~scop~
nineteen ninety — whatever —
SCOP ’96 19th Edition
Published by the Creative Writing Class 1995-1996 Student Government and the
Communications/Humanities Division of
Coming Community College Coming. New York
Special Thanks for their time and effort:
Communications Division Contest Judges CCC Printing Services Quality Printers, Elmira Linda Perry Betsi Preston
Copyright 1996, SCOP Publications Coming Community College Coming, New York
After first publication, all rights revert to original owner
SCOP Literary Contest is open to all full time and part-time students at Coming Community College during 1995-96 academic year. Entry into the contest gives permission for publication in SCOP. The judges’ decisions are final.
The Creative Writing Classes of 1995-96
Melanie R. Atkinson Suzanne L. Blunt Stephanie Chichester Tracey Decicco Andrea English Jennifer Hemly Stacey Keck Catherine Mena Michael Olson Timothy Smith Scott C. Wise
Emily Barry Jufe Brown-Tsai Andrew Christian Jeanne Delafield Matthew Fogarty Michael J. Hensel Nicole Margeson William Meriwether Emily Savino David Snegosky Mark Zawko
Andrew M. Bid well Andrew Campbell Shelby A. Cook Danielle Draper Kathryn Haskins Holly Hill Megan Maslar Lecia Mould David Alan Scott Jr. Jenny Spicer
SCOP Advisor: Sally Carr SCOP Staff Assistant: Renee L. Gross SCOP Assistant: Virginia Sepelak
SCOP Contest Winners
Poetry
First ”1 Am the Night" & "Jaded" Second "Higher soaring" Third "The Iambic Pentameter"	David Alan Scott Jr. Emily Savino Mark Zawko
Drama First "Steady Diet of Nothing” Second "Hollywood Ridinghood" Third "The Fishtank"	Jufe Brown-Tsai David Alan Scott Jr. Andrew Bidwell
Short Story First "The Scent of Roses" Second "The Flower Garden" Third "Valediction"	Gina Osborne Frances P. Abbey Betsi Preston
Non-Fiction Essay	
Prize Winners "An Analysis of the Armchair Sports Fan" "Two Choices I Made"	Betsi Preston Barb Welch
COVER ARTIST:	David Snegosky
TITLE PAGE ARTIST:	David Alan Scott, Jr.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Scent of Roses The Flower Garder Valediction I Am the Night Jaded
Higher soaring The Iambic Pentameter Steady Diet of Nothing Hollywood Ridinghood The Fishtank
An Analysis of the Armchair Sports Fan Two Choices I Made Bad Men Victim
Flight to the Beginning ronny killed Crista Grapes
Tempest Irritation Sympathetic Fantasy More
Unexpected
A Good Time Had By All
Knights
Your Face
Phone Tag
The Baseball Story
Who is to Blame?
Dance My Soul Rival vs. Death Ecstasy Mixed Advice Morgaine Tum of Heart Dance
Smiling Eyes Purple Heart The Scapegrace Laurie and Charlie No Place to Call Home Joy to the World Rose Colored Glasses Ditmas Avenue Easter Visits Frog and I Casey
Gina Osborn	1
Frances P. Abbey	4
Betsi Preston	10
David Alan Scott	12
David Alan Scott	13
Emily Savino	14
Mark Zawko	15
Jufe Brown-Tsai	16
David Alan Scott	18
Andrew Bidwell	22
Betsi Preston	24
Barb Welch	26
Mike Hensel	29
Stephanie Chichester	32
Andy Bidwell	33
S. C. Wise	36
William Meriwether	37
Emily Savino	42
David Alan Scott	43
David Snegosky	52
Megan Maslar	53
Stephanie Chichester	56
Lecia Mould	57
David Snegosky	60
Andrew Campbell	61
Shelby Cook	63
Jeanne Delafield	65
William Meriwether	68
Andrea English	69
Matt Fogarty	70
Catherine Mena	71
Jennie Spicer	78
Megan Maslar	79
Melanie Renee Atkinson	82
Suzanne Blunt	83
Jufe Brown-Tsai	87
Tracey DeCicco	90
Holly M. Hill	91
Stacey Keck	93
Jennifer Hemly	95
Melanie Renee Atkinson	97
Tracey DeCicco	98
Catherine Mena	99
Timothy M. Smith	102
Lecia Mould	103
The Warmth & Tenderness of Family Jufe Brown-Tsai
Red Rock Surface Friends
She’s Not There Stone Flowers The "In’’ Crowd "Untitled" Gambling Bad Poetry Haiku
Danielle Draper Nicole Margeson Jeanne Delafield William Meriwether Holly Hill
Melanie Renee Atkinson Nicole Margeson S. C. Wise Mark Zawko Creative Writing Class
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116
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119
122
123
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125
THE SCENT OF ROSES by Gina Osborn
I’m scrubbing the counter as we talk, this nun and me, sudsing gritty cleanser over the dried egg stains where Mother tried to make breakfast this morning. We can hear her through the open kitchen window, scratching around in the dirt beneath her rose bushes and muttering to herself in a sing-song, as if she’s cooing at babies.
"She’s looking for booze," I say. "She used to bury pint bottles out there like a squirrel buries nuts. She still finds one, every once in a while, but she can’t get the tops off."
My father built this house for my mother. They spent their wedding night, and every night for almost fifty years, in the big upstairs bedroom with the bay window that looks out over Mother’s rose garden. The realtor will be here tomorrow with a young couple, a teacher and his wife. They’re looking for a nice house with a few extra bedrooms and a big backyard for the kids they plan to have. Mother’s things are nearly all packed. We’ll put most of it in storage.
I live in my own house, now that I’m married. Mrs. Mary Margaret Mehan Morris. All those "ems." Isn’t it funny? I still forget the "Morris" sometimes, but I’ve only been married for a couple of months.
Mother had me late. She was nearly forty when I was bom, almost as old as I am now. Old eggs, that probably accounts for my rotten eyesight and the trouble I’ve always had with words switching themselves around when I try to read. They know about that kind of problem now, but when I was in school the nuns thought I was just stubborn, or stupid. Mother thought so, too.
She can’t control her bladder anymore, and her hands shake so that the pills fly here, there, and everywhere if she tries to pour them out of the bottle herself. I make sure to get them with those caps that kids can’t get off.
My husband isn’t Catholic, but at least he’s not divorced. He’s got his dead wife’s pictures plastered all over the place, even on his dresser in our bedroom. I don’t mind. It was really their house, anyway. I would have liked her. Brad says; everybody liked Louise, she was so giving, so loving, so kind. I don’t mind. I have a house and some money, and my own car now.
I used to drive Mother’s car, that bulky old green Buick that Dad bought just before he died. She paid a neighbor boy to wash and wax it once a month, until he went to college. Whenever I took it out, Mother would walk all around it when I got back to make sure there were no dents or smudges. They paved our street one hot summer, and the tar didn’t set the way it was supposed to. It splattered all over the sidewalls when I drove it. Mother screamed and ranted right out in the driveway, out where all the neighbors could hear. She called me stupid and ungrateful. She said I was a mistake. Then she cried. She baked a cake later that night, and traced a big heart with an arrow sticking through it in the icing with her finger. She wrote "Mary" inside the heart.
Now Sister Marie Paul Milazzo is sitting in Mother’s kitchen.
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drinking coffee and telling me how Mother will be so happy with all the other old seniles at the Sacred Heart Home. Nuns don’t wear the costume anymore. She’s dressed in a blue skirt and a gray blouse, with a tiny golden cross hanging down from a slender golden chain. It’s hard to think of her as a nun. She still looks like Angela Milazzo, my best friend since we were both six years old and she sat behind me in the first grade at Merciful Redeemer. How many times I got whipped, with that frayed old brown belt of Dad’s that Mother kept handy in the kitchen closet, for the things I did with Angel. Mother said a hundred times that both of us were going to Hell. And now here Angel sits in Mother’s kitchen, with a cross dangling between her tits, drinking a cup of coffee and telling me how much fun she and the other Sisters of Mercy have taking care of the old wrecked bodies at the Sacred Heart Home.
"She’ll love it," Angel says. "We have all sorts of activities. They especially love Bingo. And once a month we hold a fancy dinner down in the big dining room, and everyone gets all dressed up. After that we show a movie, or have a dance. They love to dance, even the ones in wheelchairs, they sit and sway, and sing along to those old tunes. Really, it’s sweet."
I don’t say anything. I just scrub. Angel stops blathering about the fun times at the old folks’ home and her voice takes on that soft sadness that used to soothe me when Mother went off wild and whipped me out of the house. "I’m so sorry, Ems," she says.
Back when I was still Ems, when we were in high school, Angel and I planned to go to Europe together after graduation, pick up French boys and drink cheap wine on the Left Bank, and find out about sin and sex. When we came back, we were going to go to college together, somewhere in California or down South, someplace warm. Angel wanted to go into social work, and I thought I’d study art. We talked about getting married, and how we’d raise our kids better than our parents did, and never send them to Catholic schools. But, in our senior year, Angel got The Call. "I’m so sorry, Ems,” she said when she told me. Then she went into the convent and became Sister Marie Paul, and I went back to being Mary Margaret.
I stop scrubbing and look out the window at the huge backyard garden, with bush after bush full of lush reds and pinks and yellows. Mother is on her hands and knees next to one of them, smoothing back rich black dirt from the hole she’s made and patting it in place as if she’s tucking it in for the night.
"Have you got any roses at that place?" I ask.
"Yes," Angel says. "All kinds of flowers."
"Let Mother loose on them," I say, and resume scrubbing. "She can’t do much for herself or anybody else, but she can keep those goddamned rose bushes looking like they’re going to Sunday school."
"Ems," Angel chides.
I wasn’t allowed in the backyard when I was small, after I tripped and fell into one of Mother’s bushes. I still have a trace of faint scars on the side of my neck, where the thorns got twisted in my hair. Once, though, when I was nine, Mother let me help her with her roses. The aphids were bad that year. She picked them off and sheared them in two with her fingernail, then
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flicked them away, humming to herself. I raked dead leaves and twigs out from under the bushes with my fingers, lying flat on my belly to avoid the thorny stems, and tried not to listen as her fingernails clicked against each other over and over and over.
"Brad will come over after we’ve left and pick up her suitcases. Mother won’t let him in the house. He’s not Catholic," I say.
"I understand," Angel says.
"His wife’s dead, he’s not divorced,” I say. "Mother just doesn’t get along with him. I don’t think it’s because he’s not Catholic. She never liked outsiders around. She never liked my friends. She never had friends of her own, just me and Dad. Then Dad died, and now I’ve married this man who’s not Catholic.”
"You’re doing the right thing," Angel says. "She’ll have lots of friends, I promise."
I shove the gritty sponge up and back, up and back, up and back. "She doesn’t want lots of friends," I say. "She doesn’t want to dress up or go dancing or play Bingo. Just let her take care of your goddamned roses. If she drops dead, call a priest."
There’s a silence now, like that icy, empty silence that dropped between us back in high school, when God’s voice drowned me out.
"I’m sorry we didn’t go to Europe," Angel finally says in that soft, sad voice. "I’m so sorry, Ems."
I finish scrubbing and run the hot water until it steams. Angel is quiet while I rinse down the counter, as Mother’s lullaby drifts through the open window along with the scent of roses.
3

THE FLOWER GARDEN by Frances P. Abbey
She had forgotten how a flower garden could transform itself in a few short weeks. The leaves of the calla lilies she had been given by her children on their Easter visits and that she had planted in the center, spaced, had already yellowed; while the delft hyacinths disappeared and their bulbs rested beneath
the garden’s loamy surface.
Now, the gladioli’s spiring leaves pushed through the damp soil midst her pink, spider-blossomed dahlias and sweet basil bushes which had come alive behind the circumference of giant zinnias, standing, in an array of vibrant reds, pinks, yellows, and oranges, tilting their heads in stalwart askance toward
the curly parsley she had alternated with them.
The dillweed, too, had suddenly sprung above the flora only to be towered by a single great sunflower that either she or some bird had planted.
She couldn’t remember which.
It had been almost thirty years since she’d had a flower garden. She had forgotten its rhythm with nature and her own, too, that they each were
metered to. Thirty years had vanished.
How could they have gone without her noticing them leave? She
looked around. The sky was the same, the earth, the soil, the grass, the trees, the shrubs, the birds, the flowers; but her life had passed from her without her noticing. Midst endless routines of chores that she, alone, responded to, took on, and was held solely accountable for; the years had vanished.
For a straight twelve-years’ running, she had never left the house except to hang out the washed diapers and take them down again, going only to the clothes line and back again. She bathed the children, dressed them, nursed them, changed the bedding, made up the beds, mopped the floors, folded the laundry, ironed, cooked, cleaned, canned, baked, polished, waxed, dusted, vacuumed, washed the walls, painted the woodwork, stripped the furniture, refinished the cupboards, washed the dishes, sterilized the baby-bottles, made the formula, soaked the diapers, nursed the sick, clothed the naked, gave drinks of water, BandAids, and four o’clock feedings...around the clock, each and every day, both to "kid" and "kin" alike, with no time off: no
evenings out, no sabbaticals, and no vacations.
Inside, the house looked like something out of "a matron’s slick
magazine," but, she was its only staff. She was the responsible one: "Get it for yourself, get it for the kids, and get it for me" was the underlying musical theme; though with an occasional, unpredictable, enraged, fist-beating, cadenza
given to her for repertoire.
But, all of this had changed, now, and her life with it. The children were all grown and gone having had too little time to be young while they
were.
So was the big swamp-tree gone from which their swings had hung (and her grandchildren’s, too). Mr. Beers and his crew had cut it down, last
year, as it had split.
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They cut it into firewood and chewed its branches into a mulch with some sort of grinding-machine. The root, too, had been drilled out, and this is where she planted her flower garden, in the diameter, where the tree had been dug out, mounding the soil with the mulch and spreading it outward into a great circle.
She loved the quiet presence of garden and nature. For her, it was a refuge from sentences slung for their own sake in imitation of life: spewed, but never digested; thrown, but never caught; hurled, as blatant banter and bouncing off the walls in a pontification that reported in volume that which equated volume and its sister volumousity with validity. Whispering of solitude were driven out by the winds of noise. There words were spoken for their own sake, beating life to death by its rip of blaring void. Here, in the silence of the garden, she could think her own thoughts; she could hear her own inner voice.
Prior to this year, "her time" was only night time: when her day’s chores were completed; when everyone else slept; when no further demands could be placed; when no one could usurp her attention; when custodial services were completed, or when nothing of her was left with which to do them. Taken from sleep, or given by sleeplessness, this alone was "her time."
"Her time” to touch the life within herself: compacted throughout the day; the months; the years; until its layers were buried, pressed down, and driven over; macadamized and sealed. However, now and then, during this constricted solitude, she found herself pressed to write a poem, and, through its expression, externalize that which lay beneath the surface by raking through the eroded areas of hard pavement.
As she raked the earth with her hand-rake, the garden’s soil seemed dry, hard, and brittle at its top layer; but, the dusky dank aroma of the underlayers betrayed the sun’s baking breath as the earth breathed back a musky steaming repartee from its soft black lung. Likewise with people, she always felt that beneath a seemingly hard surface masked, frequently, a soft inner layer. So, she never gave up on anyone. She, furthermore, believed, as with her flowers, that to force the petals open was to bruise the flower; so, with those that were closed, she stayed hopeful, resolved, and persevering: trusting that, at some appointed time, given enough warmth, they, too, would open-up on their own. She, also, hoped and prayed that her own flower’s fragrant bud would blossom as well; because, to her, it seemed not a tragedy for a flower to die, but for one never to have blossomed beforehand.
Under the summer sky tie-dyed in wedgewood-blue and white-lace, the air, suddenly, seemed unairy: of joy, there seemed none. Only memory’s mesmerizing breezes refreshed her in the still of dead summer heat as they massaged her heart, reminding her of its existence; releasing its cramped fatigue layered with inner isolation; compounded, year after year, until its weight was more than its total mass; and had displaced itself in the hollow hurt and emptiness of unfulfillment, rejection, and self-negation. She had bee "sold-out," and she, herself, had been both the deliverer of the goods and the purchaser.
As she raked deeper, she remembered a time in her teens when her hand had been held; her views had been cherished; her eyes had seen herself
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glimpsed with tenderness in another's; and the "the red carpet" lay before her.
As sun sprayed through the trees, splashing on the earth, urging the verdure of the garden, urging life; she, in her memory: saw the moon playing through the trees ’ branches jeweling their mounted budding leaves, like so many slivered baguettes of glistening peridots, as she walked hand-in-hand beneath them. She tried to hold on to the completeness of this moment that enveloped her; as the trees ’ slender, platinum-and-peridot-ringed, twig-fingers stretched in stillness over the two of them in a silent benediction. Neither of them spoke. Nothing could have been gained by speaking. Nothing could have added to the moment.
"Strange, how certain people and events are outside of time - as fresh and glistening as dewed grass in the morning, and green as waxed-holly leaves, never needing to be polished to be remembered, and are just always right there," she thought. Strange, too, how "that" walk, "holding hands," in her teens, like a drink of water in the desert, had held her through so many dark tunnels, and so much loneliness, isolation, and pain.
Then, gravity’s law reclaimed her, and her weighted steps turned her heavily back toward the house. Once within, nothing about it appeared familiar. She was in a place where desire no longer dreams its destinies; fulfillments, few and far between, achieve no end; passions’ flare leaves only the ground of them more charred; options’ doors are forever sealed; stimulation's sparks cease; frivolity banished friezes a foreign friend; and songs are stilled into silence. Here, in this land of "no-land" only swallowed isolation and a past, throbbing with pain, remain to herald each new day.
In her life, any personal growth or diversification had been so smothered, so long laid aside, or negated, that the fatigue of their futility reigned, driving out any pleasure even their thought might render. Such was the garden to her now — allowed only after the desire of it had vanished and her energies to cultivate and maintain it spent.
She wandered through her household chores for several weeks, outwardly, functioning in her duties. She was compelled to do what was expected even when all her energies seemed shut down. Perhaps, she had played the role so long, so hard, and so well that her life had become the performance.
Then, in the middle of the third week, when night befriended her, she sat at the round wooden kitchen table, pen in hand, tablet before her, and began to write:
"The Waking Song’
"When less is more And doors once open Close abruptly with a bang And hearts once healed Are rent again And those once friendly Are no more at hand And turbulence is quiet
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But yet remains to stand And God is blind or far-off Seeing in another land I sing the Waking Song
A song that birds once sung When from their scaling reptile-skins Some piercing feathers peaked And others feathered-down Shirking from them shrieked While former reptilian comrades Blithely, slithered far away As shrike - like quaking waking songs Were all that they could say While fowl full-feathered Waxed and flew Their airy aviary way
A waking song bellied upward Wrenched with force-filled cry From a creature crawling Now on talloned feet Whose withered wincing Wispy wings unfurling could not mount the sky A waking song was singly Sung by them But never heard by me For it is a voiceless soundless Cordless unkeyed melody
When now from night ’til dawn
Cannot be heard
This searing sole-ful song
Of one who sings
But yet is not a bird
While concealing silence seals
This primordial cry
Yet, deep within you sense it
Know ’tis I
Who sing the waking song to you
From the hallow-chute
Of my soul's long and wake-ful tomb
For parted long My friend and soul-mate he Whose voice had sung
JS,
All other songs with me Departed since in endless dreams And dreamless days /4s vacant auras vanish Into unlamped vapor-rays 'Niello " nights carve black.
Each reverie reviewed And cease to spin Each moment unrenewed
Waking but not
Waking songs alone
Must etch each day again
/4s time goes on
Printing out each season's
Passing phase
/4s mirrors bevel-out
Each staging age
Counting down without him
"One" and "two" and "three"
The Waking Song taunts loud Its railing theme in me."
The next morning, she returned to the flower garden. Something within her had quieted; healed; died; or, perhaps, had been buried; like the summer flowers which left only their vanishing vestiges in layers of accumulated yellowed and browned leaves, and returned to slumber in their bulbs beneath the surface. The garden’s familiarity that had linked her to life with its ever renewing promise was no longer beckoning her. The towering sunflower whose multi-seeded head, now filled, bowed in tender oblation now stood granting a blessing of extreme unction over the dying cultivated circle.
Before re-entering the heated kitchen she breathed, deeply, the almost cutting, crisp, dry, air as it crackled through the trees. The German Shepherd, which she had rescued from the pound several years before, lay across the porch step lingering to lick the marrow from a beef bone; but. catching sight of her leaving the yard, swiftly followed her in, rubbing his head against her and sniffing her air-fresh clothing.
She rubbed his head, a little, before warming a cup of milk in the microwave. Then, she sat down to its soothing warmth. The shepherd, ears still peaked and alert, napped on his woolen rug in the comer, exhaling softly, while she penned a poem entitled, "The Garden of Love.”
"Where roses grow
In fields of thorn And nettles glisten
With the morning dew I found you
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Nestled In hovering briers
Of brittleweed Thistle-downed
And thistle-seed Embedded With brambled
Barrel-snares You drew me
Toward you And as I stumbled
Caught me."
Then, looking up from the round, oak table, she gazed at the photographs of her five grown children and their budding families that she had fixed into the wooden framework of the kitchen cupboard doors. Then, smiling, she wrote:
"Love must, surely, be a garden-space, where songs of joy and sorrow meet. ’
9
VALEDICTION
by Betsi Preston
"Vt xhe light in the room was dim as she opened her eyes to stare at the sleeping form of the man beside her. She examined his face, felt a flutter of arousal as she recalled last night’s intensity, and silently reprimanded herself for her impetuous behavior. It wasn’t that she had never done anything spontaneous before, but it was uncharacteristic of her to become so involved with a man she hardly knew. She watched him sleep for a moment, studied his features, and longed to awaken him. Pressing her body close to his, she nestled her face against the moist curve of his neck, and her fingers brushed across his chest as delicately as butterfly wings. He responded to the stimulation but never opened his eyes and in a matter of seconds was once again snoring softly, indifferent to her touch. She rolled away from him and slid reluctantly from the warmth of the bed.
The linoleum was cold on her bare feet, and the chill of the early fall morning raised goosebumps on her arms and legs. She pulled his shirt from the pile of their clothes on the floor beside the bed and inhaled the scent of him as she slipped it on. Then she plodded across the floor to re-enter the parts of his apartment she had seen only briefly the night before.
She found the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards until she had located a jar of instant coffee. It was hard to open. Shards of fossilized coffee crystals cascaded from beneath the lid as she finally managed to twist it off. After sniffing the contents and deciding that it was too stale to use, she returned die jar to the cupboard and shrugged impassively. She could grab a quick, inferior cup later from the coffee machine at work when she got there.
Further search revealed a tiny bathroom around the comer from the kitchen, but she was unable to find any clean towels. Showering anyway, she wrapped herself up in the towel that had been hanging over the shower bar and smelled like him. Pausing for a moment as the steam gradually diminished, she breathed in his scent before drying the shimmering droplets of water that had beaded up on her body. She replaced the towel exactly as she had found it and returned to the bedroom.
He was still sleeping. She regarded him silently from the doorway and felt warm against the damp chill of the morning. She had met him less than twenty-four hours ago, but he was the kind of man she had been waiting to meet all of her life. The fact that he was sleeping so peacefully and contentedly matip her wonder if she had been the catalyst for such satisfaction, and she smiled. Last night had been a magical night for her, and she was certain it had been for him as well. She wanted to talk to him, find out how he felt about all of this, ask him where he thought their relationship might go from here. But should she wake him? No. If she woke him, he might not want her to leave, and she had to go.
Quietly she sifted through the pile of clothes on the floor, never noticing that his snoring had stopped and that he was watching her. After dressing and trying to smooth some of the wrinkles from her blouse, she aimed
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again to look at him. His eyes were closed tightly once more, and he lay perfectly still as she climbed across the covers to kiss his eyelids and his nose. Then she immediately pulled away from him before the rekindling spasms of heat and exhilaration in her chest and stomach had a chance to convince her not to leave. Again, he never stirred, and she sighed. He certainly was a sound sleeper.
She glanced at her watch. Time to go. Quickly she searched through the papers and debris on his dresser. Finding a pencil with a chewed eraser, she scribbled a note on the back of a tattered envelope thanking him for last night. She jotted down her phone number and told him that she would be waiting anxiously for his call. Then she put the note beside the clock radio on his nightstand, where he would be sure to find it, and hurried from the room. She grabbed her jacket from a chair in the living room, and closed the apartment door softly behind her.
From the warmth of his bed. he stretched and yawned, opening his eyes and listening intently for the sound of the front door closing. Then he rolled over, sighed in relief, and went back to sleep.
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I AM THE NIGHT
I am a photograph that sits upon the shelf inside a metal frame and pressed behind a piece of glass
I am the pencil drawing made for many weeks matted softly
onto a softly hardened board
I am the written letter licked and stamped sent away
held and read and cherished for its words
I am all that's left A photograph A pencil drawing A written letter Lying on my table
I am the night The night when you said Good-bye.
David Alan Scott Jr.
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JADED
When the autumn doors opened You were the first face I’d seen That smiled At me
As die winter winds came You were the first one to turn Away From me
When the stage door widened You were the one who embraced Your arms Around me
When the curtain went down You were the one who vanished Faded Without me
When you found the friends that you knew I was the odd one out The last one in The first one gone
When you did the things you wanted I was not involved Your world revolved Without me
With the past doors opened I pass the rooms behind me Empty rooms Without windows
With past hopes faded I pass Jaded Past you.
David Alan Scott Jr.
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-IV
Higher soaring, moments in a cloud.
Jay birds whir about, licking sweet blackberry wine. Down, down, from pasture’s sky.
Mother earth’s laughing voice echoing with delight.
Speckled mushrooms sprout along banks of silver.
Down, down, earthworms stitch soil as if needles.
Cold.
Emily Savino
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The lambic Pentameter
The iambic Pentameter Formal means / / Fact if the matter.
Limits the use of larger speech From those of you who wish to teach.
Reining us into this short style Makes us stop ami think for a while.
Putting it into this properform
' ill
Feels tptight and out of the norm, instructors read this really cbse Analyse this to the utmost, iambic Its not // This you'd find, A tetrameter / / And it’s mine
Making me sit here / / with these rhymes 1 want an "A" // at finals time...
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Mark Zawko
STEADY DIET OF NOTHING by Jufe Brown - Tsai
Characters:	Tim
Man
Street Prophet
The curtain opens with Tim sitting on the front steps of his apartment building. Be is smoking a cigarette and has a downcast look.
An occasional person walks by and a stereo can be heard faintly from above. A car is heard pulling up and Matt enters (stage right) carrying a six-pack of beer.
MATT: Hey man. Wbax’s going on? Have a beer.
TIM: (tidies the offered can) Not much, man.
MATT: Got another smoke? Thanks. Hey, are you going to the party at Jim’s tonight?
