly rehearse For I am reason, logic One day Me saw cookie. Me craved cookie Hand lunged forth to grab cookie for Me “Hold it! WHOA!” I screamed. “I must discuss this with Myself before We eat!” Me grunted, growled. I disagreed with Me so I turned to Myself – the Self-scribed ‘sensitive who’s sensible’ – I asked Myself for input but Myself said “Please! Leave Me alone! Me’s never cared for what U think.” I told Myself “but don’t U feel that We should wait and reconsider whose it is and why it’s there? And what about the cookie and the setback it could cause? I cannot move until all facts have been examined thoroughly. . . .” “Oh I!” Myself responded. “Aye yi yi! Oh! U always analyze with anal eyes The way you over-scrutinize is screwy! WHY!? If it were up to Me ‘I’ would be short for ‘Id’ But speaking for Myself ‘I’ stands for ‘Idiot!’ U’d think I would know better!” The comments from Myself deflate the ego I thought I was on the cusp of big Ideas I Myself let down the guard so Me can have Me’s way Me wins this round; next time I win the day

Last Day - Donna Wylie | Internal Dialogue - Joy Colter

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