TIM: (takes a swig cff beer) Naw. I don’t feel like it today.
MATT: Dude! Everyone’s gonna be there. Cherry’s gonna be there, man. TIM: (staring at beer am) Yeah, I know. I just don’t feel like it.
MATT: (Spt next to Tim and drinks his beer quietly for a moment) Well, we could go over to Sammy’s. I hear he's got some kind bud. We could get stoned of css yninriK man?
TIM: (stands sq> and leans against railing) Nat today, Matt.
MATT: Then why don’t we just arose around for a while? Maybe pick up Kevin.
TIM: Naw man. 1 don’t want to do anything.
MATT: What the helTs up with you? Ever since you got turned down from thai school, all you've done is sit on your ass and mope about it.
TIM: Yon don’t get it do you? Nobody fuckin’ gets it. I was gonna be someone. I was going to pull my ass out of this fucking place and do something with my life. Thai’s never going to happen now.
MATT: You don’t have to go to some stupid college, man. Look at our folks. They do all right.
TIM: (slams the rest of his beer then throws the empty can against the sidewalk with anger) I don’t want to do all right, (shakes his head) Anyway, I don’t know how it is in your house, but my old man works ten-hour days. Then he comes home and knocks back a fifth of gin in front of the TV. And he only makes enough to keep food on the table and a half dozen bottles of scotch stashed around the place.
MATT: Yeah, but that’s not gonna happen to us. (Finishes off beer) We got our whole lives ahead of us.
TIM: (snorts) Whatever.
The two sit quietly for a minute staring at their feet. A bell is heard in the distance, slowly getting closer. An old man enters. He walks along the sidewalk. In one hand he holds a Bible. In the other, a ringing belL He wears a large sign that reads, THE END OF THE WORLD IS COMING" in bright red letters on die front and back. As he walks and rings the bell, he shouts, The end is near! The Great Cleansing is coming!"
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When he nears the apartment building, he approaches the two young men. OLD MAN: How about you two sinners? Are you ready for the Apocalypse? Are you ready for the Great Cleansing? Are you ready for His Almighty Judgement? Are you—
MATT: (Jumps up and throws his empty can at the old man) Get the hell outta here you fucking psycho! Before I kick your ass!
The old man shuffles away and Matt sits back down.
MATT: Damn. There’s just too many weirdos in this world.
TIM: I don’t know. Maybe he’s got a point. I mean, look around. This place isn’t doin’ to well. Sid and Hal’s dads both got laid off last year. I heard they’re almost living on the streets. Johnny got shot last month. His girl’s hooked on smack now. We’U be going to another funeral soon. Dave doesn't hang out with us anymore ’cause he joined some Nazi gang. All he does is beat people up now. The rest of us just get wasted so we don’t have to see or feel any of this crap. It’s like we’re all dying. Real slow, but it’s all of us. Sooner or later there’s not gonna be anything left.
MATT: Tim, you’re too damned depressing. I’m going to Jimmy’s. You coming?
TIM: Naw. 1 told ya, I don’t feel like it.
MATT: (gets up) Well, I’ll catch you tomorrow. Maybe we’ll do something.
TIM: Yeah. Maybe.
Matt starts to walk off stage-left.
TIM: Hey Matt!
MATT: (turns around expectantly) Yeah?
TIM: (holds up remains of six-pack) You forgot your beer.
MATT: Oh yeah.
Matt goes back and gets his beer. Then he walks off stage-left. The audience hears a car start and pull away. Tim picks up his pack of cigarettes from the steps. He looks around, spits on the ground, and walks inside the building. A minute ticks by. Two. A single, crisp gunshot is heard. A few moments later a woman screams. The curtain closes.
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HOLLYWOOD RIDINGHOOD
by David Alan Scott Jr.
Characters:
GENE SISKEL: Hollywood movie critic ROGER EBERT: Hollywood movie critic O J. SIMPSON: movie star, former athlete, alleged killer DEMI MOORE: movie star, Bruce Willis’s wife BRUCE WILLIS: movie star, Bruce Willis’s wife’s husband
Setting: a movie theater
(The stage curtains open, and lights go up on stage R. Two rows of chairs-at least five in the front and three directly in the back-are present. Sitting in the back row are GENE and ROGER. GENE is sitting on the end chair towards R., and ROGER is sitting at the end chair towards L. GENE is wearing a suit coat, and ROGER is wearing a sweater vest and glasses. Both are sitting back and looking, past the audience, at a movie screen. As the lights go all the way up, GENE sits up and looks toward the audience as if they are
television cameras.)
GENE: Hello, I’m Gene Siskel.
ROGER: (also sitting up and looking toward the audience) And I’m Roger Ebert.
GENE: Tonight we’ll be reviewing a new fairy tale called Little Red Riding Hood.
ROGER: It’s the story of a young girl who is seduced by the charming personality of a vicious wolf.
GENE: The story starts out with Red Riding Hood, played by actress Demi Moore, on her way to grandma’s house for a friendly visit.
ROGER: On her way, she meets the Big Bad Wolf, played by O.J. Simpson, who manages to find out where she’s going. Here’s a clip....
(As ROGER finishes his line, the lights go down on stage R. As this happens, the lights go up on stage L., where DEMI is standing. She is wearing a long red hooded cape that covers up most of her body. She is standing next to a coat rack that has leaves taped onto it to make it look like a tree. O.J. walks from upstage C. into the light and stops next to DEMI. He is wearing a long, dark coat, a black ski hat, and black leather gloves.)
OJ.: Hey, baby, aren’t you that Little Red girl from down the street? DEMI: Why yes...(She takes off her cape to reveal a red bathing suit that shows her legs, her thighs, and an ample amount of cleavage.)...) am. (She hangs the cape on the coat rack.)
OJ.: Well, where ya goin’, honey?
DEMI: To my grandma’s house. (As she says the next line, she points outL.) I’m just stopping here under this waterfall to take a shower so that everyone can see my bare breasts.
OJ.: That’s cool. See ya. (He begins to walk away.)
DEMI: Bye.
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O J.: (stops, looks back at DEMI, and then, holding his hand beside his mouth so she can’t see it, shouts out toward stage R.) Come on, A.C., we’re goin’ to Grandma's house. If I’m gonna get my hands on Little Red, I gotta eighty-six the old bitch!
(As O.J. moves upstage C. away from the light, stage L. goes dark. The lights on stage R. go back up. GENE and ROGER are still sitting in their chairs, looking out toward the audience.)
GENE: Following this conversation is a very over-dramatic scene in which the wolf captures the grandmother, throws her into the back of a white Ford bronco, and has A.C. drive her off the edge of an exploding bridge.
ROGER: After that, we see Red Riding Hood entering the grandmother’s bedroom only to find the wolf in disguise....
(As ROGER says this, the lights on stage R. go down. The lights on stage L. go up to reveal O.J. lying in bed. He is wearing a nightgown instead of his long, dark coat, though he is still wearing his gloves and hat. In his downstage hand, he is seen holding a large knife. DEMI, wearing her cape again, rises up from behind the bed.)
DEMI: (looking at O.J. with curious eyes) Grandma! What a big nose you have! (She points at his nose.)
O.J.: The better to smell you with, baby.
DEMI: And-Grandma!—what big hands you have! (She holds up his upstage hand and looks at it.)
OJ.: The harder it is for me to put these gloves on, baby!
DEMI: (putting his hand down) And--Oh Grandma!--what a big knife you have! (She points at the knife in his other hand.)
OJ.: (springing up from the bed, waving his fists) The easier it is for me to cut yo’ ass up! (As DEMI jumps back and screams, the lights go down on stage L. They go back up on stage R., where GENE and ROGER are still sitting.) GENE: After that scene, the story just gets confusing as the wolf chases Red Riding Hood through a variety of places: a tall building, an airport, a bus station, even back through time!
ROGER: These scenes are done utilizing a series of expensive stunts and special effects that let up only once in a while to let Red Riding Hood take a shower so that everyone can see her bare breasts.
GENE: Eventually, the wolf catches her and takes her to the edge of the Grand Canyon, where he intends to throw her off the edge unless she gives in to his lusty demands.
ROGER: But before he can do anything, he meets up with the Friendly Woodsman, who is played by actor Bruce Willis. During this scene, we find that the Woodsman was an old army buddy from the wolfs past....
(The lights go down on stage R.. and they go up on stage L. O.J. and DEMI are standing at the edge of the stage. Both are wearing the same clothes that th^y wore in the bedroom scene, including the nightgown. O.J. is holding his knife to DEMI’s throat. Next to them is BRUCE, who is holding a machine gun. BRUCE is wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt and blue jeans, both with rips in them.)
BRUCE: (shouting) Let her go, asshole!
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O J.: (also shouting) Back off, asshole! This ain’t about you!
BRUCE: I think it is, asshole. Remember when we invaded "Snow White” in ’68? You tried to take out all seven of those dwarves by yourself, and you got all pissed off at me for draggin’ your ass outta there!
OJ.: Hey, asshole, I could’ve taken ’em!
BRUCE: That’s bullshit, man! Sneezy had your face against the wall of that fuckin’ cottage! If I hadn’t done somethin’, he would’ve gotten sneeze germs all over you!
O.J.: (shaking and getting more and more angry as he talks) Bullshit! You’re always tryin’ to be the hero, man, always! I never get the chance! You’re always gettin’ those medals and shit, man! What about me, motherfucker? Huh? Huh, motherfucker? What about me, huh, motherfucker? You motherfucker! You fuckin’ motherfucker! Fucker! Fuckin’ fucker! You fucker! You fuck! You fucking fuck! You fucking fucky fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucky, fuckle, fucker...uh... (he pauses momentarily to think of another word)... fuck!!! BRUCE: (after a brief pause) Fuck you, man.
O.J.: Fuck me? Fuck me?? (He lets go of DEMI and starts running towards BRUCE.) Fuck you, man! Fuck you, man!! (He drops the knife and grabs BRUCE by the shoulders.) Fuck you!!!
(Loud gunshots are heard, the lights go out, and O.J. is heard shouting "Awww...fuck!U" The lights go backup at stage R., where GENE and ROGER are still sitting.) *
GENE: With the wolf dead, the movie ends, predictably, with Red Riding Hood and the Friendly Woodsman riding each other off into the sunset....(GENE freezes for a moment, then turns his head to see ROGER reading a book. Seeing this, GENE slaps ROGER on the arm. This startles ROGER, who puts his book down and turns his attention back toward the audience. GENE does the same, and the lights on stage R. go out.)
(The lights go back up on stage L., where BRUCE is standing next to DEMI. BRUCE looks exhausted and relieved, and DEMI is giving him a sultry gaze.)
DEMI: (strutting toward BRUCE) Oh, Mr. Woodsman! How can I ever thank you for saving me from that wolf?
BRUCE: How about marrying me?
DEMI: Okay, but first...(She takes off her cape and drops it on the floor.)...why don’t we make love right here so that everyone can see my bare breasts?
BRUCE: (taking DEMI into his arms) Yippy-ky-yay, baby!
(As they kiss, the lights over stage L. go down, and the lights over stage R. go up. GENE and ROGER are, as always, sitting down.)
GENE: And that was "Little Red Riding Hood." a story with so much potential, but very little to say intellectually. I had to give it a thumbs down. ROGER: (turning to GENE as GENE turns to him) Well, Gene, I have to disagree with you because I think it said a lot. It said, "Don’t talk to strangers"; it said, "Looks can be deceiving"; and, most importantly, it said, "Hey! Look at this woman’s bare breasts! This woman has really great bare breasts!" And there, I think, is where this story exceeds the conventions of the
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standard fairy tale.
GENE: I’m sorry, Roger, but I found it pretty ordinary.
ROGER: Ordinary? Didn’t you see those bare breasts?
GENE: I thought they were pretty ordinary. They reminded me too much of Sharon Stone’s bare breasts in "Cinderella.” I got bored with them very quickly.
ROGER: Well, I found them to be spectacular, and I’m sure we can expect to see her bare breasts in many more fairy tales to come. Thumbs up all the way.
GENE: (annoyed) I’ll give you a thumb up all the way. (He turns back toward the audience, and so does ROGER.) And with that said, it's time to end the show. Next week we’ll be reviewing Jean-Claude Van Damme and Cindy Crawford in Hansel and Gretel. a story about a young girl who saves her brother from being eaten by a witch while showing everybody her bare breasts. ROGER: That’s next week, and until then, the balcony is closed.
(GENE and ROGER turn back toward each other. After a brief pause. ROGER lunges at GENE and begins choking him. As that happens, GENE reaches his arms out to choke ROGER, and both start grumbling "Fuck you ’ at each other. The audience only sees a few seconds of this before the lights go down.)
CURTAIN
REQUIRED COSTUMES/PROPS:
Chairs (at least eight of the same kind)
Suit coat Sweater vest Pair of glasses
Coat rack with leaves taped on
Red hood and cape
Red swimsuit (one or two-piece)
Long, dark coat (maybe fake fur)
Black ski hat Black leather gloves Nightgown (preferably pink)
Bed or bed-like structure Blanket & pillow for bed Big knife (fake, please)
Book (or magazine)
Big gun (fake, please)
Sleeveless white T-shirt (ripped)
Blue jeans (ripped)
TIPS AND IDEAS: For a more humorous effect, the actors could wear masks made partially from enlarged photos of the faces of the actual stars and celebrities being portrayed.
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THE FISHTANK by Andrew Bidwell
Characters:	Fin, a minnow
Manny, a goldfish Molly, a black molly Herman, a crab Bill, a human Hillary, a human
Scene: Inside a fish tank, there are three large plastic plants, a bubbler, a shipwreck in the middle, and a large backdrop painting of the undersea world. The light fades in and Manny and Molly are swimming around in circles, extremely bored. As they swim, they see their owner walking toward the tank. MANNY: Look Molly! Here comes old Billy Boy. It’s lunch time.
MOLLY, (smiling and acting excited) Oh boy! I’m so hungry. 1 was wondering when we were going to be fed. (Flakes of fish food,large shreds of brown, orange, yellow construction paper, fall from die ceiling, Manny and Molly dash around gathering it up, enter Herman from behind the shipwreck) HERMAN: Hey, don’t hog all die food! I’m starvin’. Just because you two are fish doesn’t mean you get all the food, (races around gathering food. All continue, die Molly looks up, puzzled)
MOLLY: Hey, Manny! What’s Bill bringing over here in the bag?
MANNY: I don’t know? Maybe he’s going to feed us again.
MOLLY: Are you kidding? He only feeds us once a day. (A loud splash is heard offstage. Enter Fin, dashing around erratically)
MANNY: Hey, man! Slow down! (puts hand on heart) You’re giving me heartburn.
MOLLY: Yeah! What’s your problem? (whispers to Herman) What’s his problem?
HERMAN: I don’t know. Maybe he’s not used to this lank.
FIN: Where am I? (puzzled)
MOLLY: You’re in your new home.
FIN: My new home? How can you call this a home? (looking around) There’s no place to go. There’s no food.
MANNY: Are you kiddin’ me? We get fed everyday. More than enough, usually.
HERMAN: Yeah, we don’t have to do anything for it, either. It’s great (smiles, shoves food in his mouth, wanders behind shipwreck out of sight) FIN: Don’t do anything? You mean you don’t have to search for your food and fend for yourself. It’s jua given to you?
MOLLY: Yeah! We got it easy. Why? Weren’t you from the store? (points offstage)
FIN: Store? No way! I was from the stream (points opposite Math) offstage) I was swimming along one day with a couple of friends looking for food. The next thing I know, we swam into a trap. Ami sow I’m here in this trap.
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(throws arms in air)
MANNY: Trap? How can you call this a trap? (looking around) This is living. MOLLY: We got it easy here. No worries about groceries, no worries about some bigger fish having us for lunch. Its so perfect.
FIN: Perfect? How can you call this perfect? You’re all lazy, (begins to pace back and forth) Don’t you have the motivation to go out and fend for yourself and enjoy life’s adventure?
HERMAN: (pops head out from behind shipwreck) What’s motivation? MANNY: Shut your mouth, Herman. He’s just jealous. (Herman pops back behind shipwreck)
FIN: Jealous? Are you kiddin’ around? I’ll die if I stay in here.
MOLLY: You’ll die if you don’t stay in here.
FIN: That’s a chance I’m willing to take.
MANNY: Oh sure. You’re just gonna leave. I’d like to see this. What do you plan on doing? (sarcastic) You gonna just hop out and hail a taxi home?
FIN: Well, I’m not sure, yet. I’m bound to think of something, (paces back and forth, thinking)
MOLLY: You know there’s no way out, don’t you? Once you’re in here, you’re in here.
FIN: I don’t believe that for a second. I know there’s a way out. Maybe if I just thrash around a while, the human will want to get rid of me. You know, set me free. They’ll figure I wasn’t meant for captivity.
MANNY: I don’t think that will work. They’ll probably just flush you down the toilet for making a hassle.
MOLLY: Yeah, you’re better off relaxing like us. Free food is still food. HERMAN: (pops head out from behind shipwreck) Speaking of food, here he comes again .(food drops from ceiling) All right!
FIN: This is my chance to get his attention! (starts dashing around vigorously, screaming) Let me out, Let me out! (suddenly, a large net comes down, lifting Fin off stage, Manny, Molly, and Herman look up and out)
MOLLY: Oh my! Do you think his plan worked?
MANNY: I don’t know? Where’s he taking him?
HERMAN: He’s headed for the wrong door!
MOLLY: (pointing) What’s that spell on that door?
HERMAN: B-A-T-H-R-O-O-M, I don’t know? I can’t read, (fade lights out) Scene change-fade lights into small apartment, couch in the middle, three fake plants in the corners, the fish tank in the corner, a door labeled bathroom on the side, a large window with the view of a city. Hillary sits on the couch watching t.v. Sound of flushing sound, enter Bill from bathroom) BILL: Well, that's the end of him. Should of known better for putting him in that tank with all the others. Probably didn’t get along.
HILLARY: I wonder why not. Seems like all fish should be friends. They have it easy in there. Don’t have to work for anything, as long as they share. BILL: Speaking of sharing, did you pick up the check today?
HILLARY: Of course. Don’t I always? I don’t want to starve anymore than you! (money begins to fall from ceiling, fade out)
THE END
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A.
ma*-
An Analysis of The Armchair Sports Fan by Betsi Preston
of my life I have been surrounded by armchair sports fans. I have three brothers and grew up believing there was little else to watch on television except sports. As an adult, I have discovered that men possess an inherent propensity for being aware of each and every televised sports event. They are also irritatingly adept at finding sneaky ways to get away with watching "the game" when they’re supposed to be doing something else. Most men I know are avid armchair sports fans. They can’t resist the lure of a televised game, and many turn into zombies as they sit transfixed to the television screen. All can easily be designated to one of a hat-trick of categories, and I list the classifications here in ascending orders of intensity and descending orders of degradation, with special attention being given to a fourth group that is commonly ignored.
The first type of arm chair sports fan, or ASF, is the "Chivalrous Fan," named so because he pretends not to mind having a woman watch the game with him. He will even condescend to actually discuss the action with her. The reason he behaves in this noble manner is that he is a slug. He is unwilling to move from in front of the picture tube and needs someone nearby to keep him supplied with food and drink. In a pinch, any small child or large dog could probably be trained to handle this task, but the Chivalrous Fan has to fuel his male ego by keeping a woman around to ask him questions about the game. By answering her questions, he is able to further inflate his immense sense of self worth while perpetuating his belief that women are incapable of understanding professional sports. The most animation he ever exhibits while watching a game involves the motion of his various body parts as he belches, swears, scratches, cheers, tips his beer bottle, or stuffs another handful of potato chips into his mouth. However, he is actually far less offensive than anyone in the second category.
The "Voracious Fan" has to watch every game that is being broadcast, and he has to watch them all in conjunction with one another. For this, he requires a remote control with powerful batteries. He will use this device as an extension of his own arm, to surf back and forth through all the channels as quickly as he can blink his bloodshot eyes. The Voracious Fan’s philosophy is, "If there is a game on, it must be watched." Leave this man alone. He will sit transfixed to the screen for hours, clicking the channel selector on his remote control. Although he will not respond coherently to any questions or comments that do not come directly from the television set, occasionally he will mumble in monosyllables or nod his head in semicomprehension of words that trickle into his brain from the outside world. This fan is sometimes loyal to a particular team, but more often than not he doesn’t really care who wins. He simply needs to watch a game.
The ASFs in the third category are "Fanatical Fans,” sometimes referred to as "mad dog" or "rabid" fans. Any interference with this kind of fan’s viewing pleasure means possible extinction for any and all guilty parties.
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Keep pets and small children out of the room during game time for their own safety. The Fanatical Fan will unplug the telephone and disconnect the doorbell while a game is on to minimize the chances of any interruptions. His bathroom breaks are carefully calculated races with the clock, and he carries the remote control with him at all times. This fan has a favorite team and gets so involved in watching the action that he literally thinks he is one of the players. Sometimes he believes that he is the coach and will personally instruct the team from his position in front of the screen. God help any player who fails to follow directions, for that player will be chastised with the foulest language imaginable. The Fanatical Fan becomes elated beyond reason when his team wins, and he is the most pitiful, dejected wretch in the universe if his team should lose. He is a rude, belligerent, impossible know-it-all who will practically pass out if a woman even suggests watching a game with him. This one is by far the most ignominious ASF.
In contrast, the final category, comprised only of females, is usually overlooked. Nevertheless, a female is as capable of enjoying sports as a male is. Men will deny it, but women are also perfectly able to comprehend the rules and complexities of professional sports. She can be an enthusiastic and loyal fan and can appreciate the symmetry and grace of a well-executed play as readily as any man. Aside from the obvious physical aspects, there is actually only one difference between a male ASF and a female ASF. A woman has a strong enough grip on reality that she will never fall into one of the three categories reserved for men.
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TWO CHOICES I MADE by Barb Welch
The eyes of the four children showed alarm from the warm house as they easily heard their father yelling at their mother outside where a blustery snowstorm had left a heavy white blanket over the country farm. Shock and fear filled the hearts of the three and four-year-old boys and the seven and nine-year-old girls. The children were apprehensive as the door opened and their mother appeared in tears, visibly shaken by the verbal abuse. Looking at the shattered figure of the one who loved and nurtured her, one child subconsciously made a vow to herself. No one will ever do that to me! Just what that vow meant would soon take form in the proud, determined fighter known as B.J. B.J. was totally oblivious to the decision she had made. However, it would direct the course of her life for the next 36 years.
Soon the children learned that they, too, would be the victims of a tongue-lashing and sometimes a spanking when the standards of a perfect father were not met. The standard of a perfect adult was never lowered to compensate for the fact that children are children. Helpful instruction would have eased the burden, but the inability to clearly communicate was another weak point in the family’s male role model. Gracious compliments rarely adorned the family’s conversation. Only harsh correction and chastisement followed error or substandard performance. Satisfactory performance was never acknowledged, for that was expected. The children learned the ropes of making hay on the farm, playing games and all sports with their father by bits of pointers here and there, but mostly trial and error, with error typically followed by being belittled.
When tears began, the words followed, "Quit your crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Physical spankings were a rarity, for a healthy fear kept the kids safely in line when their Dad was around. Tears left the life of B.J. She was determined never to allow anyone to see she was hurt. She teamed to keep her feeling down as a child and kept them buried as an adult.
The wonderful mystery about children is their undying love for their parents. In spite of the abuse, B.J. loved her Dad with all her heart. He was her Dad, a tower of strength, and she saw him as a perfect, giving, affectionate, fun-loving Dad, who taught her how to play volleyball, softball, basketball, football, ping pong, tennis, all sorts of card games, took her on trips across the country and gave her gifts galore. In fact, his greatest gift was that of just playing with she and her siblings. B.J. wouldn’t trade him for anv other Dad in the whole world.
As an adult, after 16 years in a variety of jobs, B.J. had accumulated a repertoire of remarks about herself that began to haunt her. Although she exhibited a facade of perfection and self control, she was struggling with her realization that her character traits were just like her father’s. Much to her chagrin, she had 'inherited' his tendencies, thus she saw herself as aggressive, judgmental, powerful and perfectionistic. When friends noted how much she looked like her mother, she commented, "Yes. I look like my mother, but act
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like my father. I wish it were the other way around." B.J. often grieved over employer’s remarks like, "you are aggressive, sometimes pleasantly so;" "you like to be in control;" "I’m glad you’re on my side!" One other comment was especially disturbing and stirred resentment within BJ. It was, "he warned me about how you are sometimes."
B.J. found herself having consistent problems with her superiors at work and her unwillingness to submit to them. She soon found herself unemployed for several months, at which time she received a message through a dream. Her dream played back the scene of her as a child at the start of this story and let her hear the subconscious vow she made that "no one would ever do that to her.” As all the statements made about her by her friends and employers were added to this scene, suddenly she saw the light. To protect herself from being hurt like her mother, she had chosen to be powerful, intimidating and perfect just like her father. Her form of protection, or defense mechanism, only caused her to hurt others, especially her husband, who seemed to tarnish her image of perfection. Now that she knew the truth, she felt overwhelmed at how she would ever correct her problem?
BJ. was at a loss of where to start and scared to find out what the correction process might involve. But now that she knew her ways were chosen and not inherited, her next choice must be to correct that. Attending a local church, she found out about a support group called Overcomers Outreach that was patterned after Alcoholics Anonymous. Upon asking about it, the group sounded like exactly what she needed. She went to the first meeting, not sure what to expect. As "The Problem" was read, B.J. was amazed at how it clearly described her life. During the sharing time, she told her story, sensing the compassion from the group. As others shared, she was encouraged to find she was not alone in her struggles. Soon her caring friends and the 12 steps helped her in the painful process of ridding herself of the unwanted character traits she had incorporated as her impenetrable shield from hurt. As she proceeded through the 12-step program, she realized the grace of God was carrying her through the most difficult time in her life.
Step one helped B.J. to see that she was powerless to overcome her need to be perfect and in control of the circumstances surrounding her life. Some of these circumstances portrayed B.J. as someone with problems or weaknesses. It was devastating for her to accept that she was powerless to control how she was perceived by others. However, at this stage in her life, B.J. was ready for change, so accepting this step was just a matter of fact. Step two was not difficult to embrace, for B.J. already had faith in a Power greater than herself. This step acknowledged this Power could restore her to sanity. Step three easily followed the second as she made a decision to turn her will and life over to the care of God as she understood Him. Step four of making a searching and fearless moral inventory of herself was a painful process. At the root of most of her moral bankruptcy was her selfish energetically belittling others when they made mistakes in order to give the impression she never made mistakes. Although before her dream B.J. was totally blind to when she was doing this, she was now sadly aware of how she hurt so many people.
These steps helped her sort through the details of her problem.
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Following through with step five is where her healing truly began. Step five required admitting to God, to herself and to a third party the exact nature of her wrongs. By so doing, something amazing happened. She was miraculously set free from the intimidating, perfect facade and was soon to discover a sensitive, caring individual hidden underneath. The removal of her facade was actually somewhat scary, because she was honestly unsure of who was beneath that mask. Her first revealing experience involved her losing emotional control in from of a Department of Labor counselor and actually crying. The experience was shocking. Upon sharing it with her husband, he helped her see that she was human, just like everyone else, and free to appear weak and imperfect. Although she must consciously avoid falling back into her old ways, the freedom from her anger and animosity has encouraged her to press on in
the new self she uncovered.
Many adults have experienced minor dysfunctions or flaws in their parental role models. This testimony is written to encourage others to know there is hope in changing character traits we learned from childhood in
ignorance.
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BAD MEN
by Mike Hensel
"Hey, Leroy, wait up!" The voice echoed down the red brick, garbage covered alley. Leroy whipped around and scanned the piles of junk behind him. He saw a blurred figure running toward him, dodging plastic bags, puddles and other debris. As the man came closer, Leroy began to recognize features, that twelve inch Afro, those white platform shoes. It was Tyrone Wheaton. Yea, it was Tyrone all right. Leroy could tell because no one else would wear lime corduroy pants with a black leather coat. Tyrone certainly had a style of his own.
"Tyrone, what do you want?" Leroy asked as he lit up a cigarette. "Brother, I know you think you’re bad and everything, but I want to talk to you for a second."
"You always say just a second, just a second, but hours later you’re still yapping." Leroy ran his hand through his Afro.
"It’s not like you’re gonna come, but I’m getting the neighborhood together tonight at the church on 104th street to talk about how we can clean up this neighborhood once and for all."
"Ain’t that the job of the garbage men?" Leroy laughed.
"Get serious, man, I’m not talking about garbage. I’m talking about the drag lords who keep the honest people of this town down and poison our children." Tyrone clinched his fist.
"So, you’re gonna clean this place up?” Leroy puffed a cloud of smoke from his mouth. "Brother, that polyester shirt better be bullet proof. You’re gonna get yourself killed. I ain’t about to put my life on the line for no "good people" or for any kids I don’t even know.”
"Damn it, Leroy, I stuck up for you in school. I helped you get past 8th grade, and what thanks do I get? None. You dropped out in 9th grade to go do God knows what! And now that you’re 21, you don’t have a job or a family. What do you have to say about that?"
Leroy ran his hand through his hair, "Do you think I need some more activator? My curls feel kind of dry."
"I’m going to activator you in about 2 seconds." Tyrone was never good at insults.
"It’s my life. I don’t need a job. This is 1977. There are better ways to make a living. So why don’t you go lead your little revolution and leave me alone?" Leroy took a haul of his cigarette. " ’Cause I got business to attend to."
"Leroy, what happened to you? I’m your friend, your only friend. I wish you were still mine. Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be at the church." Tyrone kicked a loose piece of asphalt and walked away.
Leroy looked down at his shimmering, golden Rolex. It was 5:12. He had to meet Roger in the White Castle on 101st in eighteen minutes. He took one last drag of his cigarette and threw it in a dumpster at the end of the ally as he began to head for 101st.
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As Leroy stepped into the White Castle, he heard a shout come from the back of the restaurant. Turning around, he saw Roger wave. Roger was a skinny white boy who must have been a descendant of a rat because he looked just like one. Leroy really didn’t know much about Roger except that on occasion Leroy delivered cocaine to Roger’s customers for him.
"Hey, Roger, what’s going down? Why did you call this meeting? You know I’m a busy man."
"Cut the crap Leroy. This isn’t a social call The boss has a special job for you." Roger snapped, "How would you like to be one hundred thousand dollars richer?"
"Don’t jive me, man! I ain’t no dummy. What’s the catch?" Leroy yelled over to the cook for a cup of black coffee.
"Relax, brother. You remember Johnny Delano, right?"
"Yea, the hit man for the boss. Why do you ask?"
"You see, Leroy, he came up with a plan to knock off the boss. However, someone found out about his plan, and gave him a lesson in deep sea diving. This leaves a spot open for a new hitman. You’ve always been a loyal carrier and I told Pinky you would take the job." Roger took a bite out of the burger which had been sitting in front of him.
"What if I say no?"
"Then that would make me a liar. I don’t like being a liar. I especially can’t have anyone who makes me a liar in my organization." Roger glared at Leroy.
Leroy’s stomach sank, "Why me? Who do I have to kill?”
Roger smiled, "Because I like you, Leroy, and please don’t use the "K" word. It gives me such a chill. I prefer to say ’lay to rest’."
"Well, who do I have to ’lay to rest’.’
"The man you gotta take care of is named Tyrone Wheaton. He’s some punk whose raising trouble up on 104th. He’s trying to start some kind of revolution, and Pinky don’t like it. This is an easy job. Homes.
Just think, tomorrow you’ll be a rich man. It’s quick in and quick out with one hundred thousand waiting for you when you’re done. Well, Leroy, business calls. Here take this bag. In it is half your money and an unregistered revolver. See you tomorrow, and don't let us down." Roger pulled a paper shopping bag out from under the table, placed it on the table in front of Leroy, and left.
Leroy opened the bag just enough to see bundles of one hundred dollar bills inside with a shiny new black revolver on top. He had never seen so much money in his life. There was even still more to come. All he had to do was shoot Tyrone. His stomach sank again. His hands began to shake as he lit up another cigarette.
I can’t kill Tyrone, he thought. He’s my friend, my only friend, but if 1 don’t kill him then Roger will kill me. "Damn it," He pounded the table. Then he whispered to himself, "Wait just a minute, if I don’t kill Tyrone, then someone else will. If I do it, at least I can make it quick and painless." An eerie smile came to his face, "Besides, it’s a lot of money, and if Tyrone gets everybody all wound up, then Pinky will kill them too." A sinister smile slid across his face. "So I’m doing everyone a favor, yeah a favor. I gotta doit.
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just quick and painless. There’s no other way out." Leroy got up, threw his cigarette in the cup of coffee he hadn’t even touched and headed for the church.
When he arrived at the church, he could hear Tyrone’s voice inside, preaching and stirring everyone up. The church basically looked like a little brown house with a cross on top. Kind of like they have instant potatoes, instant rice, well now there’s instant churches, Leroy thought. He went up the lone step, which glistened with the sparkle of green astro turf, and went inside. Inside was a plain cream-colored room with brown tile floors. There were people sitting in metal fold out chairs and clapping after everything Tyrone said. Most of them were really old or really young. Where were the middle people? Leroy thought When Tyrone noticed Leroy in the doorway, he whispered to his assistant and the assistant began to lead the group in a song.
Tyrone walked to the back and looked at Leroy, "This is a nice surprise. Never in a million years would I have expected to see you here. I thank God for this gift." Those words echoed through Leroy’s hollow feeling body. "What do you got in the bag?"
"Just some groceries." Leroy replied. "Can we talk alone for a minute?" Tyrone lead him to a back storeroom. Leroy closed the big black door behind him'and glanced around. Over in the corner was a silver coffee machine with its red light glowing.
"How about some coffee, friend?" Tyrone asked.
"Sure." Leroy could hardly understand because the singing drowned out everything. Tyrone turned around to the machine. Sensing the perfect opportunity, Leroy pulled the gun from the bag and pointed it at Tyrone. Sweat began to run down his face like a waterfall. Tyrone was so busy making the coffee, and the sound of the chorus was so loud that he did not even notice the gun. This was the perfect time. The sound of the gun would be muffled out.
Leroy pulled back the hammer and aimed for Tyrone's head. Millions of thoughts ran through his head. The money, the friendship, Delano, Roger, the people, his money. Leroy turned his head away.
"The money. The money. The money" his mind kept echoing. The money would make him live like a king. No more ghetto, No more problems, Finally, some respect. But, but, Tyrone is my friend. He’s my friend, my best friend,
I can’t. That’s barbaric! all the while, Tyrone was still busy with the coffee. Tears began to run down Leroy’s face but couldn’t be seen because of all the sweat.
But, I really want a new apartment, a new car, a life time supply of jerry curl. Imagine, all the disco 8-tracks and LP’s I could possibly want will be mine. Mine! Leroy smiled and said, "Tyrone Wheaton, I sentence you to death in the name of Disco 8-tracks." He fired three shots.
The first hit the left side of Tyrone’s head and sent skull shrapnel all over the room. The second hit him in the center of the back and just went "thud", the third went through the hole that the first shot had made and hit the coffee maker causing it to explode. Leroy covered his face with his arm to avoid the boiling coffee spit.
Once the steam had cleared, he looked at the body. Tyrone’s head had
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been blown in half. His body had fallen on the coffee maker and a mixture of boiling coffee and blood with pieces of Tyrone’s brain floating in it like a fishing derby was slowly oozing toward him.
A lone roach scurried across the floor to the feast which awaited him. Leroy turned away in disgust. Once his stomach had settled, he put the gun back in the bag. He opened the big black door, wiped his forehead, and quickly stepped out. The spring hinge slowly closed the door behind him, just in time to stop the oozing wave of blood. He hustled out of the church and headed home after stopping at corner liquor store to pick up a couple 40’s of King Cobra to settle his mind.
The next morning Leroy was awakened by a knock on his door. Opening the door, he saw, sitting in front of his door, a brown paper bag just like the one Roger had given him in the White Castle with a copy of the day’s paper taped to it. Leroy grabbed the paper and opened to page B5. There in the second column, just under the list of the top ten disco hits, he read, "Church leader found slain in downtown church.”
He grinned, "I always knew I’d make the paper." He reached for the bag and looked in. Sure enough, it was the rest of the money.
VICTIM
While walking through the woods on October night I met up with two thugs who wanted to fight.
They asked for my money and pulled out a knife I backed up two steps and then ran for my life.
The chase was on as 1 neared my home.
No one could help me, I lived alone.
So I kept running into my dark backyard.
When I suddenly tripped and hit the ground hard.
That’s when I noticed my shiny, red axe.
And as the first thug came near, he got ten whacks.
And as his friend just stood and stared,
I think he wondered if he would be spared.
But how on earth could I just let him go?
So 1 lopped off his head, nice and slow.
I smiled as I thought about the whole ordeal.
Thinking about how those thugs would make a good meal.
Stephanie Chichester
32
FLIGHT TO THE BEGINNING
by Andy Bidwell
"Any news from Earth?" Todd asked impatiently.
"Yeah, we picked something up on the radio last night when you were asleep. It’s only two weeks old, thanks to the relay satellite. The General says the people are getting restless. If something doesn’t turn up in the next three weeks, we’ll lose our funding.”
Jeff scratched his head. "Do you think we’re gonna find anything?"
"We’re bound to find something interesting way out here. They wouldn’t have spent all that time and money on this project if they didn’t think we’d find anything." Todd’s words were encouraging to Jeff. Todd knew this when Jeff smiled and headed off to his bunk.
As Todd sat down at the controls for his shift, many thoughts raced through his head. He wondered how long it would be before he would be able to see his kid. How much longer would they have to be in space? How long had they been gone in human years? Would this new super-satellite really pick up anything worth making this mission a success? Todd set the drive controls for autopilot and drifted off to sleep in his captain’s chair. As he fell deeper into his sleep, he began to dream about the events before his launch...
* * *
"Where’s Tyler?" Todd asked as he walked in the door.
"He’s out in the sandbox. I told him you would be home soon and to come in and wash up for supper." Lisa placed the plates on the table and gave Tyler another call.
"Tyler, your father’s home. Come on in now.” She had barely finished her sentence when Tyler came bursting through the back door, covered in sand.
Daddy, you’re home," Tyler shouted.
Tyler, wait. You’re covered with sand," Lisa shouted to no avail.
Oh, it’s okay," Todd said as he lifted his son up on his shoulders, "I’ve 8°t some important news to tell both of you." Todd carried Tyler over to the jwk so they could both wash their hands. When they came back to the kitchen, lsa ®lfeady had their dinner dished up on their plates.
Yummy, mac and cheese, my favorite," Todd said with a grin. Lisa Tyler into his chair.
Do you want to say grace tonight, Tyler?" Lisa asked, flu , Dkay," Tyler said with a smile, "God is great, God is good. Now we n Him for our food. By His hand we all are fed. Thank Him for this mPernickel bread." Tyler chuckled as he finished as did Todd and Lisa.
»t T Wtlat s to'5 imPortant news you have to tell us, Todd?" Lisa looked odd curiously. She knew he had been working late at the base the past faise* m°nths' h°Ped this would be good news, like a promotion, or a k. ’ or so,nething. But she knew she was in for a surprise when Todd took rhand in his to tell her.
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"Lisa, I’ve been appointed to captain a mission into deep space. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. The General told me they wouldn’t have chosen any other captain but me. He says I’m the best man for the mission."
"But how can they not tell you how long you’ll be gone? Don’t they know you have a wife and a son who need you at home?" Lisa turned and looked at Tyler eating his macaroni.
"I have no choice, Lisa. I have orders. I’m sure I won’t be gone more than a couple of weeks. It will probably seem like a day." Todd tried to hold back his tears as he finished his dinner. Lisa began sobbing and gave Todd a hug.
"I understand. You have to do what you have to do." This brought a smile to Todd’s face as he hugged Lisa. This would be the last time he’d be able to see his family.
He was to arrive at the base the next morning to begin receiving his orders for his mission. Since the mission was top secret, he would not be able to leave the base with the knowledge.
The next day when he arrived at the base after saying goodbye to his family, he had been taken immediately to the General’s meeting room to begin receiving his orders.
"Captain Overseth, as you are probably aware, we here at NASA believe we are on the brink of a major discovery. As you know, NASA, with the help of many of the world’s top scientists and engineers, has been working on a new satellite with amazing information gathering capabilities. With the help of the largest computers available, we have constructed a new chip that can gather sound waves billions of years old and can enhance them to become audible. However, for this to work, we need to get it as far a distance away from earth and the noise pollution as possible to pick up anything useful. We have chosen you as well as Lieutenant Pipe to pilot the ship Wind Doctor for the mission. As you know, the ship is capable of super-light speeds, but it will take a long time to reach a satisfactory distance to use the satellite."
The General paused a moment and looked out his office window. "Son, you’re going to go where no man has gone before. You’re going to go to the beginning of time.” As the General said this, a group of scientists walked in with charts and figures of their predictions about what the satellite would find.
"With this satellite, we’ll be able to prove the big bang theory," one scientist snapped.	,
"Yes, we’ll be able to hear the initial pop that got this universe going, another scientist barked. As each scientist spouted off his predictions and hopes, Todd began to wonder if he would be able to carry out the mission. He had never bought the "big bang" theory, and a mission to prove it seemed to be a waste of his time. But he had no choice. He was chosen to do a mission, and he could not back down from it.
When the day of the launch came, Todd and Jeff boarded the ship along with a few years worth of food and supplies. While in space, they would be able to sleep in hibernation capsules, engineered by Revlon, for up to a year at a time. They would then have to wake and eat some food for another hibernation year. Todd knew this would be a demanding mission.
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As the Todd and Jeff were secured in their seats, the countdown began from the tower.
"Ten....Nine......Eight....Seven...." The General came on the radio
in the ship with a word of encouragement.
“Good luck, men. We know you can do it." As he said this, the boosters began to rumble and glow.
"Three....Two.....One......Ignition....Lift off!" With this, the ship
began to rumble and shake. In just a brief moment, the two astronauts were being propelled at a tremendous speed up into the atmosphere and into deep space...
* *
*
Suddenly. Todd awoke to the sound of the sensor alarm blaring on the satellite control panel.
"We’ve detected something," Todd yelled, "Jeff, get out here!" Jeff came running out, half asleep.
"What is it?" Jeff asked.
I don’t know yet. We have to wait for the computer to enhance the sound." Todd typed in some commands on the keyboard as the computer began to run.
"Look, it has something. Press play," Jeff said excitedly. Todd pressed the play button on the computers audio readout system and both Todd and Jeff listened in amazement.
"BAAA BBBAAAANNNNGGGGG."
Could this be what the scientists had been waiting for all along? Could this be the evidence that so many scientists had spent their lives trying to prove? odd sat in amazement as Jeff began sending the news back to Earth.
Todd felt empty and betrayed. All his beliefs had been thrown out the door in that sudden moment. But then, the alarm began sounding again. What could it possibly be? What else could be out there? Hadn’t they just heard the ginning of time? Wasn’t this what all the scientists had been predicting? °ud typed the commands into the computer in a state of awe as the computer Processed the sound. Jeff and Todd were both hesitant to press play. What could it possibly be? Todd reached forward and hit the play button. And with t, they heard the most powerful, soothing, loving, voice ever imaginable.
Let there be light."
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ronny killed Crista
ronny killed Crista.
He had his own agenda.
Self promotion and aggrandizement.
Probably not even his own idea.
But some up and coming aide’s.
Still, with a little help from his friends.
He did it.
Weather wise it was the wrong day,
But his speach had just been made,
And so the mission was pushed.
Despite the warnings of two Heros,
At motion thyercol.
And so with the word from Washington,
To go regardless of risk, ronny sent Crista into oblivion.
Within sight of her third grade class.
With six others only slightly less innocent.
And then he had the nerve to pray for the ascension.
Of her mortal sole on national TV.
Pitifully, he probably never quite grasped, it was he who blew her to kingdom come.
S. C. Wise
36
GRAPES
By William Meriwether
And so there he sat, being the great entertainer while I was sweating outside. I try to keep working even when I’m tired, but on that sunny day, my aching body was telling me otherwise. Every part of me was screaming with pain, but none could match the agony in my hands. I looked down at my sore hands. Blisters were forming on my palms, and the veins on my wrist were turning a dark, purple color. Any more rowing would be out of the question. I could only stand there in my raft, with the oar resting gently in my grasp, transfixed by the sight of the boss and his strange lunch guests.
They were sitting in the lawn gazebo, a lattice hexagon covered with ivy. Behind me stood three acres of vintage grape vines, the heart of Mr. Cicci’s operation.
He was slowly becoming one of the most successful wine producers in the country. He had started out with close to nothing, but built upon what little he had. Since he was half Sicilan, some believed that the mob helped put Cidbi in business. He certainly had some suspicious characters visit the vineyard. He was a tough boss, but an incredible businessman. There were few who could command such an enterprise. Even if the mob rumors were true, his wine operations were completely legitimate. The boss didn’t even fudge on the alcohol amount; his grapes were always given long fermentation.
He always had a myriad of versatile workers, toiling away day and night. Some were just ordinary laborers; others were assigned specific tasks. I was his irrigation handler, which meant I had to regulate the amount of water needed for the grape vines. If the grapes were getting too much water, then 1 had to remove any excess filters and drain out the fields. If the vines were short on water, then it was my job to run the hoses in the right direction. I was lucky enough to receive this job because I had been an enviromental technician for a large corporation until they decided that I was expendable. Then I met Cicci, whom I immediately wanted to work for. His dynamic personality swayed me right over to his side.
That year I had been exceptionally busy because we had a drought •hat was really doing a number on the vines. That morning, I was skimming down the river in my little boat, taking some mental notes about the water level. Then the pain struck me. The giant sores on my swollen hands brought fhe day’s work to a hiatus. I looked up from my task and saw three people eating lunch in the vine-covered gazebo that sat in the middle of the open grove.
Mr. Cicci was in there, relaxing in the gazebo with Mrs. Drake and his wormy little sidekick, McArthur. Peering through the gazebo fence, I could see the boss being more than a little friendly with the Drake woman. He had taken her hand in his while old McArthur just sat and laughed, like a little "°y lecing at his father’s nudie magazines. On the table between them stood •he flowers I had just picked for Mr. Cicci only an hour ago. I had found •hem in the thick grove behind the river. I was carrying a pile of compost out
37
to the heap when I saw them. The lovely reds and purples reminded me of his complexion, dark and ruddy. The flowers seemed to be all alone, survivors amidst the large vines which blocked out everything else. I brought them to him, and he just looked at me with a somber look on his face. But he must have enjoyed them, for there they were, sitting on the lunch table in a slender green vase.
With a final desperate push of the oar, I finally got the blasted canoe to shore. I climbed out of the craft and made my way to the gazebo, swatting at the pesky flies that wanted some of my blood for their noon feast.
I stopped to take a look at my beautiful surroundings. The summer was about to end, and I could see the leaves beginning to change color. And how could I forget the warm breeze. It was a little strong, but just enough to be soothing. The wind began to blow through the trees, and I noticed that the leaves were pointing at Cicci, as if to signify his greatness. He seemed in total control of everything. I stumbled across the field, half soaked from my adventures in the river. McArthur was first to notice me, and tapped Cicci on the shoulder. The large man got up from his seat and made his way towards me. The sun shone on him like he was the Messiah, his tight gray t-shirt darkening with sweat. In his hand he held a small black object that reflected the sun, temporaruly blinding me,
"Who is it? Why it’s Mr. Valen. How are you on this favorable day?" His voice was rapsy from all of the laughing he had done with Mrs. Drake. As he spoke, the top of his brow wrinkled in many places, and this made him seem quite wise. With a quick shrug, he put the small object in his pocket.
"I’m fine, sir," I blurted, not wanting to embarasss myself any more. "I just came to see if you were enjoying your flowers. You didn’t say much to me when I gave them to you." He moved his hand thoughtfully up to his head, as if to scratch some kind of hidden knowledge out of it. His round face grew from suspicious to jovial. He became a frozen smile. He was standing in the horizon, and I couldn’t tell what radiated more light, his white smile or the blinding sun.
"Why don’t we have a spot of lunch, Valen? " his slight Italian accent sounded almost musical, an accompaniment to the rhythmic voice of the birds singing from the trees. He motioned towards wily McArthur.
"You don’t mind a guest, do you, Jim?" McArthur nodded "no" and let out a strange little chuckle that made me kind of nervous. Then Cicci looked over at the woman, who obviously had eyes only for him.
"Do you mind, madame?" Mrs. Drake shook her head, never turning away from his lustful gaze. He motioned me inside the small gazebo. I sat down and McArthur poured me a glass of wine. I looked on the table. There were a few sandwiches set down beside the flowers and a large bowl of fruit' I reached over to grab a nectarine from the bowl. The boss took a deep breath and began to speak.
"Mr. Valen is a very friendly man, and one who does his job very quickly." After hearing Cicci’s words Mrs. Drake smiled, patronizing me-She offered me a sandwich, and I decided to have one. I wasn’t very hungry*
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though. Spending so much time in the sun had dulled my appetite. I was trying to nibble slowly, so as to offend the lady. I was determined to keep my dignity, but I was definitely the odd man out. The other lunch guests looked thoughtfully at Cicci, and he certainly held court over them. He ignored their stares. He turned to me instead, which pleased me. I knew I would have to think of something to say. I decided to keep my mind on business.
"The water’s getting up there. We’re finally getting some good rain, so we might be able to take some pipe out of the fields." He looked unimpressed. That was all right, I thought, maybe he was interested in me as a person. Then his face lit up again, like the sun.
"That’s very good, sonny. But enough work for a while. Let’s just enjoy this sunny day. How are the wife and kids?" I was stunned. Cicci had rarely asked about my family. I wasn’t too sure that he even knew I was married. That made me feel real good.
"They’re fine. Jean’s going back to school to recieve her formal science training," I mumbled. "She wants to be a chemical engineer, and save our water. She’s a conservation officer now."
"She is a policewoman?" He looked quite happy, ecstatic but relaxed. I looked at the ground, and spoke softly.
"Sort of. She tags animals and plants trees, mostly.” Mrs. Drake tried to look at me as if she really cared, and McArthur was too busy chewing his fingernails to care. But Cicci himself gave me a huge smile, which filled me with total happiness.
"Feel free to eat as much as you like, Mr. Valen. I don’t like to waste anything." God, he was so practical, so intelligent. Nothing stood in his way. I was at a loss now. What should I do now? I decided that a show °f gratitude would be in order. I moved my arm from the table to offer my warmest thanks for the wonderful lunch. As I was attempting this gesture I wiled to notice the large glass of wine sitting in front of me. My elbow connected with the tip of the glass and it tumbled over. The wine splashed all over Mrs. Drake’s beautiful spring dress. A dark red stain ran up the front of her chest and stomach. Her calm, smiling visage became an ugly grimace of “ter horror, as if she was covered in blood.
"You stupid fool! How could you be so careless? I thought you ■fed more intelligent men than this, Franco," she screamed in a voice that ^otrasted quite a bit from the peaceful scenery outside. "You are a filthy pig!" ne st0°d up and began to rub the stain with her hand, as if she really could reTOove it all. Her dark stare never left my direction. Cicci, his strong face P° *onger jovial, stood up and slapped me in the face, which really didn’t hurt Paralyzed me with fear.
"You stupid peasant! I treat you like a king and you still behave like J®**1- I knew I should have let you pass." His eyes grew wider with every "What do you want from me, anyway?" You’re not the usual suck-up PUn*c- Are you some kind of queer?"
I wanted to shake my head "no", but I was too mortified to move, i. Then he narrowed his eyes to a sinister slant, and looked at ^CAn*,Ur- They exchanged quick glances, and I saw a small smile on Cicci’s
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face.
He turned towards me, "I knew you were scum, but this is ridiculous," be spoke quietly, which seemed even more frightening then his screaming. "I want you out of here now. I’m afraid your clumsiness has cost you your cushy job. Now I hope and pray to our Lord that you remember how unimportant you are. When your children are starving, and your fat wife leaves you, I hope you remember that. Your kind doesn’t last, because you mean nothing. I could hire a dozen people to fill your job."
McArthur was grinning too, but his wide smile was much more obvious than Cicci’s sly smirk. I couldn’t respond. How could anyone in this situation? What could I have said? I was a fool. I was starting to fidget, toying with this and that, looking around. I was acting like a misbehaved child, about to get spanked for my foolishness. I quickly looked at my hands. Worn out. I gave up then and there. I became numb, lolling my dizzy head around like broken toy. Then I happened to look at Cicci’s hand. He had once again removed the silver object from his pocket, and now I could see what it was. It was a .38 Special, ready to fire. Somehow, thank God, I found my nerve. I turned around, crawled out of the gazebo, and started to walk away.
"You had better go, sonny."
He had made that perfectly clear to me. I was heading towards the field to find my truck. I wanted to just drive away, and forget. Then McArthur’s voice screamed from the gazebo.
"Turn around."
I whirled around and saw McArthur leaning from the side window of the gazebo with a shotgun pointed at me. Mr. Cicci stared at me with a grim concentration. He had been so kind to me earlier, but now I knew that was just an act. McArthur gestured for me to come back to the gazebo. I carefully crept back over to them, with a sickening fear running through my body. Cicci’s raspy voice spoke up again, taunting me.
"I could kill you right here, and no one would care. Who would miss you?" He snarled. My head began to throb. "What the hell are we going to do with him, Jimmy?" His face agian lit up, and he became the sun again. It was a far more sinister sun rising over the horizon. He became a child, smiling before he set his mother’s curtains on fire.
McArthur laughed, "Kill him." I wasn’t going to to stay there any longer. I quickly turned and ran for the fields. Thankfully neither of them made a move for me as I bolted for safety. Cicci did, however, make a loud whistling noise which I knew was a signal to alert the workers that something was amiss. Throngs of angry workers came pouring out of the main building' Cicci yelled something I couldn’t quite here and pointed in my direction. The mob of half-crazed wine makers came rushing towards me, obviously intent on ripping me apart. I turned into a dark grove, just a small distance away froin the thick forest that would provide my cover. I ran for quite a while until J found my truck. I yanked the door open and jumped in head first. Then I straightened myself out and started the engine. I shifted into gear and made myself a path through the field. I figured I could keep driving until I hit the
40
main road. Unfortunately, the only clear path was a steep incline. The old track was too heavy. It tried hard to pick up the pace but soon a large group of people found me. I pushed down on the gas pedal with everything I had. I could actually see the fuel gauge sink lower as I floored it. The situation was teetering between terrifying and ridiculous. Some of Cicci’s workers got to the track. They started to hit my ride with large wooden sticks, causing dents in the side. I swerved off the clear path, not caring if I hit anyone, and cut through a small clearing towards the right.
Now I’m sitting in my truck, fumbling with the new toy I have borrowed from my friend. It will clear my head when I go to reason with the man I had once admired so greatly. If he was so much better than me, then he would have to prove it, man-to-man. I’m not going to cower this time. I’m going to relish putting him in the hot seal. It’s true, I am a simple country man, and that’s why I don’t like games being played with me. I load my new gift and wait outside his mansion. He will step outside soon, to take the woman home. Now I’ll sit back, and think about how nice it would be to put a bullet in his brain. Perhaps we can figure out who’s boss.
-Dedicated to all who have been ridiculed.
41
TEMPEST irritation
Shared my dreams with you, you laughed in spite. Unworthy of my tears, sacred as truth.
Not sure why I thought you’d understand. You’re poisoned by society. Intolerance misguided.
Cannot feel you Cannot hear you Cannot taste you
Why do you
consume my psyche?
Apathetic ignorance of my reflection, you never did see.
Aggravated games I play.
Even though you are unaware, you’re still winning.
Emily
Savino
42
SYMPATHETIC FANTASY
by David Alan Scott Jr.
Face-up on the bed with his eyes open, Ben shivered. "Why am I so cold?" he thought to himself. The windows were closed, the door was shut, and he was lying on his bed beneath a blanket with a beautiful woman lying next to him. And he was fully clothed, as fully clothed as she was. His clothes may not have been as thick as hers, but they seemed to cover him up well enough. But he was still cold. What was the deal?
The cold was the last thing Ben needed tonight. He had too many things keeping him up already. Without telling anybody, he had been spending the first half of his spring break writing his memoirs, something that people could read the minute he became a famous writer (Knock on wood).
And so, to kill time, he had sat alone in his room, for hours upon hours, typing on his computer, occasionally coming out to eat and let his parents know he was still alive. But hours soon turned into days as what he began on a whim had become an obsession.
By this night, the bottom drawer of his desk had filled with so much computer paper that it now took two arms to pull the thing open. He was almost finished, but he couldn’t figure out how to sum everything up.
Meanwhile, the woman beside him was stirring. Unable to sleep e«her, she looked to him for some nighttime conversation.
"Ben?" She raised her head up to his chin. "Are you all right? ou ve been a little down since I came over."
Slowly realizing that she had said something to him, he shifted his eyes away from the ceiling. "Um, I’m okay. I’ve just been tired all day."
"Usually when you’re that tired, you go right to sleep." She lifted her **** even m°re. "You’re usually out before I am."
He looked up for a moment. "We usually talk."
She slinked back. "You usually start the conversation."
He raised his head. "Okay, I’ll start." As his head fell back onto the w, he turned towards her. "So, how was your day?"
*«J w ^eU -" Her smile turned her tired voice into something seductive. as Slicing with a friend of ours today."
"Who?"
"Rita."
He raised his left eyebrow. "Why were you talking with her?"
Her smile disappeared. "Why shouldn’t I talk with her?"
"BmJ1 •*1C WSS ®oul£ oul W[,b y°ur boyfriend, wasn’t she?"
‘bdn't know?* ^er sm'*e came back. "You sound like my dad. Besides, she
** Were „„ Was ^eady dating him. It's not like Steve and 1 told everybody
going out."
you should have." He turned his head away from her. gaped at him. "You really do sound like my dad." -"“•iCiTr* your dates like they’re illegal or something. I’m ve to announce them, but if I really cared about someone, I’d
43
let people know about it." He turned back to her. "For instance, you’re the best friend I’ve had since this whole college thing started, and I let people
know that."
She patted hint lightly on the chest. "Do you tell them we sleep in the
same bed whenever I stay the night?"
He smiled a little. "Look, we’ve been friends for almost a year. You know how I feel, and I know how you feel. I trust you. And I hope you trust
me-"
"I do."
"Well, there you go."
"But I shouldn’t have to tell people."
"That’s not the point."
She rolled herself on top of him. "Then what is your point?” "Well..." He was asking himself the same thing. "...I mean, um...I don’t want to look like I’m ashamed about my friends, and, well...it just makes me feel better, you know?" He glanced downward for a few seconds and found himself looking down her shirt. "Um, could you please get off me?"
She rolled back onto her side of the bed. "I’m still glad that I didn’t
tell a lot of people about him anyway."
"I told you Steve was a jerk."
She sighed and moved an inch away from him. "I guess I just had to find that out for myself."
"Well, I didn’t really know for sure either. I just heard a lot of stories about him. He’s very manipulative. You and Rita weren’t the only
ones."
"He’s really mad at you now."
"That’s because I told everybody what he was doing. Now he’s trying
to make me look bad to other people."
"Those other people should know better. I’ll make sure they do. R'u will, too. You know..." She hovered her face above his. "...we both care about
you."
"Cynthia-"
"It’s true." She laid her head back onto one of the pillows. "Guys
like you don't deserve to have others making them look bad."
Maybe, he thought, but that’s what happens anyway. He thought back
to the writings in the bottom drawer of his desk....
Five-and-a-half-feet tall, one hundred pounds, and still nursing bruises I had received from the disorganized social atmosphere of the eigN" grade, 1 entered high school with little enthusiasm. As Grade Nine began, was trying to keep a low profile, minding my own business, getting good grad*5 and what not.
Then one day, my English class started having pre-class discussion5-And there was this one guy—a junkie named Albert-who turned to me and Hey, man. What’s your name?’
"Ben," I said unassumingly.
44
"Hey, Ben, what's up," he said, shaking my handfiercely. "So, Ben, ” he said, "how’s your sex life?"
"What sex life?," l replied humorously. Then pretty much everyone around me started laughing. Laughing with me, I thought. Then Albert went, "You mean you're still a virgin?"
"I suppose," I laughed, "unless something’s going on that I don’t know about!" Then the others laughed some more. Laughing with me, I thought. Then our English teacher entered the room, and as Albert started to turn himself back towards the front of the room, he looked at me and laughed, "What a friggin' dork!" Then the others laughed again. 1 spent the rest of the class looking down at my books. Laughing at me, 1 thought.
After that incident, others started to bother me. People 1 didn’t even know would walk up to me, ask me if 1 was still a virgin, laugh loudly into my ears, and give me a swift, hard punch in the arm before walking away. My efforts to keep a low profile ended up with me feeling pretty low....
"Ben?"
»	"Wha-" His upper body sprang from the mattress.
"Oh." She brought him down gently with her hand. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were sleeping."
"Oh, no, I was just thinking."
"About what?”
"Uh...um...jerks. All those people that are jerks. They really bother
me."
"You mean Steve?"
"Um, okay. He qualifies."
"You know, I am glad you told me he was a jerk."
"You still went out with him, though."
"Yeah, but, I mean, it was good to know that you didn’t like him. That way, I knew that it was better for me to keep you two apart and hang out with only one of you at a time.”
He began to smile. "Did he ever get jealous about my spending time alone with you?"
"Oh, Steve’s never jealous." She also began to smile. "He’s just h°rny all the time."
Ben’s eyes widened. "Thank you for sharing."
"I’m sorry." She kissed him on the cheek. "I’m just saying that I’m 8*ad you told me how you felt. I wouldn’t have wanted to risk you two going P against each other. I don’t like those kinds of confrontations and stuff."
Yeah, Ben thought, me neither. Once again, his mind drifted to the Wril‘ngs in his desk....
" seemed like tenth grade would be an improvement from the previous I r' ^ w'ai older, more cautious, and Albert wasn’t in any of my classes. But ■ J00Ush to think that there would not be successors to his throne.
45
By this time, I had made myself invisible to most of the other students. But one thing I've learned about high school is that the more anonymous you are, the less sympathy you get when you 're down. Guys like Albert knew that all too well.
1 remember one time that year, as English class was ending, this guy Erik walked up to me, put his face right in front of mine, and said, "Hey, Ben. You a virgin ? ’
Remembering my blurt of honesty from the previous year, 1 decided that I wasn't ready to be embarrassed again. Erik had been mouthing off to me several times before, so 1 decided to do the same to him. But my best answer to "You a virgin?" was, smirkingly, "Areyou an idiot?" Unaffected, he turned to his friends and shouted, "Yep, he’s a virgin all right!" They laughed, of course. My smirk disappeared as they walked away. I was beginning to hate English classes.
Though I continued to work hard in all of my classes, the high marks did little to raise my spirits. After all, good grades don't keep the Eriks
away....
tickling each other like mad. And then, without warning, the door opened. Ben lay motionless on top of Cynthia.
"Well," laughed a voice from the other side of the doorway, "you two look pretty cozy."
Ben rolled back onto his side of the bed. "Good night. Dad." Cynthia inched further to her side. "Good night, Ben's dad."
"Good night, kids." He closed the door and walked away, still
laughing.
Lying face-up on the wrinkled sheets of the bed, the two ticklers turned to each other and smiled.
"Your dad sure knows how to kill a moment."
"I think that's the idea."
"Oh, well..." She turned herself towards him. "At least he’s not as annoying as Steve." As she closed her eyes, her voice became softer. "Actually, I don’t think anybody’s as annoying as Steve."
"Well, you never know." Of course, he thought, I probably do
know....
"Hey, Ben."
He sprang for a moment and saw Cynthia sitting up beside him. "Oh, it’s you." He shifted towards her. "What is it?"
"I was just thinking about Steve."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"I don’t. He’s just been..." She cringed for a moment. "He’s just been bothering me lately."
"Bothering you?" Ben shifted himself up even further.
"Oh, it’s nothing big. He just...calls me sometimes. He, like, still asks me out. ’
"And what do you say?"
"I tell him it’s over between us, and that he screwed up." She began to grin. "Then I tell him to bite me."
Ben laughed. "What a jerk."
"A jerk?" Cynthia was laughing, too. "Who’s a jerk?"
"Well, actually, both of you." Ben laughed even harder.
"Oh, so I’m a jerk, am I?" She was getting defensive, but she was still laughing.
“Yeah, but I like it when you’re a jerk."
"Oh yeah?" She hovered over him again. "Do you like it when I do this?" She started wiggling her fingers all over his stomach.
"Hey!" He began shaking about, still laughing, on the bed.
"Oh, come on, you like it!" She continued tickling him.
"Stop!"
"You like it! You do! You know you do!"
"Stop it!"
"You do, you do, you do, you do!"
Within seconds, they were both rolling around and laughing sni
/ entered my junior year not looking forward to much of anything. By this time, I was used to spending my lunch periods in the vacant darkroom of the school library (l never really had anyone to sit with during lunch, and the yearbook photographers all had their photos developed at a drugstore).
But on the first day back at school, I did attempt to rejoin the cafeteria crowd. Yet just as I entered the lunch line, I ran into good ot ’ Albert, who was more hairy and coked-up than ever before. "Hey, Beh-hen," he said, slapping me on the shoulder, "long time no see!" I nodded and turned away from him. "So," he persisted, "you still a virgin ?" I wouldn't even look at him. "You know," he said, leaning against me, "I know some girls who'd be glad to help, l mean, they’d do anything for a nickel!" Some nearby friends of his started laughing. Laughing at me, I thought.
Frustrated, I turned back and shoved Albert onto the floor. "Come °n, Big Al," 1 said, "let’s see what you can do for a nickel!" Then he jumped ® me, and we fought from there. But we were soon broken up, and both of us ^ere suspended.
After that, Albert never really bothered me again. But that was Probably because I spent the rest of my lunch periods back in the darkroom, hiding, alone. 1 knew that if 1 wanted to stop being alone, 1 would have to try something else....
"Are you cold?"
"Huh-"
"You are. You’re shivering.
'Ugh the closet for another blanket *tet and put it over the other one c. She got under the covers with him.
She got out of bed and began looking
Jl^,---------	iui anuuier oianxet. Ah, here we go." She unfolded the
et ant* PU1 d over the other one on the bed. "There. Now, let me back
46
47
"Thanks."
"No problem." It seemed for a moment that they would start to actually doze off. But after a few seconds, Cynthia turned to Ben and put her mouth up to his ear. "You know," she said softly, "it’s really my fault that Steve hates you."
Ben turned. "How’s that?”
"He’s not mad because you told everybody what he was doing. What bothers him is that I'm not all lonely and crying without him. He blames you for that."
"Is he right?"
Cynthia nodded. "Yeah."
Ben smiled, then stopped. "You...did cry, though."
Cynthia looked away for a moment. "Yeah." She moved closer to him. "I just couldn't believe he'd be screwing around. I mean, he was all nice and...well. I’m just glad you were around."
"Yeah." He put his hand on her cheek. "Me too."
"He was such a jerk, and you told me that. But you didn't say anything like 'Well, I told ya so!’ You were just there, for me. I mean, you just held me and let me cry and..." She took a moment to look into his eyes, "...it was...pretty cool, you know?"
"Well..." He was losing himself in her eyes as well. "You’re pretty
cool too, you know?"
"Yeah," she grinned, "I know."
They both laughed as they turned away from each other.
"So," she said, "are you going to Rita’s party tomorrow?"
Ben thought for a moment. "Well..."
"Oh come on, Ben, it’s Spring Break. Let’s have some fun!"
"Well..." Oh come on, Ben, he thought to himself, this is Rita we're talking about, so—duh!-yes, you’re going, so say it already! "Um, okay. I’m going,"
"I’m glad." She began to close her eyes again. "I feel so uncomfortable by myself at parties."
"Yeah," he said, closing his eyes, "me too...."
If I could sum up my senior year in five words, the message would read, "It looked good on paper."
Since the end of my junior year, I was becoming more involved in afterschool activities. I was in the vocal group; I took theater classes; I put together layouts for the yearbook; and I was even chief editor of the literary magazine. As a result, I got to meet a lot of people. But even though we got along well together, it seemed that outside of classes and club meetings, I never really got to hang out with anybody. Another thing I’ve learned about high school is that if you don't know every influential person right from the start, you never will.
An exception to this rule was Rita. She had spent her first three years of high school in another state, so nobody in our town knew her. Despite this,
Rita managed to become very popular at our school. But why? Well, she was pretty nice. And friendly. But wasn't I nice and friendly, too ? h seemed that no matter how I readjusted myself or my image, the other students would always be more accepting of fresh faces.
Anyway, as fate would have it, Rita was in my vocal group. Halfway through the year, we had volunteered to sing a duet at an upcoming chorus concert. After a few rehearsals and a well-received performance, we had become more familiar with each other, if only vaguely.
She was so nice, in fact, that 1 later got invited to one of the many parties that she threw throughout the year. It was the first party I had ever really been invited to, so I felt obligated—and, to a good extent, anxious—to attend.
So I went, and I was having a pretty good time. But towards the end of the night, when a bunch of us were talking in Rita’s living room, I casually used a curse word in one of my sentences, and this guy Marc went nuts. "Whoa, " he shouted, 7 can’t believe you just swore. "
"It happens," l replied humorously.
"Not with you, it doesn 'tl," he said, "You ’re probably the most innocent person in this whole room. You don’t drink, you don't smoke... " I started leaving the room, but not soon enough. "...I’ll even bet you’re still a virgin!"
I said nothing. I didn’t even look at him. I just walked away. What could l have said? Nothing I had said or done before seemed effective enough. Why bother? He had already won.
When that year began, I told myself that if I could get through at least one year of high school without someone assuming how "innocent" I was,
I could graduate with some sense of pride. But all I had now was myself, sitting on the porch of the house of some girl I barely felt I knew, looking back on four years of people like Albert, Erik, and Marc. Four years of no one to sit with during lunch. Three years of "he's nobody ” plus one year of "he's somebody, but he’s too nice." Four years of that word... "virgin."
But why? No one else at school had to put up with that word four years in a row, right? Why me? Was it written on my face? Was it in the way
i acted? How could they judge me so easily ? How could they want to judge me at all?
I was ashamed of being a "virgin," and after all that I had been trough, I felt / had every right to be....
"Oh, Ben, I can’t take it anymore!"
"Oh boy." Ben was getting used to these interruptions. "Here we go
*gain."
"Come on, Ben, I have to tell you. She probably doesn’t want you *U10'V yet, but I have to tell you, 1 have to!"
"Okay, okay, settle down. What is it?"
"Rita’s crazy about you."
"What??” Ben sprang up.
48
49
Shifting herself up to him, Cynthia started to grin like a naughty
child. "She really likes you, Ben."
Ben’s eyes were beach balls compared to hers. "Is that what she told
you?"
"Yeah." Her grin got even bigger.
"But how do you know-?"
"She read the poem you gave me the night I broke up with Steve." "That’s it? One poem?"
"Well, actually, she said you two sang this thing together in high school, and she thought you were really cool. So now that she knows me, she knows you even more. That's what me and Rita were talking about today.
That’s when 1 showed heT the poem "
"Whoa..." Ben’s eyes were just starting to go back to their normal
size. "Wait, which poem was that?"
”1 told you, that one you gave me..." She reached into her right pants pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Unfolding it, she held it up to the light coming in from the window so that Ben could see it.
"Oh yeah, I remember this one." Ben looked at the poem with her, and they read it, simultaneously, to each other....
A neoteric evergreen
A new born novel youth
So recent, modem, immature
Immaculate and true
A righteous, well-intentioned girl
So worthy and correct
She lives a quite reserving life
As good as you d expect
Yet deep inside I see a glow
Of unction, blush, and zeal
A penetrating eagerness
Absorbing, warm, and real
A spirit of pervading need
Emotion, mood, and grain
A sympathetic fantasy
A soul to ease my pain
Transversely crossed in synthesis
An intersecting twine
A dovetail joined embodiment
A braid both hers and mine
Her vestibule of origin
Her portico of source
Yes I’ve been through these hidden doors
And entered without force
But through this breach of purity
50
Though waters not untried She has not lost the innocence That flows from deep inside.
Cynthia turned to him and smiled gently. "You knew that Steve was my first..."
"Yeah." He smiled at her, then glanced back at the paper. "It was something I wrote last year, but I figured it was appropriate."
"It was." She rested her head on his chest. "It made me feel a lot
better."
"That was the idea." He began stroking her hair.
"It made Rita feel better, too." Her voice became more cautious. "Steve was her first, too.” She glanced up at him for a moment. "She felt like crap about it. Even today, before I showed her that poem. She really wants to go out with you."
Ben thought about it for a moment, as if he needed to. "Okay, I’ll talk with her.”
"You’ll ask her out?"
"Something like that."
She smiled. "So, what made you write that poem, anyway?" "Well...there was a party last year. This guy embarrassed me.”
"He called you a virgin, didn’t he?"
Ben nodded.
"That’s usually how they put you down when they can’t find anything else to tease you about."
"Yeah, but you know how I am about that stuff. I had to write something to make myself feel better. That’s what I did when I got home. I just didn’t
Want to believe that whether you’ve done it or not is all that important, you know? ”
She grinned. "You do want to have it, though, don't you?”
He thought for a moment. "Not as much as I used to."
"Really?" She sprang for a moment, then began grinning again as she Went back down. "Too bad. I’m sure she’d give it to ya."
His eyes were beach balls again. "Um, could you please get off me?” As she rolled off him, Ben got out of bed, sat down at his desk, and tUrned on his computer.
"Ben, what are you doing? Come back to bed."
"In a second. I just have to finish something."
"Okay." As Cynthia closed her eyes, Ben began typing another page Put into the bottom drawer of his desk....
a nl When I entered college, I expected just what my parents described: - Ce where everybody goes off and does their own thing. In other words, I ted that not only would I be shut out again, but I would also be obligated shu> myself out.
51
But instead, I met Cynthia, and we became best friends almost immediately. And High School Rita, as fate would have it, is now my college classmate and is also becoming a close friend. In other words, things have really gotten better. But l hadn't realized that until 1 started writing this book.
For years, I had tried to brush off the past, dismissing it in most of my conversations. But when it got down to writing about it, there was no escape. I had to face it, and I ’m glad that I did. Only by looking back in time could I see how much I’ve grown since then.
My high school years may not have been the best years of my life, but they were my years, and no matter how I’ve changed since then or how much I change now, those years are a pan of what I am today. Whether or not I lose my virginity is besides the point. Regretting my past is regretting myself, and I have no room in my life for that kind of misery.
I don't know what all that I'm saying here could mean to anybody else. For all I know, this stuff-my life, my past, my thoughts-could only apply to me. Whatever. I just felt like writing it down.
"There," he said. "All done."
Cynthia lifted herself up. "Good. Now come back to bed."
"Okay."
As she opened the covers for him, Cynthia began to shiver. "Oh, man. I’m glad I got that other blanket. It's really cold in here."
"Really?" Ben smiled. "I haven’t noticed.’
More
The pain doesn’t hurt, because I choose not to feel it,
feel anything.
Girls in womens clothing,
nothing more.
Piss on me, scream and yell, make my life a living hell.
Take me when my guard has fell.
I’ve given all I can, all I am,
nothing more.
The thrashing of a thousand swords,
The pecking of a thousand birds.
Feel the pain, it doesn’t hurt,
-anymore. David Snegosky
52
UNEXPECTED
by Megan Maslar
Characters:
Lisa Monoco, an eighteen-year-old senior
Trevor Serteve, a twenty-one-year-old college junior, cousin of Lisa and Sherry
Sherry Monoco, six-year-old sister of Lisa Peter Monoco, father of Lisa and Sherry Janet Monoco, their mother
(Focus on the Monoco living room. We see Sherry dancing to MTV, which is playing on the television set directly in front of her. The sun glimmers, as it sets for the day, in the middle of the big picture window that is behind the television. The front door is next to the window on the right. Suddenly, the front door is thrust open. Lisa sighs as she steps in the door.)
Lisa: (carrying some books in her arms) Thank goodness for Thanksgiving break. (She slams her books down on the living room table. Sherry stops dancing, turns the TV off, and sits down on the big brown couch.) Sherry: (excited) When’s Trevor coming? Is he here yet?
Lisa: (sitting next to Sherry) No, he’s not here yet. You know, he’s my favorite cousin. We were such great friends when we were younger, sneaking off to parties and stuff. I can’t wait till he gets here either.
(The doorbell rings.)
Sherry: (as she runs toward the door) I’ll get it! (opening the door and
___	_uitu
fouling) Hi, Trev!
(Trevor, wearing a light green sweatshirt, is in a medium-sized
wheelchair with casts on each leg. He pushes the chair over the thick carpeting and stops in front of the couch.)
(shocked) Trevor, what happened to you?
Trevor: (shrugging his shoulders) Oh, nothing to get upset about. Just a little
*** accident. The driver of the other car didn’t turn his blinker on. Wasn’t my
kalt. My legs just got tangled, and by the time I got them out it was too late.
We pauses.) Anyway, that’s behind me. How are you doing? And where are your parents?
Oh, my parents just went to the store to pick up a few things for dinner. They should be back in a half-hour or so.
t^^JSherry hurries from the door toward Trevor.)
“‘“•‘O': (jumping up and down) Wanna hear a joke? Why did the turkey cross road? ’Cause the chicken was on vacation!
(They both roar in laughter. Lisa remains quiet.)
~®a: (nervously) How can you be... and why did you... and how did you get ** step* on the porch?
Oh, I managed.
Hey, wanna play Hide an’ Seek?
53
Lisa: Hush, Sher, I'm sure he’s not into playing your petty little games. Can’t you see he’s in a ...?
Trevor: (shouting threateningly) Don’t even say it, Lisa!
Lisa: Say what? What did I say? (throws her arms out to the side.)
Sherry: (who is now on the side of the wheelchair, grasping the arms) Wanna see my new Barbies? I just got them for my birthday!
Trevor: (cheerfully) Sure, buddy! Let me see them! (He pats her on the back. She runs to the right and goes up the stairs.)
Lisa: So what...what do you do now? About college and stuff like that? You know, now that you can’t play sports or go to...
Trevor: (leaning over a little) What do you mean by "now that you can’t!" Huh, Lisa! The word can’t is not in my vocabulary. What do you think, I can’t go to college anymore or do anything I used to do? You think I sit around on my butt all day?
Lisa: (softly) I’m sorry. You’re right. I just never, you see...um..well, your legs are gonna heal, so you won’t be there forever, right?
Trevor: What is your defmition of forever? Is it a day, a week, a month, ten...?
(Just then, we hear Sherry bouncing down the stairs. In her right arm, she is holding a few Barbies and some accessories.)
Sherry: (dumping them on the floor and picking them up one by one) See. I got the motorhome, this Ken one, teacher Barbie, and...
Lisa: (standing up) Sherry, I would like to talk to him too, you know! Trevor: That’s okay. Sherry. Unless Lisa wants to have a normal conversation, I’ll play with you.
Lisa: (frustrated) All right already! (sighing and crossing her arms) So what classes are you taking? What do you do for fun?
(Lisa sits back down on the couch, while Sherry, a bit shaken, sits on the opposite end.)
Trevor: Well, let’s see. I’m taking calculus, organic chemistry, and environmental perspectives. I need these for my chemical technology degree. And for fun I either go out with my girlfriend, Dana, or else I play basketball with my new friends. So what have you been up to?
Lisa: Yeah, right? Like you can play basketball!
Trevor: They do have wheelchair basketball teams, you know, (pause) I really thought you would still see me as a friend, not just a person in a wheelchair I know you’re just jealous because I’ve gotten this far and you’re still in high school, with no social life and failing...!
Lisa: (furious) I am not jealous!
Trevor: Yeah, well. I know you’re not the same person I went roller-skating with ten years ago! Even your little sister is much nicer to me than you are now! Things are different today, and it seems like you can’t accept the changes! I’m sorry, Lisa, but I can’t stand to stay around here! I’d like to say good-bye to your sister and hello to your parents, but I’ve got to leave now-(Trevor backs his wheelchair out from the couch and through th* doorway. Lisa Jumps up from the couch and holds the door.)
Lisa. Look. I didn't mean anything. Really, I didn’t! We can still be friendS'
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right? You’ll be walking again, right!
Trevor: Maybe, maybe not. Does it really matter? I’m glad my friend who drove me here only lives a few blocks away. Maybe 1'U just have him take me back down to Virginia. No use staying here.
Lisa: Wait, I’ll help you. (She lifts the wheelchair off the ground a little and helps him get down the three steps.)
(Trevor then quickly wheels it across the street. It is about five minutes later. Lisa is lying on the couch, watching television. She sees the front door slowly opening. Peter and Janet enter, loaded down with bags of groceries.) Janet: (surprised) Where’s Trevor? I thought he’d be here by now.
Lisa: Ugh., he..1-left.
Peter: Well that’s good. At least we won’t have to get an extra room ready tonight.
Janet: (teeth clenched and hitting him with her shoulder) Peter, how can you say that? He’s family!
Peter: Gee. Can’t anyone take a joke around here. (He stomps off to the kitchen.)
Janet: Say, Lisa. You didn't say or do anything that may have hurt his feelings, did you?
Lisa: (lifting her head off the couch) You’re blaming me for hurting his feelings? I would never do such a thing.
Janet: For some reason, I’m not so sure about that.
(Janet exits to the kitchen.)
THE END
55
A GOOD TIME HAD BY ALL
Loud Music Thumping in your ears Bloody noses Black eyes Beaten and Bruised All for fun Fun for all
Romping through the pit
Singing along
Screaming along
To your favorite song
Standing on someone's back
Jumping into the crowd
Hope they catch you
That floor is hard
Oh, the thrill it gives
As hundreds of hands throw you
Over a sea of insane fans
Cigarettes lit
And lighters, too
Hands up in the air
People ripping off shoes
And shirts and hats
Throw them on stage
And feel all the rage
All in one place
Turned into a good time
Had by all.
Stephanie Chichester
around
56
KNIGHTS
by Lecia Mould
Characters:	George
Nancy 1st Knight 2nd Knight
(Curtains open to a small room in a mental ward. A patient named George is seen bouncing on and off the bed, pretending that he is fighting a foe. He pretends to be holding a sword in kis hand. He then stabs the imaginary foe lying on the floor.)
George: (twisting his imaginary sword towards the floor) Die, vile person, Die.
(George wipes the pretend blade on his leg and sheaths the sword. He stands proudly in center stage as Nancy walks on from stage right. She is carrying a tray. George sees her and bounds to her side. He goes down on one knee, bows his head and says.)
George: My Lady, I have long awaited your return.
(Nancy ignores George and turns to sit the tray down on a near by stand. George again attempts to get Nancy’s attention by crossing the floor on his knees until he is beside her again.)
George: My Lady, I have long awaited your Tetum.
Nancy: (annoyed) Get up, George.
George; (gets up and says gallantly) Where would you like to go. Fair Maiden?
Nancy: (warning tone) George, cut it out. (goes over to the bed and checks the
chan).
George: (hurt feelings) But, my lady, a knight is always concerned about his ward’s need.(walks over to Nancy and takes her hand) Was is not just yester eve. that you wished to be gone from this lonesome place?
Nancy: (glares at George) You were eavesdropping again, (pulls her hand mvay) George, I want you to stop snooping into my business.
George: But, my lady.....
Nancy: (yells) GEORGE!
George:
(turns and angrily sits down on the bed) Blast it Nancy. I was only looking out for youT welfare, as any good knight would do. y**): (walks to him and put hands on hips) Quit acting like a child. Honestly, I don’t know why you have such a strong fascination with Knights the Round table, (she puls her face closer to George’s) That’s what put you "Ore in the first place, you know.
(gels off bed and walks to window. Looks over one shoulder at Nancy) s not a fascination. I was born to a noble family of knights. (He turns back tfce window) Oh, if only I hadn’t made fun of that old hag. Then I wouldn’t ® this predicament.
(George turns back around and pretends to draw out a sword. He 00115 swiftly and begins to fight again.)
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George: (stabbing into the air almost knocking the tray off) Until help arrives,
1 have to stay in shape. (He stops swinging and holds the sword high in the air.) My father told me that, one day soon. King Arthur will make me a royal
knight.
Nancy: (exasperated) Get real!
George: But I am real. (He goes running to stage right yelling) Fear not fair maiden, I will kill the dragon hiding in yonder comer.(George stabs at the curtains)
Nancy: (sighs) George, this is the 1990's, not Medieval times. You’re a student, not a knight.
George: (walks over and stands before Nancy, glaring into her eyes) I told you, one day I will be a knight, (changes subject) Want to see my muscles? Nancy: (walks over to tray) You don’t have any muscles on that skinny frame of yours.
George: (hurt) Who says?
Nancy: I do.
George: (sarcastically) A weak female like you surely wouldn’t know what a muscle was to begin with. (He stabs at Nancy making her jump).
Nancy: (swats his hand away) Stop it, George.(She starts to defend herself). Listen, I’m a nurse and I’ve seen enough muscles on men to know who has them and who doesn’t.
George: (taunting) So what. The men in here are pathetic creatures not worthy of being called a man. If you saw my brother Eric, you would faint dead away at the sight of his muscles. (He eyes Nancy wickedly) I bet you’ve never been with a real man before.
Nancy: (angry) That’s enough George. I’ve just about lost my patience with you.
George: (sits on bed and pouts) Well, go bug somebody else then. (He suddenly jumps up on the bed) I have dragons to slay.
Nancy: (turns her back on George and picks something up off the tray) Can’t. I’ve been assigned to you for the night.
George: (looks up in suspicion) What are you doing?
Nancy: You’ve been under a lot of stress George and I have just the thing to help you sleep. (She turns back to George with a syringe in her hand. She starts to walk towards him
George gasps when he sees the needle. George dashes around Nancy, grabs the tray and uses it as a shield.)
George: Deceitful woman! Ttying to catch me with my guard down. (He begins to yell.) Guards! Guards! Come aid me. This wicked woman is trying to poison me! (He keeps dogging around Nancy)
Nancy: (gently) Take it easy George. This won’t hurt a bit. (She catches George and struggles with him)
George: (screams at the top of his lungs while hitting Nancy with the tray)
1st Knight: (concerned) Are you all right, my lord?
George: (sighs, then walks over to 1st knight) Yea, friend. Your speedy appearance saved me from a terrible fate. (George puts his hand on 1st Knights shoulders) I am glad you finally found me.
2nd Knight: Twas not easy, my young friend. The old hag was very vexed with you. Your father had to pay her a kings ransom in gold before she would tell us were she had sent you. (He shakes his head) Then she demanded more payment for the spell that would send us here.
George: What was the second payment?
2nd Knight: She asked for ten acres of land and fifty head of cattle.
George: (bows head in shame) Thai was more than my father had. He must have called in many favors to meet her demand. (He looks, worried into 2nd knights eyes) My father must have a just punishment planed for my return. 1st Knight: (laughs) Oh, yea. I’m glad tis you who will face his anger. (He slaps George on the shoulders) Let’s be gone from this strange place. I like it not. (He eyes Nancy with suspicion)
George: (turns to Nancy) Goodby Nancy. Your world is not a healthy place for a knight. (He turns and leaves with the two knights)
Nancy stares at them as they leave. She walks over to the telephone
and dials.
Nancy: (shaky voice) Tom, this is Nancy... Remember our conversation me needing a vacation? Well, I think I’ll take you up on that Why? Lets just say I had my fill of knights
offer, (listens)
LIGHTS FADE OUT
GUARDS!
a	th£
(From stage left two men dressed in Knight's armor run onto
stage. One knight knocks the syringe from Nancy’s hand. The other P1*
George from her grasp and places George behind him.)
1
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59
your face
Your face, your face, show me your face.
All the world is a stage, and we are but nails-For your crucifix.
Your scars, my love, show me your scars.
What a delicate pattern, they must dance across your heart.
As guillotine invites; my regrets, my losses, my bitter memories, my yesterdays, dissolve away-And you smile.
David Snegosky
60
PHONE TAG
by Andrew CampbeD
Characters
John, Jane's boyfriend Jane, John's girlfriend
Jesse, A mutual friend of John and Jane (may be male or female)
Scene: The stage is divided into three rooms. On the left is John’s living room. It contains a couch and a coffee table with a phone on it. In the center is Jesse’s kitchen, which has a table with a phone on it and some chairs. To the right is Jane’s bedroom with a bed and a nightstand. There is a phone on the nightstand. The phones are tin cans with white Christmas tree lights in between. Lights flash when phone is ringing, stay on to indicate connections, and half (alternate) of the lights will flash to indicate person is on hold. Spotlights shine on those actively in conversation.
As curtain rises, the lights focus on John’s room. We witness the end of an argument between John and Jane at John’s apartment.
John: That’s it! I don’t want to talk to you right now!
Jane: Fine, (sarcastically) I guess I’ll see you later. (Before John can respond, Jane slams the door and is gone. He paces for a while, then kicks the coffee table. He hops up and down in agony, then calls Jesse. Lights between John and Jesse’s homes flash, then stay on.)
Jesse: (sitting at the table. He is less than interested in what he is working on and picks up after first ring.) Hello.
John: Hey. (slumps down into his couch) I can’t believe Jane. She just walked out on me.
Jesse: Really? What for?
John: We got into a fight, I can’t remember why. (gets up and paces again, favoring his hurt foot) I just can’t believe she walked out. She doesn’t make sense.
Jesse: She say anything before she left? (At this point, Jane arrives home. She sits on her bed quietly.)
John: Yeah, (even more sarcastically than Jane) ”1 guess I’ll see you later." Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Then she just walked out before I could say anything. (Jane picks up her phone and dials it.)
Jesse: She must be mad. (The lights between Jesse and Jane’s homes flash.) Hold on, I got a call on the other line, (switches lines)
Jesse: Hello, (gets up and stretches, then sits down again)
J*ne: Hi, Jesse, (sounds upset) I just got home. I’m glad I caught you. (lies do*n on her bed)
Jesse: (short pause) I was on the other line with uh.. my Uncle Charlie in lessee. Hold on just a sec, I’ll tell him that I’ll call back, (switches lines, stands up, and looks confused)
"®8Se: John? That was my Uncle Charlie in Tennessee.
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John: (seems at first not to have heard Jesse) Ob. I just can't believe she... Hey! You don’t have an Uncle Charlie! It was her wasn’t it? You tell her I called you first, and I’m talking to you!
Jesse: (rubs his forehead and switches lines) Jane? He sounds really mad. He says he called me first.
Jane: (surprised) Huh? 1 didn't even know you had an Uncle Charlie!
Jesse: (thinking aloud) Whoops. 1 really messed up. Jane, that was really John. Jane: Oh, really! You tell him I'm really mad at him, and he’s a JERK! Jesse: (switches lines) She’s really mad at you, and you’re a jerk, too!
John: Whoa! I’m a jerk now? What makes you think so?
Jesse: Not me! She said it!
John: What the hell are you anyway, our referee? This is our fight and now you go and get in the middle of it. Go back and tell her she's being immature, using you to fight her battles!
Jesse: (flustered) Ya, sure.
Jesse: (switches lines) Jane? J...
Jane: (interrupting) Wait a minute. Are you arguing for him, or what? I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Bye!
Jesse: (listens to dial tone for a second, tries to gel John back and is greeted once again by the dial tone) Why me?
CURTAIN
L
62
THE BASEBALL STORY
by Shelby Cook
My dad always told me that if someone was sad they should think of three things that make them happy; and if they could do that, they should have no reason to be sad.
I think it was the baseball that got me thinking about my dad again. I was taking a walk through the park one afternoon on my lunch break, and I came across a baseball lying in the grass.
When I was young, my life revolved around two things, baseball and my dad. Dad had been a catcher in the minor leagues before he married Mom, but one day in practice he was hit on the knee with a bat and that ended his baseball career.
Mom said that the first word I ever spoke was "Mama," but Dad insisted that it was "Mickey Mantle." Dad never pressured or forced me to play, but I think that his passion for the game just naturally rubbed off on me. Even though I was a girl, I hated dolls and pink lace and stuff like that. I would wait every day for Dad to get home from work so that we could play catch. We played until it got so dark that we kept hining each other with the ball.
Dad and I were inseparable. One summer he took me to the city to see a real ball game. Mickey Mantle was my dad’s hero, and he soon became mine. Every time Mickey came to the plate. Dad and 1 would stand and yell and cheer. We spent the whole ride home talking about Mickey and going over every play of the game.
Back then, there wasn’t a girl’s ball team, but when I was in fourth grade. Dad told me that 1 should try out for the boy’s Little League Team. It was unheard of for a girl to be playing on a boy’s sports team, but I gave it a shot anyway and ended up becoming the Jonestown Tigers’ star pitcher.
On my twelfth birthday, our team won the Western County Division Title, which meant that we would be heading out to the city for the state championships The whole town was excited. Dad went out and bought me a brand new pair of sneakers. We practiced my pitching in the back yard every n>ght. Dad even installed a big light so we could practice after dark. Life just couldn’t get any better.
Two weeks before the game the whole world changed. Dad seemed to age fifty years overnight and got really weak. One morning, it was so bad that he couldn’t even get out of bed. I remember that afternoon when I got home fr°m practice, mom pulled me into the bathroom and told me that dad had *°me sort of rare blood disorder that I didn’t understand and the doctors only f*ve him a few weeks. 1 knew h couldn’t be true. Dad was supposed to live **BV*r. I was so scared.
I couldn’t even face him. People used to tell us that between him and me couldn’t get a word in edgewise, but now I couldn’t think of one thing to y *o him. That evening he called me into his bedroom. I sat down in a chair ** to his bed and started to cry. He pulled me over on the bed next to him
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and explained to me that he wasn't scared of dying and that he wasn’t sad. He told me that every time he began to get sad he would just think about me and mom and the Championship game and it would make him happy.
During the next two weeks, 1 practiced my heart out. Mom even became my catcher so that I could practice every night. We slid Dad’s bed over next to the bedroom window so that he could watch us. Dad ignored the doctor's orders and was determined to make the five hour trip to the game.
We left early in the morning to get to the city. 1 was so nervous before the game that 1 threw up three times. As soon as we took the field, 1 calmed down. Before every pitch, 1 gave a little sign to my dad as to what pitch I was throwing. By the end of the seventh inning we were down by two points, and my pitching was starting to gel sloppy. We got tough in the eighth inning and tied up the score. I had to win that game for my dad; and by the end of the
ninth inning we did it, by one point.
The team presented my dad with our winning ball. In front of all of my teammates, he asked me if I would autograph it for him. As I proudly and carefully etched out my name, I noticed a small tear fall from his eye.
Dad died the next morning. At first 1 started to cry but then I remembered what he had always told me. I went into my room and wrote on a piece of paper three things that made me happy: Mickey Mantle, baseball. Dad. I took the baseball that I had autographed for him and wrapped it up in the piece of paper and laid it next to him on the bed. Game over.
64
WHO IS TO BLAME?
by Jeanne Delafield
Characters:
Andy
Tom
John
Ken
Mrs. Murphy Andrea John’s dad
Scene One
In a classroom are three second grade boys. The children have started to leave the room (exiting stage right) for recess and a little girl finishes writing something on her paper. The boys enter stage left. The stage has a few rows of desks, a teacher’s desk, and some toys.
Andy; Let’s see what Andrea was writing.
Tom: Probably something to the boy she likes.
John: Yeah, I heard her and another girl talking about him this morning. Andy picks up the paper and starts to read it. He smiles as he reads.
Tom: I wanna see it.
John: Me too. Let me read it.
Tom and John both grab it at the same time and end up ripping it.
Andy: (upset) Now look what you two did! I’m not getting in trouble for this. Tom: We can blame it on Ken. He’s always in trouble anyway.
John: What’s it matter who gets blamed for it? We wouldn't even really get •n trouble if we said we did it.
Andy: OK, then you take the blame.
Tom: You idiot. Just blame it on Ken and you’ll save yourself some trouble cause I’m not getting blamed for this.
Andy: (looking cruelly at John) Why are you always such a brown-noser, John?
John: I am not. You two never play fair, so I wouldn’t talk if I were you. T°m: Listen here, brownie, you better say Ken did it.
Murphy: (looks back in the room) Are you boys coming? Hurry up and catch up with the rest of the class.
The boys follow the teacher out. Exit stage right.
'll	Scene Two
l>oys come back (Enter stage right) with a few girls and the teacher. They to their seats.
0whispers to him as they walk to their desks) OK John, remember. Tell rs Murphy that Ken did it.
7>n: Shutup.
^rt*: (noticing her paper) Mrs. Murphy! (crying) Someone ripped my
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paper!
Mrs. Murphy. Clooking concerned) Who did it? Who ripped Andrea's paper? Andy: (raises his hand) Ken did it I saw him.
Mrs. Murphy: John, dad yon see Ken do it?
John: (hesitantly, looking down) Yes, Mrs. Murphy.
Mrs. Murphy: Axe you sure you saw Ken do it?
John: (loots at Ken, who looks pale and sickly) 1 don’t know.
Mrs. Murphy: Did anyone else see who did it?
Tran: (winking at Andy) I saw Ken do it too.
Mrs. Morphy: (looking sadly at Ken) Ken, do you ever stop doing these things? Why can't you just leave people's things alone? You've been absent for a week and a half and the first day hack, you do something like this. I can’t ignore these things just because your sick.
Ken: (Now on the verge of tears) But Mis. Murphy! 1 didn’t do it this time, ft wasn’t me.
Mrs. Murphy: It’s neveT you now Ken, is it? (walking determinedly toward Ken and pulling him out of his seal by the right ear) You know the rules. You get to sit in die from of the class again.
Andy: (to Tom) Look at the baby now.
Scene Three
That night, at John's house, John takes a seat next to his dad. There is a couch and two chairs in which John and his dad are each sitting in one. John’s dad: John, how was your day at school?
John: (looking troubled) OK__Dad, have you ever done something that was
wrong even when you knew it was wrong?
John’s dad: (looking at John) Of course. But I’ve always tried to correct it afterwards. Why? Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?
John: (looking away) No, I was just wondering.
John’s dad: (looks at John and gets up and gives him a hug) Just follow your heart son.
Scene Four
The next day in school, the children are sitting on mats gathered around the teacher. The teacher is in a chair facing the students. The mats are all different colors and form an arc around the front of the teacher.
Mrs. Murphy: (She is looking extremely troubled. Circles under her eyes are evident.) Class, I have something to talk to you about.Ken won’t be jomfflf! us today.
Andrea: Is he sick again?
Mrs, Mnrpfay: No, I’m afraid not. (pauses) He’s been taken up 10 heaven.
Andrea: What does that mean?
John: He’s dead. Cancer does that
Many of the children break out into tears and start talking about Ken.
Mrs. Murphy: (looking guilty) It wasn’t die cancer dial killed him. He waS . by a car crossing the street yesterday, but we should remember all the 6
66
times that we had with Ken and how he was a friend to us all.
Andy: Yeah, I remember all the games we all played during recess. He was a fun guy.
Tara: That really sucks that it had to happen to him.
Jahn: (yelling at them) Like any of you really care! Just yesterday you were all saying how bad he was. Well, look where he is now and this is the time you pick to be nice to him. (choking back tears) And Andy and Tom, you of all people saying how great a friend Ken was after you lied about him yesterday,
which is probably why he was killed! He was probably thinking about that and wasn’t paying attention to the cars.
Andy and Tom look shocked.
Andy: Oh, like you’re any better. I didn’t see you sticking up for him. If you were such a good friend, why didn’t you stand up for him?
Curtain
67
DANCE MY SOUL
Dance, dance my soul Come on children It’s time to go.
The music seems tight
And everythying seems so bright.
So come on dance my soul.
Severe hands That grow my love
Tender touch Of God above
My spirit deep My hand held high
People we Can’t even try.
To stop dancing.
Dance, dance my soul Everyone feeling Like they’re home
The organ plays loud
To make even God himself proud
So spirit dance my soul.
William Meriwether
68
RIVAL VS. DEATH
by Andrea English
My heart was thumping rapidly, and I was running as fast as my feet could go. I was just a few feet from where I had to be. The ball was going to beat me there, so I sped up my pace. I knew that there were two outs, and I needed to be on third base in order to be closer to home plate and tie the score.
Before me was Jaime, the meanest third baseman. This girl thought she knew everything about softball. She was glaring at me with a look that said she wanted to take me out as soon as I got to third.
"Batter up." The ump yelled in his roughest voice. Missy was up to bat, and I could tell that she was nervous just by the way her hands grasped the bat and by the way she swung from side to side, trying to make the pitcher nervous. The pitcher threw the ball and everyone was silent. As the ball glided over home plate, we watched to see what the ump would call the pitch. "Ball one!"
We all started shouting and yelling. It was so exciting. All we had was three more balls to go before Missy could walk to first base, leaving all the bases loaded. The next pitch left the pitcher’s hand, and everyone went silent. Missy swung around, and the ball went sailing at the speed of lightning, clear out to left field. My heart was thudding when the crack of the bat echoed across the field, and I was off running. The left fielder must have not been paying attention because she missed the ball.
I left the base and ran as fast as my feet could carry me. I heard everybody in the crowd yelling, "Slide, Sally, slide. I know you can do it." My heart was trembling because I have never slid before on home plate. All I could do was close my eyes and hope for the best. My right leg bent underneath my rear end as I pointed my left toe towards the home plate. The catcher had the meanest look as she waited for me.
The ump yelled, "Safe!" I couldn’t believe it. I had actually slid to home Plate with my butt Landing on the plate. Everyone in the crowd was screaming koause I had tied the score.
The umpire called, "Batter up.” It was Susie Brown. We all knew she was 80 ^experienced player, but we had to hope for the best. The only thing we could do was to start cheering her on. "Come on, Sue. You can do it!"
Then Sue took her stance. The pitcher threw the balls one right after the ®ber- "Strike one. Strike two. Strike three. You’re out." The inning was over.
was the last inning, and we had to have a great defense in order to keep the score tied!
As we warmed up and got ready, the ump yelled Batter up. b«ter was Jaime. Boy, did she think she was it. Just what we need I th g _ Sbe stood there waiting for the pitch, swinging her bat and smir 1 g 10 myself. What a bitch! We better get her out.	d the
Then Keara threw the ball. It went in a straightlme. ai	ound and
fk put her bat out, and pointed it towards first. The ball hit the g
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came to a complete stop. Keara ran for the ball picked it up, and threw it to first where I was. "Here it comes!"
I could see the ball coming right towards Jaime’s back. There was nothing I could do. It hit her hard, and she went down real fast. Everyone went
silent.
"Air, I need air." She gasped. "Help me. I need air. I can’t breathe."
"Someone get help. She can’t breathe," I yelled. I started to panic because it seemed like it was all my fault. If I had tried to get the ball, this would have never happened. Tears filled my eyes. The ambulance came with a stretcher and oxygen tank. They put the oxygen tank on her, put her in the stretcher, and rushed her to the hospital.
We had to finish out the game. It wasn’t very interesting after what happened to Jaime. But I guess you’re wondering who won the game? Well, they did. They deserved to win after their player got hurt. Jaime was in the hospital for three days before she came out of her coma. Shortly after that she said, "I hope we won." Then the monitor went to a straight line, and she was
gone.
That game will always be a memory that I will never forget.
ECSTASY
She dances in a ring of fire.
Her soul is swept away by the gentle breeze, and she explores me.
Time is never short nor long, only constant.
Our time has begun.
Wanting. Needing. Feeling.
Lust consumes a single being of endless energy, and time... takes her away.
Matt Fogarty
70
MIXED ADVICE
by Catherine Mena
Characters:
MABEL-the owner, cook, and head waitress of the diner
MAN #l-a customer
JEANIE-a waitress
JOHN-a frequent customer
MAN #2-a customer
MAN #3-a customer
Scene:
Lights on. There is a heavy-set black woman talking on a phone behind the counter in a diner. The counter is at stage right and a door to the kitchen behind it. There are booths at stage left, with the entrance to the diner dividing the booths into two sections. The woman looks around to make sure no one is in the diner before continuing to speak.
MABEL:(On the phone) I’m telling you, if the girl loses me one more customer we’re gonna have to go through with it. (Pauses) Your cue? How about I just leave the diner? Will that work? (Pauses) Sure, you can come see how bad she is yourself. (MAN HI enters the diner). I gotta go now. A customer just came in and I want to get to him before she does. I’ll see you
later. (Hangs up the phone and walks over to where MAN HI is sitting at the counter).
MABEL: May I help you, sugar? man hi -. Some coffee would be nice.
MABEL: Coming right up (She takes a cup and a coffee pot from behind the
counter and pours MAN HI a drink). Here you go. Would you like anything else?
MAN H\: No, that’s fine for now.
(MABEL puts the coffee pot back and then goes into the kitchen as 1EANIE comes out of it, carrying a wash rag to clean the counter with). BEANIE: (To MAN HI as she brushes away some crumbs) Everything okay? MAN HI: Everything’s great, doll, especially the view.
^ANIE: (Looking down at her feet and then back up at MAN HI) You know •didn’t figure you to be the type.
MAN #1; What type is that?
*®ANIE: The type that comes in here to flirt with me instead of eating S0lnething
M^N #1: You mean I’m paying for the drink and not the scenery?
^NlE: I prefer to be called company, not scenery.
?|AN Hi: Well, I’m sorry, darling. I only meant it in the kindest possible way.
^NIE Oh, I’m sure. (She refills his cup, while JOHN enters the diner and ^ down at a hnrtth 1
—nri at a booth).	9
*|AN #1; a refill? You mean I have to pay for the conversation. ^^NlE: Refills are on the house.
MAN ffl: I get it. You gave me more to drink so I’d have to stick around longer. Am I right?
JEANIE: Look, it’s been nice talking to you, but I have to get back to work now.
MAN #1: Work? What work? As far as I can see. I’m the only customer you’ve got.
JEANIE: (Looking around the small diner) Well what do you call that man sitting right over yonder in that booth? (She points to JOHN).
MABEL: (Coming out of the kitchen) I call the poor thing half starved. All of your jibber-jabber and not even a menu handed to a customer. But don’t you worry, I’ll take care of him just fine. (She walks to JOHN and hands him a menu).
MAN #1: Sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. Hey, I know. When do you get off work? We could go back to my place and have a long, relaxing conversation or what ever else you might have in mind.
JEANIE: What I have in mind is that you stop talking like that. I have a very jealous boyfriend, and I’m sure there’s nothing he’d like better than to beat you up.
MAN #1: Woah, babe. I don’t mess with no taken property. That’s too risky, and by the sound of it, dangerous to my health.
JEANIE: Well, you better be on your way then.
MAN #1: I guess so. (Finishes his coffee) Well, nice chatting with you, darling. (He leaves the diner).
MABLE: (Coming over to the counter) What were you talking about child? JEANIE: What do you mean?
MABEL : Why, I could hear you all the way over there. (Points to where JOHN is sitting) You ain’t got no boyfriend.
JEANIE: Oh, I know. I was just trying to get rid of that man.
MABEL: (Sarcastically) Oh, that’s good for business.
JEANIE : Well, he was bothering me. And besides, I’ve got my eye on someone. (She nods her head over toward JOHN).
MABEL: Him? Girl, you don’t even know him.
JEANIE: Yes I do. His name is John and he comes here every Tuesday night after work. He's single and can’t cook.
MABEL: Then why isn’t he here every night?
JEANIE: Because he usually goes to his parents’ house for dinner, but Tuesday night is their Bingo night. So, he comes here instead.
MABEL: Girl, you sure done your homework on him. I’ll tell you what. When his food is ready, I’ll let you take it over to him.
JEANIE: Thanks, Mabel. I appreciate it.
MABEL: No problem (She walks into the kitchen). The bell on the front door jingles as MAN ff2 and MAN t>3 enter. MAN #2 heads for the counter white Man ft3 sits down in a booth on the opposite side of the room as JOHN). JEANIE: (To MAN ft2) Hi, may I help you?	n
MAN ff2: Ooh, you sure can sweet thing. How about giving me a little sugar-JEANIE: Would you like that in some coffee, or do you prefer it straight? MAN ffl: (Laughing) That’s a good one, baby. No, I think I’ll just have
72
a bite of you.
JEANIE: I’m not for sale. Now either order something or leave.
MAN #2: Calm down, precious. I’m just having a good time.
JEANIE: Well I’m not. Now what do you want?
MAN ffl: (Looking her up and down) You know what I want.
JEANIE: That’s enough. My boyfriend’s a cop, and I’ll have him arrest you if you keep harassing me.
MAN #2: Hey, don’t get your stockings in a bunch.
JEANIE: Are you going to order someth mg or not?
MAN ffl: Yeah, I am, but not here. 1 think I’ll take myself to that new diner and see if I can’t find me a more pleasant atmosphere. (He exits the diner. MABEL comes out of the kitchen with a plate of steak and potatoes). JEANIE: (To the front door) Good riddance, you creep.
MABEL: Don’t tell me you just scared away another customer.
JEANIE: I'm sorry, Mabel.
MABEL: Jeanie, your job is to bring in and wait on customers not to scare
them away. With that new diner open, we can’t afford to lose any more customers.
JEANIE: I know. Here, let me take that to John. I’m sure I’ll do better with him.
MABEL: All right, I’ll trust you with him since he already ordered. I’ll go take care of that other guy. (Goes over and takes MAN ft3’s order).
JEANIE: (Walks over to JOHN) Here you go! Nice, hot steak and potatoes. Want anything to drink?
JOHN: No thanks. I’ve already got some water.
JEANIE: Okay, then. Just call me if you need anything. (She walks back behind the counter where MABEL is putting some donuts on a plate).
MABEL: So how did it go?
All right, I guess. We didn't really talk much.
Then maybe that’s the key to keepmg customers.
Mabel!
Let me give you some advice. If you want life to treat you well,
®en treat it well. And definitely don’t lie. Lies always come back to haunt you
|F**NIE: That sounds like good advice, Mabel. But I want to live my life my **y Thanks anyway.
ABflL: Well, why don’t you take these over to that customer in the booth s»ee if you can’t get him to open up a little more.
|**!ANIE: I don’t want to talk to that guy. I just want John.
Why are you so hung up him?
I don’t know. He’s gorgeous, for one. And he tips big. I don’t He just seems like a really nice guy.
Well appearances can fool you sometimes. Don’t be so picky. Now ®ver and give that man his donuts. Be social.
**ANIE; Yes Ann Landers. (Walks over to the customer) Here are your
S“ts’sir
JEanie
Mabel
Jeanie
Mabel
Mabel
JEanie
kilo
—• ■*« .
• Thank you very much, miss. Would it be okay if I ate up at the
73
counter? It's kind of drafty over here by the window.
JEANIE: Why snre. That’s okay.
MAN (f3\ (Carrying his plate and a cup of coffee to the counter) This is a really nice place you got here.
JEANIE: Oh, it’s not mine. Mabel’s the owner. She’s.
MABEL: I’m what?
JEANIE: I was gist going to say you're the owner, the head cook, and the friendliest waitress in town.
MABEL: Yeah, sure you were. Look, I hate to do this to you, but I got a really funny feeling in my stomach. Would you mind closing up?
JEANIE: Oh, not at all, Mabel. Go on home. I hope you feel better. MABEL: Thanks, child. Take care, now.
JEANIE: See you tomorrow, Mabel.
MABEL: (Quietly) Probably not. (She leaves the diner).
JEANIE: I hope Mabel feels better soon.
MAN #3: Yeah, she seems like a sweet lady. So how long have you worked here?
JEANIE: Oh, about a year now.
MAN #3: Do you like it?
JEANIE: Yeah, it’s pretty nice. The only time it gets hard is when the customers harass me.
MAN #3: That’s awful. I feel ashamed to be a man.
JEANIE: Oh, I don’t mean you!
MAN #3: I know, I just feel bad for you.
JEANIE: Oh, don’t wony about me. I can take care of myself.
MAN #3: Are you sure of that?
JEANIE: Yeah, pretty sure. Look, 1 hate to be rude, but I have to close up soon.
MAN #3: Do you want me to leave?
JEANIE: I was just letting you know.
MAN #3: Do you have a ride home?
JEANIE: Yes, I have my own car. Thank you, though.
MAN #3: I hate to be like the other customers, but would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?
JEANIE: (She glances over at JOHN). Sorry, but 1 have a boyfriend. He’s a cop. In fact, he’ll be walking through those doors any second now. He usually checks up on me around this time when 1 work at night.
MAN N3: Well, I guess that’s my cue to be leaving now.
JEANIE: Do you warn anymore coffee before you leave?
MAN #3: No thank you. It was nice meeting you, though.
JEANIE: Yeah, you too. Come again.
(MAN #3 exits the diner).
JOHN: (Coming up to the counter) Well, I guess I’d better be going, too. (He hands her some money).
JEANIE: So soon? I was just going to sit down with you and have a chat ot something now that we’re alone.
JOHN: No, I probably should be leaving since your police officer boyfn60^
74
is due in any second.
JEANIE: My what?
JOHN: Your boyfriend. Yeah, so I admit I was eavesdropping when you were talking to those guys. But I’ve had my eye on you for the longest time now. JEANIE: You have?
JOHN: Yeah. I was just never brave enough to tell you. But after seeing all those men hit on you, I felt I just had to tell you.
JEANIE: Oh. Well, I’ve always liked you, too.
JOHN: Oh, that’s too bad.
JEANIE: It is?
JOHN: Yeah. I mean, three strikes and I’m out. Three guys tried to get your attention and didn’t get it, so how could I? Besides, you already have a boyfriend, and he’s even an officer of the law. I wouldn’t want to get caught red-handed stealing his girlfriend.
JEANIE: Stealing me?
JOHN: Yeah. What’s wrong? You’re not really acting like yourself.
JEANIE: Well, actually I don’t have a boyfriend.
JOHN: No, I heard what you said. That’s okay. There’s another girl who’s asked me out a couple of times. She’s a waitress at that new diner. I’ll just go out with her.
JEANIE: But...
JOHN: I’m sorry, Jeanie. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just wanted •o let you know how I felt as a compliment. See you around, sweetheart. (He walks toward the front door).
JEANIE: No, wait! (JOHN turns around and faces JEANIE). I honestly don’t have a boyfriend.
JOHN: Then why did you tell all those guys you did?
JEANIE: I told them that so they’d stop hitting on me. I was saving myself for
you.
JOHN: Do you expect me to believe that?
JEANIE: Yes. It’s true.
JOHN: (Bitterly) I thought you were a nice girl, Jeanie. But first you lie to the other customers, and then you lie to me. I feel sorry for your boyfriend. (He "trns back to the door and opens it. He faces JEANIE one last time as he And just so you know, my parents don’t play bingo.
^•ANIE (Crying out) John! (She puts her head down in her arms and sighs).
I • J°hn. What did I do? Mabel told me not to be so picky and to never lie. should have listened to her and taken her advice. Oh.
(The bells on the front door jingle as MAN #3 returns).
(Looks up) We’re closed.
H3: Oh, I’m sorry. I just figured I’d come back for that cup of coffee offered me.
Oh. Well, I suppose that’s okay, then. After all. I didn t flip the sign °Ver’ so I guess technically we’re still open. (She gets a cup from beneath the
’Gutter and fills it with coffee).
*3: Great. (He walks over to the counter and sits down). So, how did it
75
JEANIE: (Handing him his coffee) What?
MAN #3: Your little ’check-up" visit with your boyfriend.
JEANIE: Oh, that. Well, actually we broke up.
MAN #3: I’m sorry. Are you okay?
JEANIE: Yeah, I guess so. I’m ready for a new boyfriend, though.
MAN #3: Got anyone in particular in mind?
JEANIE: (Perking up) Well, I gave you the coffee 1 offered you earlier, so how about that dinner you offered me earlier?
MAN #3: Sure, that’s fair. But it’s too late to go out tonight. Why don’t we just have pie here tonight and go out tomorrow night instead?
JEANIE: Sounds good. Two slices of lemon meringue pie coming right up. MAN #3: (He takes a box with the symbol for poison on it from under his coat). You know, you’re a really trusting girl.
JEANIE: Why’s that?
MAN #3: You’re planning on going out with me tomorrow night, and you don’t know anything about me, not even my name.
JEANIE: (Putting the plates of pies on the counter) Well, what is your name? MAN #3: Greg.
JEANIE: Greg what? (She starts eating her pie).
MAN #3: Uh, Greg Michaels.
JEANIE: Oh, that’s neat. Mabel’s last name is Michaels. Well, not originally. She married a white guy named Henry Michaels, and her family gave her a lot of flack for it.
MAN #3: Really?
JEANIE: Yeah. Well, not so much because he was white, but more because he had just gotten out of prison. Her parents said he was a con man and that he’d pull her down into his life of crime with him.
MAN #3: Poor Mabel. But she’s a bright woman. I’m sure she can take care of herself.
JEANIE: Herself and me. She always gives me good advice. Like tonight. She told me to be less picky, and so here I am with you.
MAN #3: (Sarcastically) Oh, thanks a lot.
JEANIE: Oh, no. That came out wrong. I’m enjoying being with you.
MAN f/3: Sure. Change your story. Yeah, my old lady gives me advice, too. JEANIE: You’re married?
MAN #3: Uh, no. I meant my mom. She always tells me not to trust anybody, no matter how charming they may be. That way nothing bad can ever happen to me.
JEANIE: So I shouldn’t trust you?
MAN #3: Well, maybe you should listen to Mabel on this one. Or, you coul play it safe and take my old lady’s advice. It’s your call.
JEANIE: I think I’ll listen to Mabel. She seems to have been right all along-I mean, look how happy she is.
MAN #3: Yeah, she’s a great woman.
JEANIE: Oh, really?
MAN #3: (Laughing) Can I have a refill, please?
JEANIE: Sure. I’ll stop picking on you. (She turns around to get the c°ffe
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pot. MAN H3 sprinkles some poison into her pie. JEANIE turns back around with the coffee pot and empties its contents into MAN #3 's cup as he slips the box back under his coat). Here you go.
MAN #3: Thank you. Now why don’t you finish your pie? A pretty girl like you has to eat to keep all that beauty.
JEANIE: You’re a charmer. I’m glad I listened to Mabel.
MAN #3: So am I. I’m glad we both did.
(JEANIE takes a few bites of pie and then falls over dead).
MAN W3\ (Calling out) Sweetheart!
(MABEL enters through the diner's front door)
MABEL: Yes, honey? (Looks at JEANIE lying dead the floor) Oh, Jeanie, I told you not to trust anyone. Guess I need to get myself a new waitress, now.
Maybe I’ll check out the one at that new diner. (She takes MAN #3’s hand). Come on, Henry. Let’s go home.
(Lights out).
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morgaine
Oh yes it’s that time again Mmmm. I can feel it in my blood... Moving in sync with sister moon Grinding out with brother sun.
I want to shed these flesh restraints floating ethereal
You too, come dissolve Glide with me on synergy streams. Let those pixies scatter stardust and
drink moonbeams BUT...
Oh God yes, I desire your soul to devour then too become whole
Jennie Spicer
78
TURN OF HEART
by Megan Maslar
The semi-dark room was deathly quiet, with nothing to be heard except the soft pitter patter of rain lashing against the bedroom window. Then, abruptly, the stereo started. "It’s only sixty-five degrees on this dreary Thursday afternoon. Big change from last year’s great eighty-five degree weather. Forecasters have predicted a chilly record-setting summer," the radio announcer beamed.
Andrea Polliono, who had fallen asleep on the pink and gold lined sheets, reached her left arm over to grab the stereo part of her 24 disc CD/tape player/stereo and shoving her newly-bought mattress onto the floor, Andrea focused her attention on a three year-old picture in a frame on the nightstand. Her mother and father were in the blue background; she was in the middle. Only now, the picture wasn’t complete, she thought as she gazed at it with teary eyes.
Andrea carefully stepped down the short, thin steps of the large circular stairway. So that her mother would notice her, Andrea plopped loudly into one of the shiny end chairs of the four chair table.
Her mother, Cynthia, turned from the stove. "Oh, Andrea, you’re not going to go out to eat with your friends tonight? Are you sure you want to have dinner here, at home with me? I don’t think I’ve seen you eat here since...?"
"No, I wasn’t planning to eat here! Not in this house!" Andrea stood UP and smacked the chair into the table.
"Look, Andrea. What’s going on? You were always the nicest person to me, my friend. Why have you changed so much? What’s happened to you?"
"You know Mom! You know what’s missing."
"I’ve told you at least a thousand times. I had to do it because I was J*® sick and tired of his despicable, womanizing, dru-...!”
"Yeah, well. That’s what you think of my father," Andrea mterjected. "He meant much more to me than you think! Which is why, instead °* waiting until my birthday on Monday to go down to see him, as Dad and I ^ planned, I think I’ll leave, like, now."
Andrea stormed up the stairs, threw some clothes and money into her “Wei bag, and flew out into the rain, slamming the door behind her.
"Andrea, wait! He might not be........" her mother protested, but
'“'drea had already sped away in her red convertible.
The clock on the console of her car read 7:00 P.M. Even though it *®s seven, there was still a lot of bumper to bumper traffic, and the lights ®°ned to take forever to change. It probably would take at least eight and a "•“hours to get there, she guessed. When the family used to go down to "•ynfe Beach for the annual vacation, a plane, which is much faster than a car, *** always the mode of transportation. That was then, though. Those days of J*®®er beaches, frolicking in the water, and sand castles were over, Andrea "Bht as she unfolded the road map and tried to ram a yellow light.
79
"
Actually, she felt somewhat glad to get away from her mother for a while. Indeed, even as Andrea often thought of her as a friend, Cynthia hardly ever spent any time with her, and the time she did spend with her usually involved shopping. All she ever wanted to do was shop at the most expensive stores in Pittsburgh and buy, buy, buy. New this, new that! Sure, she could afford it as a highly-paid superintendent, Andrea thought as she turned onto Route 50. Andrea, however, was not satisfied with just going shopping and doing nothing else.
At least her father, Rob, who had the amount of time to spend, took her fishing or bowling on his rare days off as an anesthesiologist. He was so pleasant and so much fun. The last time she was with him was the most precious, most memorable. It was just last summer. She remembered it quite vividly; the boat in the middle of the lake; the perfect day, with the warm sun beaming its glorious rays off the trees; talks of hopes, dreams, aspirations, the trading of jokes; invitations to come visit. Andrea knew there would never be another moment like that again. He had moved to the area of Myrtle Beach to transfer hospital jobs, and probably also to get away from her mother, she figured.
He’ll definitely be surprised to see me a few days early, she thought as she ripped open a bag of caramel rice cakes. She was glad her father had these two weeks off for vacation.
It was about ten after four when Andrea finally arrived in Myrtle Beach. After about fifteen minutes of searching, she found the mansion-like
house, with its gold accents and towering roof.
"Hello, And who are you?" the woman asked in a soft Southern accent, as she peaked out the door. She was scantily clothed, with her thin
white lace nightgown barely covering her breasts.
"I’m..J’m here to...see my father," Andrea answered hesitantly-
Who the heck was she?
"Father," Andrea joyfully exclaimed, while running to meet him as he wobbled down the stairs.
"What are you doing here? Your birthday’s not until Monday, remember! Get away from me!" he shouted as he pulled away.
"But...but Dad, aren’t you happy to see me now?" Her face was
practically in knots.
"Whatyou say...Wanna play. You sure can do it, ya know,” her dad
babbled as he stumbled across the floor.
It was then that Andrea noticed the many empty cans scattered over the living room table. She picked one up to confirm her suspicions-
She confronted him "Dad, what’s wrong with you? You’ve never
been drunk in your..."
Your mother probably threw you out of the house, right? She always bitching about something! Do this! Do that! Look, come back Monday-I’ve got other things on my mind!’ He wrapped his arms around the woD>7\ "Forget it! I’m not coming back! At all!!!!," she screamed, slamm
the door shut.	.y
Feeling restless and weary, Andrea decided to check into a oea
80
Days Inn for a while before heading home.
She did not leave to go home until Saturday. Arriving home at about 9:00 p.m., Andrea immediately thrust her bag onto the floor and headed toward the wall.
"What is wrong with Dad?" Andrea bawled as she banged her fists against the living room wall. Her mother, running in from the kitchen, quickly grasped her shoulders.
"Andrea, I should tell you something about your father," Cynthia sighed. "He has been drinking for at least three years now, beginning from when you started college. I guess it was from the pressures of his job. He started getting violent. First yelling, then hitting, then...and then there’s that woman he met on our last vacation together. He said right to my face that he liked her better! I just thought it was for the best that I divorce him, even though it was the hardest thing for me to do being Catholic and all."
They were quiet for a few minutes before Andrea spoke up. "Well, how come I never knew about this?"
"He never wanted you to know. He always tried to avoid drinking when you were around. Sometimes, it was hard for him to do that, but... He liked you, Andrea. I guess I tried to hide it too. I knew how much he meant to you. Life isn’t set in stone, you know. I’m really sorry. Believe me. Can I be one of your friends again?"
"I’d like to, thanks," Andrea said as she wiped the tears from her
face.
81
DANCE
Movements of style and grace, appear contorted and twisted, to one who watches.
Movements of style and grace, are comforting and natural, to one who dances.
Movements of style and grace, seem easy and effortless, to one who watches.
Movements of style and grace, took years
and hard work to learn, to one who dances.
But when contortion,
comfort,
ease
and hard work embrace, beauty is bom.
Melanie Renee Atkinson
82
SMILING EYES
By Suzanne Blunt
Fifteen dollars and three cents. That is all I have in my secret hiding spot. Christmas is coming, and I am going down to the general store and buy Mama a special gift. Every year, Mama works long hours to buy the three of us a grand gift. Billy, the youngest, always wants those dumb race tracks. Jimmy, he's the oldest, always asks Mama to buy him a new collection of encyclopedias. He says that someday he’ll have enough money to go to college and become a doctor. He would be a good doctor, too. When any of us are sick, Jimmy is always the compassionate one who takes care of us. 1 always ask Mama for a pretty china doll. I have about fifteen dolls in my collection. Mama thinks I take real good care of them. That’s why she doesn’t mind buying me a new one every year. This year will be the first year that I can finally give Mama a special gift. I usually make her a homemade card and she thinks it is just grand. I can’t wait until she opens my special gift I am getting her.
% Walking to the general store is pretty in the fall. We don’t have a car. My Mama says that feet are made for walking. I think she just says that because she doesn’t want to admit we can’t afford a car. Her Mama and Papa never had much either. They lived way out in the hills of Tennessee. There were six children in her family, and none of them attended school. They had to stay around the farm and, as Grandpapa said, earn their keep. I never quite understood what that meant until I turned ten.
Grandpapa died that winter, and my Mama was not even sad. I asked Jimmy why Mama didn’t get sad when he died. Jimmy explained that Grandpapa used to beat the daylights out of Mama and her sister. He never gave me a reason why, but I just couldn’t believe that Grandpapa was that cruel. He never once raised a hand to any of us. Of course, we really never saw him much anyway. I heard my Mama say at his grave she would never ''ve the hell with her children like the hell he put his children through. She swore it on his grave. Mama has never raised a hand to any of us kids. She said that she saw enough of that when she was a child.
As I approach the general store, I see Mrs. Peabody smiling at me trough the clear glass pane in the window. She always has a funny smile as she pities me. I walk through the oak door entrance and head straight for the j^rfume. Mama had one bottle of purple perfume she fancied the best. She asn t had that perfume for years. Since Daddy died, Mama never goes where.
When we were little, you always knew it was a special occasion when the f°tell of lilacs crept up to your nose. Mama would emerge from the hallway !n a fine outfit that Daddy bought that day for her. Daddy would be right J/hnd her, dressed in his finest suit, clean shaven, and smelling sweet himself, y Would be off to a party that went well into the night. I would lie awake 'gbt, imagining what this glamorous life was like.
83
The butler would announce their arrival to the other party guests, and everyone would turn and admire the beautiful couple. Mama’s eyes would be smiling at Daddy, and they would go off to mingle with the other guests. Dinner would be served at 7:00 p.m. Then the dancing and gambling would begin. The dance floor would be a checkered, gold ballroom floor. Mama and Daddy would be the catch of the night. All eyes would be on the handsome couple as Daddy elegantly strolled her across the floor.
1 usually drifted off before I could finish their night out, but the next morning I would run to their room to be sure they were there.
As I enter the store, Mrs. Peabody has a watchful eye on me. She always watches us Laughton kids. Ever since Billy got caught stealing that candy. Mrs. Peabody thinks Jimmy and I are thieves, too. It really bothers me she does this. I would never steal anything from anybody. As I approach the counter with my fake smile on, Mrs. Peabody looks up and acts sort of surprised. "Oh hi, Mary. I didn’t hear you come in. Are you just looking or are you
buying?"
"I am buying a gift for my Mama." I respond proudly.
"Oh, that is so thoughtful of you. Your Mama works really hard for you
kids," She smiles at me.
I smile at her and pay for my gift. I leave the general store with two dollars and forty eight cents. That perfume diminished my funds more than I expected, but Mama is worth every penny. Maybe this perfume will bring out those beautiful smiling eyes. 1 thought. She hasn’t shown them since Daddy
died.
We lost everything because of Daddy's gambling, so Mama has to go to work cleaning houses. That was the only skill she acquired when she was younger because her Daddy didn’t allow school. She works in some fine houses. It is too bad that Mama had a rough childhood and her adult life hasn't treated her any better. Raising three children alone and working seven days a week sure has taken a toll on Mama. She said at one time she thought she had escaped that poverty she grew up in, but somebody upstairs sure had it in for her when they took Daddy. Daddy treated Mama like a princess; but when he died, he had many gambling debts that Mama didn’t know about. We lost everything. I was too young to understand all this, but now it is starting to
make some sense.
As I stroll down the back road to our little shack, I hear a rustle in the bushes. I clutch my precious gift to my chest and peer closer. Suddenly-Memphis Jones, the town bully, jumps out and looks at me with wondering
eyes.
"Whatcha got in the bag, Mary? " he asks.
”1 ain’t got nothing that pertains to you, Memphis." I exclaim, trying to hide the tremoT in my voice.
"You better give it up. I am the troll on this road and you need to pay d>e
toll," he says with an evil look in his eyes.
"You don’t frighten me! " He actually has me scared out of my wits. He* been known to beat other kids up if they didn’t give him what he wanted. I _ have Jimmy come down and teach you a lesson if you don’t leave me alone-
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A wicked smile comes across his face, and he snatches the bag from my tight clutch, "Oh, pretty perfume. Do you think you smell or something?"
"Give it back to me, Memphis. That is a gift for my Mama and it doesn’t belong to you." Just as I say that, he takes off running. I chase him a mile or so and the pain grows tight in my side. I fall to the ground, screaming. I must have lain there for a long time. I slowly stand on my feet, dirt covering my cloths from where I was lying. My eyes are red and puffy, and my face is streaked from my tears. I turn, feeling defeated and walk home. All my saving. All my happiness. Gone, in a matter of minutes. My two dollars and forty eight cents is all I have left of my happy journey to the general store. Now I will never see Mama’s smiling eyes again.
When I reach my safety. I walk in the front door with my head down, still sobbing from my ordeal. Jimmy is sitting on the old, worn couch, reading his encyclopedia. He looks up and instantly jumps to his feet.
"What in the devil happened to you? " he asks.
"I..he..it was," I start to sob and throw myself into his arms. He squeezes me tightly with his long arms and soothes me with his calm voice. Whenever there is trouble, Jimmy can make me feel so safe. I finally calm down enough to recount the events for Jimmy. His face grows angry, and he takes off out the door. I know when Jimmy gets that certain look in his eyes, there is going to be hell to pay. I run after him, wondering how bad he is going to beat Memphis. I hope really bad. After all, he deserves it.
Jimmy sees Memphis outside the general store. He marches right up to him and punches Memphis in the face. Memphis falls to the ground and looks up at Jimmy with fear in his eyes.
"Where is Mary’s perfume ?” Jimmy asks sternly.
"I swear I don’t have it. I shot it out in the trees."
"If you don’t find it and return it to Mary, may the good Lord be expecting you because I will send you to him quickly." Jimmy threatens him
with his fist up. I’ve seen him mad before,and so has Memphis. He means what he says.
"I swear, Jimmy. I’ll go and find it right now," Memphis promises. He stands on his feet, and Jimmy grabs his arm. They walk back up the road that Memphis and I were on. Memphis walks into the wooded area and begins his search. Jimmy and I stand on the side of the road waiting.
"Do you think he’ll come out with the perfume? " I ask Jimmy.
"If he knows what’s good for him." I’m glad the events took place as they did. Most of the kids Memphis picked on were weak with no one to back them UP- He surely picked on the wrong person today, and he knew it.
Suddenly, Memphis appears; and there is my precious bottle of perfume 'n his hand. A feeling of relief comes over me. As I stand there proudly with my big brother. Memphis walks over to me with his head low.
"I am really sorry I took your perfume. Mary." Memphis hands me my Perfume. I wasn’t sure if he is apologizing because Jimmy is standing there w'di a threatening look or if he actually means it. It doesn t really matter ^cause I have my Mama's gift back. Memphis looks at Jimmy, then at me an kkes off running.
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"I don’t think you’ll have that problem again, Mary," Jimmy says looking at me with his smiling eyes. His eyes show ail of his emotion like Mama's do. We walk back home, and I go straight upstairs and wrap the gift for Mama so nothing else happens to it.
The days pass by, and my anticipation grows every time Mama comes home with those sad eyes. I can’t wait to give her my present of joy. It is finally Christmas eve, and my heart beats loudly when I think of Mama opening my gift. We usually open one small gift on Christmas eve.
’’Well, kids, are you ready to open something?" Mama asks still looking tired from working all day. We all yell, " Yes!" Mama goes to the tree and gives us each one small present. Billy rips into his present and discovers a small race car. We all know what that means. Another race track. Billy gets up and thanks Mama with an excited kiss on the cheek. Jimmy is next. He opens his present carefully, not ripping the wrapping paper at all. He finds a gold plated name pin with the name, DR. JAMES LAUGHTON, engraved on it. Jimmy looks at Mama with a puzzled look in his eyes. Mama looks at Jimmy and smiles. "I’ve been waiting to give you this name pin until 1 had saved enough money for college. You’ll be entering Rathmount University next year." Jimmy gets up from the couch and hugs and kisses Mama. He looks dazed, almost as if he is dreaming. I'll give him until morning, and then it will hit him. Finally, Mama gives me my gift. Inside is a beautiful gold ring. I look at Mama, sort of puzzled.
"That was your Grandmama’s first ring when she was a young girl. She wanted you to have it when you were old enough to care for it, and I think that time is now." Mama smiles at me proudly and I slip the ring on my finger. I hold it close to my heart. The ring means so much to me because my Mama thinks I am old enough and because it belonged to my Grandmother, whom I’ve never met.
"I will take very good care of this, Mama." I kiss her cheek and hug her.
"I know you will." Mama smiles. "Well, let’s have some eggnog and
cookies."
"Wait Mama, I have a gift for you," I proudly present my pretty, wrapped present. Mama looks sort of surprised and opens it. I see tears coming down her face when she sees her perfume. Mama looks up at me; and then I see them, those smiling eyes.
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PURPLE HEART
by Jufe Brown-Tsai
Chad Harmon still has my Mirage Transformer. I’ve thought about telling someone, but Mom always says that I have to start taking care of myself. She says that she’s not always going to be around to do things for me. She says you have to make it in this world alone. I guess that’s why she leaves me by myself a lot.
It’s Sunday night. Mom is in her room. She had a fight with my dad when he brought me back today. She usually goes to sleep early when she fights with my dad. At least she isn’t out again. She didn’t come in until five o’clock in the morning Thursday night. She was really mad when she found me sleeping on the couch with the TV on.
Right now. I’m packing my lunch for tomorrow. Mom used to give me money to buy one, but she stopped. She said the school lunches must not be very good because I ate so much when I got home. I finish making my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and put it in a plastic bag that goes into my Snoopy lunch pail with an apple and a Capri Sun. Then, I get a chair so I can reach the cupboard and get four Ho-Ho’s. I put them on top of my sandwich and close the lid of the box. I put my lunch in the fridge and go to see what’s on TV.
I flip through all the channels five times before I decide that there’s nothing on. There usually isn’t on Sunday nights, just made-for-TV-movies for old people. That’s OK because I just got a Nintendo for my birthday a
month ago. I turn the channel to three and put Hogan’s Alley into the machine
Hogan’s Alley is my favorite game. You use the gun to shoot pictures °f crooks that come out and turn around really fast. I like to pretend the bad Buys are Chad Harmon. You have to be careful, though, because sometimes
•here are pictures of women or police officers. If you shoot them, you lose top game.
Tonight, I don’t do very well. I shoot a lady holding a grocery bag in
first round. "Game Over" flashes on the screen. I hit reset and try again.
J* time, I make it to the third round before I shoot a cop. I get angry.
stially, I make it to at least the ninth round. I’m about to turn off the game
to*1! see if there’s anything on TV yet when I hear a creak in the floor by the
Doorway.
"What are you still doing up? You have school tomorrow!"
"I packed my lunch, and all my homework is done.” Well, half of it is
“tie.
"I don’t care. It’s an hour past your bedtime. You should be asleep.
°w get upstairs. Now!"
"But I’m not tired."
"Now."
"But
"Now."
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I turn off the television and my Nintendo and trudge upstairs.
Brushing my teeth takes about a minute. I spend an extra ten in protest.
The problem is that there’s nothing to do in the bathroom. I go to my room and slam the dooT. I flick the light on and throw myself onto my bed.
Sitting and being angry gets boring, too. I look for something to do.
1 think about doing homework, but I hate school. Mom always says that I’ll wish I could go to school forever when I'm in the real world and working. I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll get lucky like my dad. He didn’t have to go to school as long as his friends did. He joined the Army and went to Vietnam. Too bad you can’t join the Army when you’re eight.
I decide to pack my backpack for tomorrow. I pull out all the stuff I got at my dad’s house. He doesn’t know that I took the "things-from-the-war" out of his desk to bring to show and tell. I’m a little worried that he might find out, but he shouldn’t if I put them back next weekend. He does know about the book. He said I might be too young to understand it, but I could borrow it anyway. I take the book to read in bed.
I picked the book because it had a cool title: The Executioner. It also looked pretty short. I yawn as I open the first page. The beginning is neat. Some Mafia guy kills this other guy’s family and kidnaps his little brother. That’s just the first chapter. I yawn again. I guess it’s time to go to sleep. I put a bookmark in my place and turn out the light.
"Get up! You’re going to be late for the bus and I’m not driving you."
Is that a threat? Tm tired. I don’t feel good. I don’t want to go to school."
"You should have thought about that when you stayed up late last night. Now get up. You’re going to school."
I get out of bed and go downstairs. After a quick bowl of Honey-Nut Cheerios, I’m back upstairs, brushing my teeth and combing my hair.
“HURRY UP!" I hear from the bottom of the stairs. I grab my bag from my room and head for the front door. Then I remember my lunch. I hurry to the kitchen and get it from the fridge. Then I"m out the door and jogging to the comer. I make the bus just in time. Sweating and out of breath, I climb the stairs. Mine is the last stop before the bus goes to the school, and as usual there’s only one seat left. Right next to Chad Harmon.
I look from side to side hoping to see another, but the bus driver starts to pull away from the curb. Frowning, I walk to the back. I sit.
"Hey, Squirt."
"My name is Curt."
"OK, Squirt. Got my money?"
"What for?"
"Today it’s for the privilege of sitting next to me. What’dya think, shithead?”
"I told you, I stopped buying my lunches."	.
"Then you better have something else for me, or you’re going to fi®0 out what pain is when we get off the bus."
I open my Snoopy box, and Chad grabs all four of the Ho-Ho’s. I look around, hoping for help. Of course, I don’t get any. I never do. A
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couple of kids stare back at me. They don’t say anything, but I know they understand how I feel. I wonder why they don’t do anything. Why don’t I do anything? I spend the rest of the ride trying to sit as far away from Chad as possible on the small, green seat while he punches me in the shoulder.
I’m relieved when the bus finally pulls up to the school. I jump out of my paid-for seat and rash into the building. Chad sits on the other side of the classroom, so I won’t have to worry about him until recess.
Class goes quickly. Before I know it, math and reading are over. Lunch will be soon, but now it’s time for show and tell. Four people go before me. I learn all about Craig Tyler’s pet turtle, Sandra Menke’s mom’s mood rock, John McLennon’s radio-controlled car, and Becky Schubert’s porcelain doll. When my turn comes, I take the small, felt-covered box from my backpack and march to the front of the room.
The class is silent as I open the lid to reveal my treasure. Pinned to the felt board inside the box is a ribbon. A small purple heart hangs from the ribbon and shines in the fluorescent lights. Then I tell my story about my dad. About his helicopter crashing when he was flying to rescue some other soldiers. I tell it exactly the way he told it to me. I smile because I have everyone’s attention. Not everyone talks about killing. Everyone claps when I finish. I’m really happy until I feel the wet stickiness of a spitball on my cheek. I look to the back of the room and see Chad grinning.
A few more people have things to show, but none are as exciting as mine. The teacher lets us go to lunch, and I sit with Jenny Meyer. I tell her the two other stories my dad told me about the war. She says her mother was a nurse in Vietnam, but she doesn’t tell stories. I think about showing her the other thing I took from my dad’s desk, but I decide not to. I shouldn’t have even brought it to school. We finish our sandwiches and go outside for recess.
I drop from the monkey bars when I see Chad coming. My stomach tightens up, and I start to wish that he had taken my entire lunch this morning. I know what he wants even before he tells me.
"Hey Squirt. Let me see that medal."
"I already showed it to everyone in show-and-tell. You don’t need to see it again."
"I couldn’t see it too well from the back of the room. C’mon. I’ll give 11 right back."
"Yeah, right. Just like you gave back my transformer."
"I’m gonna give that back to ya. I just keep forgetting to bring it from home. C’mon."
"No."
"Do I have ta beat the crap outta ya, Squirt? ’Cause that’s what’s Sonna happen if ya don’t gimme that medal." I get a hard slap in the side of *he head for emphasis.
"You want my medal? I’ll give you my fucking medal."
^ Jerk the backpack off my shoulders and yank open the zipper. My hand p,unges in past the little felt box and grabs the other thing. Chad’s smug smile of conquest changes to wide-eyed, open-mouthed fear.
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I grin as I raise the .45 to aim at Chad’s forehead. My left hand pulls back the hammer. A quick glance makes sure the safeties are both off. I do just like my dad showed me and slowly pull back on the trigger. I hear Jenny screaming. The hammer falls and there is a resounding . . . Click.
The sky is very bluiry. Everything is quiet. I get up slowly. My head feels funny. There is blood running from my nose. I can feel it. I can taste it, too. A few of my teeth are loose. My face feels swollen. I’m on the playground. There’s a lot of people standing around me in a big circle. I turn around. Chad is there. Mr. Phillips, the playground monitor, is holding him by the shoulders and yelling at him. I wonder why. Then things start to come back. I shake my head. It clears up a little, and I can hear.
"He tried to kill me! That son of a bitch tried to kill me!"
"It didn’t look that way. It looked like you were trying to kill him! Frankly, I’ve had enough of watching you bully your classmates, mister. This time you’re in real trouble."
"But he tried to kill me! Look! He’s got a gun!"
I look down to my hand where Chad is pointing. I do have a gun. Suddenly, everything comes rushing back to me. My head becomes perfectly clear. I know what I did wrong.
I pull the slide back on the Colt to load a bullet into the chamber. 1 bring the gun up and fire three times.
POW! POW! POW!
I stare for a few minutes, stunned by the noise and the sight of so much blood. Chad’s body jerks twice, then lies still. Mr. Phillips rips the pistol from my hand and starts screaming at me. He’s crying. I just smile. Mom will be proud of me. I took care of my own problem. Well, sort of. I still don’t have my Mirage.
THE SCAPEGRACE
Here again, I am misplaced Someone moved my hiding place Defaced, debased and plain disgraced Discovered in the trysting-place Arms entwined in deep embrace With another’s miss, quite well unlaced Rumor flies in fast footrace In quick defense, I am outpaced And hung before the populace For love unchaste, I am effaced An untimely nap, before the wizen-faced I, here now, lie in the resting-place At last, in Peace....
Good-bye, Dear Grace
Tracey DeCicco
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LAURIE AND CHARLIE
by Holly M. Hill
Characters:
Laurie
Charlie
Setting: Laurie is sitting in a Living Room on a small couch. There is a small coffee table in front of her with a phone and a glass on it, nothing else. There is a door to the left of the couch. Laurie is sitting in the middle of the couch and she is talking on the phone.
Laurie: Marie, I’m so scared. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him exactly...Yeah...Well, I’m not sure yet. I’ll just see how it goes. I kinda don’t want to do this...No, I’m not sure. I don’t know. (There's a knock on the door.) Look, he’s here, I gotta go okay?... Yeah, I’ll call you later. (Laurie hangs up the phone.) Come in! (In walks Charlie. Laurie moves over to the right side of the couch and sits with her knees bent protectively up to her chest. She is facing Charlie. Charlie walks over to the couch.)
Charlie: Hey! What’s up? I missed you today. (Charlie smiles and sits on the left hfind side of the couch with both feet on the floor, his upper body and face turned toward Laurie.)
Laurie: Hi. What did you do today?
Charlie: The usual. Went to work. I was bored out of my mind.
Laurie: Oh. (Charlie moves closer to Laurie and puts his right hand on her arm. Laurie gently lifts his hand off of her and puts it down)
Charlie: Hey, what’s wrong?
Laurie: (Takes a deep breath) Charlie, we have to talk. I don’t think we’re working out anymore. I mean, we’re not like we used to be and I think it would be a good idea if we were to see other people for a while.
Charlie: (Looks at Laurie with disbelief) What?
Laurie: Charlie, I want to break up.
Charlie:	What the hell do you mean you want to break up? Did I do
something wrong or something? Because if I did, I’m really sorry.
Laurie: No, I’m just... I don’t know. I mean, we don’t talk like we used to.
don’t even have fun anymore. All we do is sit around.
Charlie: Then we’ll change! We’re talking now, we- (Charlie gets cut off and lr><)ks away and then back again)
Caurie: But you’re not listening Charlie! You’re not listening. Don’t you see? Everything will be all right for a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks, then everything will be right back to the way it is now.
Charlie: We’ll work on it. Do you think that I’ve wasted all this time, two <'*nui years, for things to end now? Hell no! We’ll work on it. We 11 get help, e talk. When things bother you. tell me.
^*Ur*e: (puts her face to her knees, takes a deep breath and then looks up) Do you see what you just said? Wasted all this time? Charlie, what exactly do mean by that?	r
I mean, we’ve spent all this time together and things are going me.
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I’m happy! (Charlie throws up his left hand for emphasis as he says his last words)
Laurie: Well if wasting time makes you happy, then go waste time with your friends. I thought that we had more than just a few good laughs and now I fmd out that you were just wasting time? Charlie! That’s not what I wanted and that’s not what I want now.
Charlie: (gets up and walks around the table and then sits on the couch right next to Laurie and takes her hand) Look Laurie, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean it to sound that way. Laurie, I love you. I want us to work.
Laurie: (Laurie takes her hand away and changes position on the couch so that her right foot is on the floor and her left leg is bent in front of her) Charlie, we've been through this before. I’m not saying that I don’t love you because I do very much. I’m just...I’m not happy anymore.
Charlie: (his voice has risen and he’s looking at Laurie with a hurt expression) Well, what do you want?
Laurie: I don’t know! I want to be happy! (as Laurie talks, she moves her hands for emphasis. She sounds as if she’s going to cry) I want to know that I can talk to someone and actually have them listen to me instead of watching the game on T.V. I want to feel like I’m not wasting my time on something that’s not going to work.
Charlie: (looks down and then up and into Laurie’s eyes. He sounds defeated) That’s really what you want?
Laurie: (almost whispering) That’s really what I want.
Charlie: So, do you think that things could ever work between us?
Laurie: (sighs and sits so that both feet are on the floor.) I don’t know. Maybe. I want to make sure that I want to be with you because I enjoy being with you and not because I’m used to having you there. I’ve been with you so long it’s like I don’t know what it’s like to be without you.
Charlie: I still can’t believe you want to do this. I mean, we’ve done a lot with each other, but if you really think that this is the way it’s gotta be, then maybe it’s for the best. (Charlie stands up and looks at Laurie)
Laurie: (whispering) I think it is.
Charlie: (looks hurt and angry) Fine...Look, you know I’m here if you need me.
Laurie: I know (Charlie opens the door and starts to walk out when Lauru jumps up and moves a step towards the door, her arm reaching for Charlie Charlie! I...I...
Charlie: I know. Me too. Bye. (Charlie walks out the door and c^°seS![ behind him. Laurie puts her hands up to her face and then reaches for phone where she dials a number and puts the phone up to her ear)
Laurie: (pause) Hi Marie?...I did it. (Lights out)
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NO PLACE TO CALL HOME
by Stacey Keck
Alison slowly pushed open the cold glass revolving door of the Brooklyn Memorial Library. The library was a three storey, red brick building which provided warmth on a cold, blustery day. Alison didn’t really want to be there that December day because she hated walking in the snow, but she had to get her research project on homelessness in America done.
As she glanced around outside of the building, she saw dirty old men lying on benches and covered with a single piece of newspaper. Shivering, she pulled her red, flannel coat close to her body. Sadly, homelessness is a problem even here, she thought. She suddenly felt chilled to the bone.
Alison went to get a book on the first floor and nearly tripped over an old woman with a shopping cart full of soggy brown paper bags. The old woman looked frail with her steel gray piled up in a bun on top of her head. Her skin had numerous wrinkles. The weather had done her in. Mumbling an apology, Alison felt her heart turn cold while she stared at her.
The old woman looked in Alison’s eyes and gave her a weak smile. "It’s really cold outside today," she murmured.
Alison said," Yeah, I don’t want to be here today, but I have to get my research project done."
The old woman cocked her head and said, "I just come here to get out of the cold. It’s my refuge."
Feeling uncomfortable, Alison turned away, picked up an encyclopedia, and started thumbing through it. The encyclopedia said that 178,828 people were homeless.
There are probably a lot more than that, Alison thought. The Census Bureau just counts people on the streets.
She finished her notes and ascended the wide, blue-carpeted, spiral stairwell to the second floor where the magazine articles were stored. As she •°oked to her right, she saw magazines on a shelf; and to her left she saw antique books. She was amazed by the vast volumes of old books. All the walls contained paintings from Michelangelo.
A shabby middle-aged man was sleeping in a recliner with a Business ytek magazine sprawled across his face. He wore crusty, brown-stained blue Jeans, a red and green-checkered, tom flannel shirt, and ripped, man-made brown moccasins. The man woke up, looked up, and smiled.
Alison sat in a big, green chair by the window. She looked through a big Picture window and thought about the causes of homelessness; lack of affordable housing, mental illness, substance abuse, unemployment, and family P'Oblems.
Finally, she decided to call it quits and pressed her head on the back ot ** chair, relaxing. As she looked out into the cold one last time, she co see People hurrying inside to escape the below zero weather. Coats, boots, scarv *l°ves, and earmuffs covered all of these people.	. r r
She got up and headed towards the elevator. Alison pus e
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button, and the elevator door slowly shut. She tripped over a little boy huddled in the corner. He was covered with a thinly knit blanket. Alison knelt beside him and placed a Hershey’s candy bar in his little hand. Hopefully, it would help.
As she exited the library, she thought about how inside the library one could take comfort in the heated building. Outside the library lay cans, garbage, black snow slush, homes made from cardboard boxes, and overflowing dumpsters. Dirty water ran through gutters, and kids played in the snow. In contrast, warm lights shone from store windows. All the stores had big displays of children’s toys. Christmas lights were strung from post to post all over town. Blue, red, green, and yellow reflected off the snow as she walked by.
As she headed home, all she could think about was the scent of the freshly baked, piping hot, apple pie awaiting her arrival.
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Joy To The World
by Jennifer Hemly
I guess you’d call Joy unique. She dressed the way she wanted to. Even if the outfit was too short, too bright, or too tacky, she wore it. Actually, the more bizarre, the better. Her hair color depended on the weather, literally--suicide blonde if it was a sunny day and beet red when it rained. She was unpredictable, and that’s what she liked best about herself. Her lanky legs were always covered by striped leggings of some color. Her slim body usually donned a flannel shirt and a skirt or a dress which everyone else thought was too short. When she walked down the street, people looked twice. Who wouldn’t?
It was hard to tell how old she was by looking at her. Her face showed signs of a turbulent life. She was in her mid-twenties, a college student majoring in both art and music. She loved both subjects because the styles were forever changing, much like her hair color.
She had dyed her hair for her mother’s wedding. She colored it a nice shade of dirty blond the night before the wedding and had even put hot rollers in it. Joy walked down the aisle in her beautiful gown, the picture of femininity; that was until people started looking down and noticing her shiny, black pair of combat boots underneath the dress. They were her constant, like magic slippers, that never left her feet. Joy’s new ’daddy’ was not pleased by her blatant display of individuality. She remembered how he had once said to her, "Can’t you dress like a normal person, Joy? I mean, a nice, conservative skirt and jacket wouldn’t kill you once in a while."
She had gagged on her Coors Lite as she heard the conventional words. "John, why do you feel this incredible urge to change me? Do my clothes cause innocent children to cling tightly to their mother’s legs? Yeah, and what about your style? I mean, your clothes are so perfect. You’re a lawyer, for Christ’s sake. What do you know about style?"
She had been very disheartened when her mother decided to marry John after all these years. She knew h was eventually going to happen, but Joy and her mother had made a life together ever since her father had died, and now •his new man had come in to ruin the whole scheme of things.
When the life insurance money had run out, it had become necessary for her mother to get a job to support the two of them. She got up one morning and packed Joy’s lunch and told her she was going to find work. After all, they to eat; and there was no family around to help them out. She had used all her assets to find some kind of employment: the slender legs, the beautiful hlond hair, and the hour glass figure. Although her skills included only cooking ar>d sewing and a little bit of writing, she had found a job at John’s law office, needed a part-time secretary, and she needed employment. So, she was and her typing skills improved, as well as her relationship with John.
, Joy remembered back to her childhood and realized she and her mother rarely spoken about her father after he died. She couldn’t understand why.
^ seven-year-old mentality had led her to believe it was because her mo er
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didn’t miss her daddy. Later, she had John to comfort her for her loss, but who did Joy have to comfort her? She had been very independent and lonely as a child. All she had were her memories of a wonderful man who would live on inside her forever.
She had been told that her mom and dad had been quite the couple. They were very much in love, and occasionally she had been jealous of that. Her parents had married very young. Her father had just gotten home from Vietnam when they tied the knot. Nine months later, Joy was bom. Her father named her Joy because he saw her as a gift from God.
She remembered how he sang her to sleep every night with his velvety voice and old, beat up guitar. She thought he was better than Elvis himself.
Her father had hated the war. She could recall his saying, "We went over there for nothing. What did we accomplish? We came home and caught shit for doing a duty we hated anyway."
Whether it was a stab at the establishment that had sent him to that foreign country or a personal choice, her father began to grow his blonde brushcut. He no longer wanted to be reminded of his tour in Vietnam or his service to the country that sealed his fate. The hair grew long and wild, just like the wind. It was beautiful, and Joy never saw it as strange that he had long hair. In fact, she loved to smell its sweetness and bury her little face in it. It was comfortable, and it suited him. When he napped on the couch, she would creep up next to him and play with the long, blonde strands as if they were a golden treasure. She remembered its being softer than her favorite blanky.
This treasure had been his trademark until the chemotherapy began. Day after day, she had witnessed her father's identity drift away. His trademark became an old, worn Yankee’s hat that never left his shameful head.
He had died on a Tuesday in 1976 when Joy was only six, but she remembered what he had said to her plain as day, "You’re a beautiful little girl, Joy. I love you with all my heart, and I’ll miss you every day that I’m away. Be yourself, honey, and never change for anyone."
As she grew up, she remembered those words, and she became her own person. It was a tribute to her dad as well as a memorial. Now she had to tolerate this new person who stood for nothing but dollar signs. Did John have any personal battles to contend with? The only argument she could see him getting into was with the Chinese laundry for putting too much starch in his shirts. How pathetic, she thought. He was nothing like her father. He was a suck-up to his clients while her father challenged every person who came into opposition with his ideals. He had been a fighter, and he believed in what he was fighting for. She had grown to understand his fight and pursued it with vigor, maybe just for the sake of keeping him alive in her heart.
Joy had kept a few things of her father’s before her mom took everything else to the Salvation Army. One thing she kept was a picture of the three them at Niagara Falls. Her father had never looked happier. It was just before he got sick, she remembered. She also chose to keep her father’s dog tags-She wore them all the time. The last thing Joy took was her father’s gul^j It was old and worn, but she loved it. It had been a part of her father that’s all that mattered to her. She played it every night before bed, just
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he had done for her. She had a nightly ritual that consisted of putting the picture on the pillow and the dog tags next to the picture. Then she would sing and play the guitar for her father. Could he hear her? She played the very same song he’d always played for her as a child:
”.... Some say love, it is a river, that drowns the tender reed. Some say love, it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed. Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless, aching need. I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed ... ”
ROSE COLORED GLASSES
My mother always says
I look at the world through rose-colored glasses.
My head’s in the clouds and I’m always in a whir. I don’t know.
I try to see all that is good in everyone.
I hear voices in my head singing songs of love. Songs like the White Cliffs of Dover.
But I do notice what is evil in the world.
So maybe I don’t look through rose-colored glasses; Just blackberry colored glasses.
Melanie Renee Atkinson
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DITMAS AVENUE
The stench of urine beaches And ugly belches of pollution Surround a vomitorium Of ragged, nasty children Committing heinous acts On homeless cats
A dark faced woman slams
Her empty bottle
Against the curb
From my beloved stoop
Scattering the tiny hoodlums
Laying waste to the bloody, maned fur
They recongregate moments later Screaming obsenities The intestines stick to the front door Stick to the front door and slide down As it bangs drunkenly shut
The place has eroded Ten thousand years in ten Tireless wheels go nowhere On the last Good Humor truck
To venture into
The Old Neighborhood.
Tracey DeCicco
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EASTER VISITS
by Catherine Mena


She watched them marching toward her in their long, dark-colored robes. Their feet were bare, but their heads were covered with tall, pointed hoods. The woman holding her hand said they reminded her of the Ku Klux Klan in the United States. Some of them were carrying candles, casting an eerie glow around themselves, as if each one were a single haunting spirit, floating down a long, dark street at night. The mass moved in silence.
Suddenly, a steady beating of drums echoed between the buildings. Rounding the comer came men, whipping themselves on their backs, and others, beating drums evenly with their bare knuckles. Blood trickled down the silvery sides of the drums and stained the snowy drumheads like spilt wine. The little girl no longer could hold her tremendous fear inside. With a deep breath, six year old Sally let out a bloodcurdling scream.
The thought of the Penitents’ March still haunted Sally a year later when she returned to Spain for her annual Easter visit with her grandmother. She had begged her parents not to make her go, but they insisted. They tried to explain her frightening experience to her, but she didn’t understand. Supposedly, the march she had seen was that of Catholics who wanted to be forgiven for their sins of the previous year.
"So why were they hurting themselves?" Sally asked. "Were they spanking themselves for being bad?” Her parents informed her that some Catholics in Spain believe that by marching every year, they will be assured a spot in heaven. That sounded crazy to Sally. It looked like they were in Hell, not finding their way to Heaven, Sally had thought to herself.
Either way, Sally was sent to visit her grandmother again the next year. They did the usual things first: went for a walk, ate ice cream, went to church, visited a museum, and stopped at a toy store so Sally’s grandmother could buy her a gift. There was only one day left of Sally’s week long visit, and she was happy that her grandmother hadn’t made her go to that horrible march again. Instead, her grandmother agreed to take her to the May Day Parade in Zaragosa.
The sidewalks were filled with people by the time they got there. "Stay close to me, dear," her grandmother said, catching up Sally’s tiny hand in her own wrinkled one. "I’d hate to lose you.”
Already, Sally was frightened. She had never seen so many people all in °ne place before, and she was terrified of getting separated from her SWndmother in the loud, shifting crowd. She remembered the Penitents’ March *°d hoped this parade was nothing like it.
Suddenly, loud sirens wailed, and four police cars came slowly down the Picked street. Two cars pulled over on each side of the street, and eight Policeman got out to herd the spilled crowd back onto the sidewalks. Then, the lour from Sally's side crossed the street. All eight policeman formed a line in ®°nt of an apartment building and put glass canisters on their long rifles.
"Grandma," asked Sally, "what are the big guns and glass things or.
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■
Her grandmother looked at the policemen across the street and then explained, 'The policeman are standing in front of that building to protect a man that lives inside it.*
"Who?"
"The editor of the major newspaper here."
"Why?"
"Because his employees, the people that work for him, will be in the parade. You see, my dear," her grandmother said squeezing her little hand, "this parade is filled with unions or groups of people with a certain job in common. There is a union with the people that work for the editor in it. The union and die editor have been having severe fights about how much they should be paid. The police are over there to protect the editor and have guns to keep the union from revolting or fighting. The glass canisters contain tear gas. When the policemen shoot them, they release something that hurts
people’s eyes and makes diem stop doing bad things."
Sally’s face became pale. "You mean the policemen are going to make
us cry?"
Her grandmother’s answer didn’t
"Not us, Sally, just the bad guys."	fc—-----------------
make Sally feel any better. She was scared and wanted to go home to her
mother and father.
." Her grandmother squatted down next to her and put "You’ll always be safe when you’re with
"Don’t worry, dear.
her arms around her small frame me."
SaDy didn’t start to smile again until the first union paraded by and threw candy to her and to other children on die sidewalk. She picked up as much as she could fit in her little hands and then started eating it.
Three or four more unions passed by, and Sally was still contentedly eating her candy. She was unwrapping a piece of bubble gum when she heard a lot of shouting. Hie union that was upset with the editor had arrived, and they were making a commotion.
Men held big signs that said, "We’re mice working for a lion, and we
shouted bad words in Spanish and shook
:d behind
want our share of cheese." Other men ______________________,
their fists at the apartment building where the editor was. Sally cowere
her grandmother’s long skirl.
Suddenly, the crowd shifted, and Sally got wrenched away from her grandmother. She cried out as she got swept away in an angry mob.
Her grandmother tried to push her way through the shouting
r 1,1 ^— ’* u» «•*»•*•«/!! I’m rnmino!"
people-
"Sally! I’m coming, Sally! Don’t be scared! I’m coming!’
Sally was petrified. Her hair was being pulled, and she was getting stepped on. She wondered if she was going to Hell for not going t° e Penitent’s March.
Just then, a tall man swooped down and caught Sally up in his armS .jJ.s being kidnapped! He roughly shouldered his way through the crowd, y," he kept saying, but Sally cried and hit and kicked him repeatedly he carried her among the angry people. She felt like a tiny ant in *he of an elephant stampede. She kept screaming out for her grandmother, but was afraid that she’d never see her again.
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was
okay
The next thing she knew, Sally felt herself being lowered to the ground. "Grandma," she exclaimed when she saw her grandmother reaching toward her for a hug. "I was so scared! I thought Td never see you again!"
"Don’t worry, dear," her grandmother said between tears and kisses. "You’re safe now."
"Not quite," the man interrupted.
They looked across the street toward where the man was pointing and saw that the policemen had their rifles pointed toward the rioting union, and the tear gas was ready and loaded.
The man pointed down the street. "Why don’t you take the child over there and into the church on die comer. You’ll both be safe and protected there," he said gently.
Sally’s grandmother pressed one of the man’s hands between her own. "Thank you so much for all your help, especially in rescuing Sally and getting heT back to me," she said, her voice thick with emotion. Then she grabbed Sally’s hand and headed toward where the man pointed.
Once inside the church, Sally’s grandmother let out a huge sigh. "Well, I’m glad that’s over. Let’s look around this beautiful church now."
Sally could tell her grandmother was still scared, but she was happy she wasn’t outside anymore. She walked over to a cluster of candles beneath a huge stained glass window. "What’s this for?" she asked, pointing to the candles, some loose change, and some little papers near a box.
Her grandmother walked over to where she was. She lit a candle and bent down to Sally. "This is where people can say prayers for sick people or departed ones, or they can pray for guidance or whatever else they may need. They light a candle if they pray for someone, and sometimes they write their prayers down on little slips of paper, which are then put in die box. The Minister then reads the prayers and tells them to God during a church service.
Then God answers the prayers if He hasn’t already. In short, it’s like making
a wish.”
Sally picked up a little piece of paper and a pencil. She was glad she had learned to print in the first grade. She scribbled on the paper and then put it w the box. She turned toward her grandmother and saw that she was still bolding the lit candle. With a smile on her cute face, Sally leaned forward and
blew out the candle as if it were on a birthday cake. She hoped her wish would c°Me true.
That Sunday, when the minister was going through the prayer box, he found a very puzzling, messily written prayer. It said, "Dear God, please have ^fandma come visit us next Easter!"
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FROG and i
The fuzzy Frog sleeps at night At my bedside on the right.
Sleeping dose it’s a happy scene Me in white and him in green.
When the sun gives light of day Frog and I make merry way.
Over high hills and valleys low He and I will surely go.
Should we reach the wharf and dock Frog and I would like to stop We’d hop a ride to find what be Past the great and shining sea.
Timothy M.
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CASEY
by Lecia Mould
Shelly knew he was there. She could feel the strong energy he gave off radiating towards her on the evening breeze. He always came when she needed him most.
Shelly pictured him leaning casually under the old oak tree, whose ancient bark was grey and deeply grooved from enduring centuries of Mother Nature’s violent storms. The tree’s elephant-thick branches and equally wide, green leaves concealed him from prying eyes. Shelly and that tree had a lot in common. They’d both endured different types of storms whose viciousness left visible scars on tender flesh. She brushed her matted hair away from a bruise already starting to show its ugly color.
Glancing out her broken window frame. Shelly could no longer see the tree that grew under her window. In her mind’s eye, the only view the world had to offer her was a small dump, filled with old tears, broken dreams, and barbed wire.
Fingering the bruise gingerly. Shelly thought back to the first seven years of her marriage to Tom. He had showered her with so much love and attention until his mother died two years ago. That was when he started to change. Tom became angry a lot, and he started to verbally abuse her. Yet nothing in all those years had prepared her for what had transpired that morning.
Shelly had been in the kitchen cooking a special breakfast for Tom when he returned from doing chores. The slamming of the back door foretold her husband’s current temper.
"Well, the world’s ugliest bitch finally got out of bed," Tom had snarled as he stood behind her.
Shelly cringed as he placed his calloused hand on her thin shoulder.
"Do you want scrambled or poached eggs?" she asked, wetting her lips
jYously.
Whipping Shelly around, Tom shouted, "What I WANT to know is why 1 found my good coat in the garbage!"
Shelly whimpered and edged back into the stove, its heat penetrating her Nothing. "It was beyond repair. 1 didn't think ...."
"That’s just it. You never think!" Tom yelled as his body pressed her into ®e raging heat of the oven. Tom stepped back for a second, looking at her 'V|th a cold, empty stare.
Shelly didn't have time to defend herself as Tom’s hand came crashing ®lto her face.
Don’t you ever throw out anything that belongs to me!" Tom yelled as ontinued to beat Shelly. When Tom had finished, he pulled Shelly close softly caressed her hair.
Oh. honey," Tom said when he saw the raw terror in Shelly s eyes, sorry. I don’t know what came over me." He gently caressed her swollen k. "Why don’t you take it easy for the rest of the day / I can finish the kfast dishes for vou. and then I’ll go into town, O.K?
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Shelly nodded as she slowly backed out of the kitchen under Tom’s watchful gaze. Upon reaching the safety of the stairwell. Shelly raced to the sanctuary of her small bedroom. With a heavy sigh, she lay on the bed and pulled her mother’s old, faded quilt over her. It offered little comfort from the
chill deep inside her.
Clutching her small bag for security, Shelly attempted to dislodge the memory. Suddenly, a warm breeze floated in carrying a voice. A wonderful voice. Casey’s voice.
"All you have to do is call,and I will come."
His words intermingled with the cry of a Red-tailed Hawk which echoed across the valley and deep into Shelly’s soul. A tiny, forbidden smile creased her swollen cheeks as she remembered back to when they had first met.
* *
* *
Three years ago. Shelly had wandered into Eagle Canyon and had become hopelessly lost. Despair had followed her as she continued to walk down a twisted path that took her deeper and deeper into the canyon’s maze.
After rounding another endless bend. Shelly came across a wind-tom shack that was nestled between two boulders. From it came the tantalizing smell of food cooking.
As she drew closer, Shelly noticed a lumpy pile of clothing sitting by the door. Suddenly, an old, wrinkled face emerged from the center of the worn material.
"Come closer, child. I won’t hurt you."
Shelly moved cautiously forward and stared into the milky white gaze of a blind man.
"Are you all alone out here?" Shelly asked, looking around at the stone walls that towered over them.
A dry chuckle emitted from the old man, "I’m not alone. You’re here with me."
A withered hand exposed itself from the many folds of material that lay about him.
"You look hungry. Why don’t you sit down and join me for supper? It’s rabbit stew."
Shelly cautiously sat, wondering how he could have cooked the meal, let alone kill a rabbit.
As if by magic, two earthen plates emerged on the ground before her,
piled high with steaming stew.
"What’s your name, child?"
"Shelly May." Shyly, she asked,"What’s yours?"
"Casey."
Smoke from the fire swirled around her; and in its wake, a gentle peace wound its way into her heart.
"Shelly, would you humor this old man and stay with me for a while? It s
been a long time since I’ve had someone to talk to."
"O.K, I guess." Shelly still felt unsure about this, but she liked the
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peaceful feeling that hung around them.
The sun slowly crossed the sky and was beginning its nightward journey as their conversation dwindled to a comfortable silence.
Casey reached for something under the rags he wore. In his hand lay a small, plain brown pouch. "I have very little time left, and I want you to have this gift," Casey said as he put it around her neck.
"Why?" Shelly asked, bewildered.
Casey smiled, "I wanted to give you something special for your kindness."
Casey tilted his head to one side as the wind began to rise. "You must go now."
"But, how do I find my way out?” Shelly asked anxiously, looking at the darkening sky.
"Follow the hawk that flies above the canyon walls . He will lead you home."
A strong wind roared in, kicking up a twister filled with dirt and stones that blinded Shelly. When the wind dissipated. Shelly looked back. The shack and Casey were gone.
Above her. Shelly heard a high pitched scream. Glancing up, she saw a large Red-tailed Hawk circling overhead.
"Casey said you would help me find a way out," Shelly said, "I can only hope he was right."
Shelly followed the Hawk until she reached a crack in the stone wall. Stepping through, Shelly found herself in a meadow just outside of town. Thanking the hawk for his help, Shelly turned and headed home.
* * * * *
The sound of Tom’s truck driving off brought her back to the present. Gathering the small pouch closer, Shelly whispered before falling asleep, "Casey."
A ghostlike mist followed in Casey’s wake as he climbed into Shelly’s bedroom. He stood looking around for a couple of minutes. Then with sure, steady steps, Casey walked to where Shelly lay on the moldy, bug-filled mattress.
Gently, without waking her, Casey gathered her up into his welcoming arms and carried her outside. A gentle wind, filled with the scent of sweet grass, flew up his nostrils and rustled Shelly’s skirt. A thick fog began to swirl around them, and they faded from view.
"Shelly, it’s time," Casey said, putting her down.
"Casey, you’ve changed." Shelly said, very confused."Where are we? And it’s time for what?"
"We are near Eagle Canyon," Casey said softly. "It’s time for you to •eave your husband.”
"I can’t! He’ll hunt me down if I leave him."
A roll of thunder shook the ground. Casey looked into the depths of the night as if looking into the future. He glanced at Shelly.
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"You no longer have to fear your husband. Shelly.”
In the growing gloom, a deep BOOM, BOOM from ancient drums
began to pound in her ears.
"Casey?" Shelly felt him fading away. "What’s going on? Please don’t leave me again!"
"It will be all right, Shelly." A feather caressed her cheeks. "Trust me." The drumming grew louder and louder, as Shelly frantically cried,
"CASEY! CASEY! COME BACK!"
The deep emptiness of night closed in on her.
BOOM, BAM! BAM! Shelly woke drenched in sweat. Tears started to
run down her face. Was all that just a dream? she thought.
BAM! BAM! Suddenly, she realized that someone was pounding on the front door. Gathering a robe around her, she raced down the steps and flung the door open.
Shelly cried out when she saw a tall figure, draped in the evening shadow, standing before her.
The man moved into the light and Shelly saw the grey uniform of a State Trooper.
"Sorry to have frightened you like that, ma'am.”
"It’s O.K. You just startled me."
"Are you Mrs. Tom Doner?”
"Yes."
"My name is Officer McNeal. May I come in?"
"I can’t. My husband forbids me to have visitors when he’s not around. Shelly watched as Officer McNeal nervously played with his hat.
"I’m sorry, ma’am, but your husband was killed two hours ago in a car accident."
Mutely, Shelly leaned against the door frame as Officer McNea continued, "Do you have anyone I could contact, so you won’t be alone
tonight?" , rll ca|| Shelly shook her head,"No, my family lives in another state, i'
them tomorrow. Right now I only want to be alone.”	. _
A light rain began to fall after Officer McNeal left. Shelly waited in
cold night air until he was gone.	.
Wrapping a rain coat about her. Shelly walked off into the rain soa
night.	he had
Two hours later Shelly stood, soaking wet, near the spot were s
first met Casey in Eagle Canyon.	ever
Gathering the small pouch close to her. Shelly yelled into
growing mist, "Casey! Casey! Are you here?"	^ up hut
The sound of giant wings flying over head caused Shelly to o
she saw nothing.
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"Shelly."
Shelly spun around as a tall %ure untangled itself from a fog bank and proceeded to walk towards her.
She began to shake, "Casey, is that you?"
"Yes." Casey stopped in front of her.
"Casey, what happens now?" Shelly’s voice croaked with fear.
"Thai’s up to you. Shelly."
"But I’m all alone. I don’t know how to run the farm or balance a checkbook or anything."
"Shelly, you are a strong woman. Far stronger than even you realize." "But I’m afraid."
"I will always be by your side. The pouch you carry binds us together,"Casey looked into her sad eyes."You could come with me or stay here. It’s up to you."
Shelly looked down. It was the hardest decision she would ever have to
make "Casey, I want to stay here for a while. There’s a lot of things I haven’t done or seen."
Casey smiled,"I was praying you would make that decision."
Giant wings began to spread out from Casey’s back as he transformed
into a large Red Tailed Hawk. Shelly stood with her mouth open as he took flight.
The wind carried Casey’s voice back to her.
"I will always be here to help guide you through life, Shelly. Never again ■will you be alone."
Shelly smiled, turned, and began to walk towards her new life under the watchful gaze of a Red-tailed Hawk.
The Warmth And Tenderness Of Family
Another day at the bar He comes home late A time share father they can barely afford Stumbles through the door Into a TV lit room Glares at The wife
A pet beaten to submission.
Lurches on
The talk show gets louder.
Relief.
He topples through a door
Falling on a broken bed
GET OVER HERE
She whimpers
a puppy expecting the boot
laid-off, drunken high school dropout
delivers the meaningless speach of a prophet
calls her worthless
nothing
a fucking loser no choice she goes to him believes him beats her rapes her fucks her she takes it She has to She loves him Her father
Jufe Brown-Tsai
RED ROCK
by Danielle Draper
"Sayra, ya can’t ride that damn bull! Git back here!" Dave Johnson yelled as he jingled the coins, bolts, and screws in his left pants pocket. He stood behind the corral at the Tenth Annual Rodeo in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Sayra could hear her father but continued to walk away. She was going to ride this bull if it was the last thing she ever did. As she turned to face her father, she saw his disapproving glare.
"Daddy, I can ride this bull!" Sayra boldly stated as she pushed her Stetson on her head. Mr. Johnson turned on his left heel and stormed to the exit gates.
Joey, the gate keeper hollered, "Hey, Mr. Johnson, arent’cha gonna watch Sayra? Ya should be proud of her! We all sure an’ the heck are!" Joey knew immediately that Mr. Johnson was mad at Sayra again. He always tried to tell her that she couldn’t do something because she was a girl. Everyone knew that Sayra would try harder each time. Mr. Johnson continued to storm out the gates.
Sayra looked over and saw her father leave the rodeo. She had hoped that for one time in her life her father would stand beside her and be proud of her. He did her brothers, but not her. Her mother would tell Sayra that he loved her but did not know how to show it. At the tender age of 18, Sayra needed to know that her father loved her.
Sayra grabbed her gear and headed towards the chute where her drawn bull waited for her. At this point, concentrating on two-thousand, three-hundred and sixty pounds of pure muscle and blood erased her father from her mind.
Eight seconds later, Sayra was face down in the dirt, every muscle ripped from her body. She couldn’t let her fellow riders know that her muscles were drenched with pain. She clenched her bottom lip between her teeth and bent to stand.
She stood straight up for a few seconds to catch her breath. Then she picked up her chin, grabbed her Stetson, and headed toward the corral. Ron ran up to her and put his arm around her waist.
"Ya did great, Sayra! The judges gave ya a whoppin’ 86! Yer in second place!" Ron was Sayra’s buddy. He stood beside her through everything. He was excited for Sayra, more than Sayra was excited for herself. She dropped her head down and looked at the ground.
"Damn it, I only placed second!" Sayra kicked the dirt and cursed the ground that she walked on. 'Shit, Ron, what’s daddy gonna say this time?"
Ron grabbed her shoulders and swung her around to face him. "Do ya realize whatcha did t’day Sayra? Ya came in second! Ya did what all young cowboys can only dream of doing, and ya have tomorrow to ride the final bull."
Sayra turned away from Ron. She walked to her pick-up and threw her gear in the back of the truck. When she turned to get in her truck, she saw Ron kick the dirt in irritation. Sayra felt bad for Ron. She got in the truck and
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headed for home.
She pulled in the driveway where she sat for a couple of minutes. She could hear her father talking to her brothers. When she stepped out of the truck, she was instantly reminded of the pain that her body was in. As she headed to the house, Sayra was greeted by her brothers. They were happy for her accomplishment yet a little jealous of her win because she had beaten them both. When she got in the house, she was met by the aroma of the venison cooking in the crockpot.
"How’d ya do at the rodeo t’day?" Sayra’s mother cared about Sayra deeply but not her choice of events. Sayra walked past her mother and mumbled, 'I placed second. Momma; and Daddy is mad again!" Sayra didn't wait for the excuse that her mother usually gave her. She went straight to her room to change her clothes.
Mr. Johnson stood in the bam, furious because it was taking Sayra so long to get to the bam. When Sayra got in the bam, she could feel her father’s unhappiness through the rays of tension.
”It took ya long enough! Ya say ya can do what the boys can do, an’ ya can’t even get the chores done on time! If ya was one of the boys, ya would have gotten first place on that bull!" Sayra kept her head down as she grabbed the pitchfork to begin chores. When she turned to look at her father, she saw only her calf, chasing a kitten around the bam.
"Damn it, why does he do this to me? What did I ever do to make him hate me so much?" Sayra thought outloud.
"Ya try too damn hard. That’s what ya do, Sayra Johnson!" Sayra was startled by Ron’s quick response. Ron walked over by Sayra. He knew that Sayra wanted to cry by the look in her eyes, but at the same time he knew that her pride would stand in the way.
"Sayra, ya have to go to yer daddy. He’s not gonna go to you." She continued doing her chores, half listening and half not listening. She knew that she had to confront her father, but she didn’t know if she had the courage to do it.
"Ron, please leave me so I can do my chores? I will see ya in the momin’ at the corral.* Ron turned and left without saying anything.
The next day, Sayra was leaning against the corral post watching her drawn bull. Red Rock was three thousand pounds of blood and muscle. He was the biggest Red Angus bull in Oklahoma. He was called "the blood bull." Once he’d thrown the rider to the ground, he went after the rider until he’d drawn blood.
As Sayra stood watching Red Rock, thoughts of her father skipped through her mind. Before heT father retired from bull riding, the bull that forced him to retire was Red Rock. For this reason, Sayra had to ride Red Rock, not for herself but for her father also.
When Sayra turned to head for the chute in which Red Rock and Ron waited for her, she was stopped by her father's body. As she looked up, two sets of identical eyes stared at each other.
"Don’t ride Red Rock, Sayra!" Her father was pleading with her, but she couldn’t give in to his pleading.
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"No, daddy, I am riding Red Rock; and ya can either watch or go home!" Sayra was determined to ride. Mr. Johnson grabbed Sayra’s muscular yet tender arms.
"Damn it, Sayra, yer gonna get killed!"
Sayra ripped from his grip. "What the hell do ya care? Ya never care ’bout what I do! If it don’t revolve 'round the boys, ya don’t care. I don’t even exist in yer life. Ya hound me an’ tell me what to do. I do everything wrong, don’t 1, Daddy? Well, this time I’m gonna do somethin’ right. I am ridm’ Red Rock!" She turned and ran to the chute.
Sayra climbed on to Red Rock’s muscular back. She wrapped the rope around her gloved hand, then wrapped (lie rope between her ring finger and pinky. Ron looked up at Sayra and winked. He had heard the conversation between her father and her.
Red Rock was getting impatient. He shoved his weight into the gate, and Sayra's leg was jammed between the metal bars and the solid body of Red
Rock.
"Damn it!" she exclaimed. Her leg screamed with pain. With the rope wrapped around her hand in a suicide wrap and her top teeth biting in her lower lip, she was ready to go. She pulled her body up to the withers of Red Rock and smashed her Stetson to her ears.
"Let’s go! Let’s go, guys!" She yelled at the top of her lungs.
The gate opened. Red Rock shot out of the gate. He twisted his hind quarters to the left and threw his head to the right. He jumped and turned. With each jump, the bull’s body thrust to the ground harder. She did all she could do to hang on. The rope began to slip from her fingers. With each jolt of her body, the rope slipped even more. Her body was bolting back and forth, ripping her hand from the rope. Sayra threw her body off Red Rock’s back and slammed into the ground. She crawled to her knees and looked up. The eyes of fear and the eyes of death met face to face. Sayra and Red Rock faced each other, each waiting for the other to make a single move. The next move was made by neither Red Rock or Sayra but by the bullfighting clown. While the clown picked, teased, and ran from Red Rock, Sayra jumped to her feet and ran to the corral.
Once she was safe, she looked up into the crowd. As she looked up, she saw every person in the crowd standing up and cheering for her. Sayra turned and headed towards Ron. He ran to meet her. When they met, Ron picked her up and hugged her as tightly as he could.
"Sayra, ya placed first, a 96." Ron hugged her again.
Sayra wasn’t happy just yet. As she looked up into the crowd, she saw her father look at her. His eyes gleamed with pride, and his eyes were watered down with tears.
"Daddy watched, Ron. Daddy watched," Sayra whispered. Sayra was happy now-not for the fact that she had just won the biggest event in Tulsa but because her daddy stayed.
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SURFACE
You see black and white but not beyond the wall scratch the surface a diamond on a window pane You see black and white shades too bold to reveal a person inside hidden behind smooth eyes You see black and white you won’t see me I am colors a collage of rainbows and you are color blind.
Nicole Margeson
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FRIENDS
by Jeanne Delafield
"Either you give up pot or you and I end our friendship," Kelly said.
"Is it because of that, or is it that you're afraid of being replaced by someone else? We’ve been best friends for over three years. Just because of a bad experience that you had with pot, you get scared. Now you don’t want me to do it either. You always do this. Whenever you don’t like something, I can’t like it either," Ashley retorted.
The words, "I don’t like what it does to you," rang in her ears over and over again as she walked to her locker. The problem’s not what it does to me. It’s what it does to her, she thought. She’s always getting jealous if I start to hang out with anyone else a lot. She’s just upset that I moved in with another friend whom she doesn’t like. Kelly’s always been so damned insecure, Ashley thought.
This was their senior year of high school. They were supposed to have fun. Now she was starting to have fun. I skip a few days of school, and she thinks it’s the end of the world. Well, I’m tired of always being the responsible one.
Since she was twelve, a lot of responsibility had been placed on her. She could remember doing her family’s cooking and cleaning. The work had made less time to think about her own problems. Since then, she’d found other ways to avoid her problems and thoughts of her life’s direction. She had no idea what she was going to do with her life. Recently, pot had begun to feel good because she didn’t have to think of responsibility when she was high.
Glancing at her watch, she realized that there were only four minutes until class. As she hurried toward her class, she thought about when she and Kelly had met in ninth grade math class and instantly bonded with each other. Neither had really had a best friend before. Mr. Schmidt was always asking them, "Why do you both insist on passing notes and talking when I’m trying to teach?" They had gotten sent to the office more than once for that. The same thing had been happening ever since.
Kelly was the first person that she’d ever told her problems and secrets to. They had discussed their lives and everything that had affected them in some way. She had told Kelly about her parents’ divorce and her father’s beating her. Kelly had told her about her feelings toward her parents and how affected she had been by her grandfather’s death.
When they weren't in the hate part of their love/hate relationship, she and Kelly were always together in school and outside of school. The teachers asked Kelly why Ashley was absent and vice versa. The teachers also came to expect that if one was in trouble, the other one was in on it. In Economics, when the phone in the classroom rang, the other students would all look at them because they’d obviously done something wrong. Even the teacher knew that the phone call would probably be to send her or Kelly, or both, to see the principal.
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On more than one occasion, they had worn the same clothes without seeing or talking to each other. They often said the same thing at the same time or made the same motion. It was strange how alike they were. It seemed as if they were long lost twins. They always joked that they shared a brain.
They had discussed their hopes and dreams with each other. She and Kelly constantly talked about their dream of going to California to start a rock band. Ashley was going to be the singer and Kelly would be the drummer. Kelly always said that she’d be a rock star someday, and Ashley could remember making up songs and music when she was little and her parents made her take a nap.
She had bought Kelly a different kind of drum every Christmas as a kind of commemoration of this idea. Kelly had taken the strings from a guitar and made them into rings. The day that they crossed the California border they would wear them. This idea had struck them deeply. Both of them knew how much they meant to each other.
They had talked about the idea of becoming blood sisters. She and Kelly had decided to wait until after they graduated from high school, though. That way, they’d know whether or not they would grow apart. She really didn’t want to lose Kelly as her best friend.
It was too late now, though. Two weeks ago, she and Kelly had been at their lockers and had gotten into an argument. This soon turned into a screaming match. Kelly had yelled at her, "You’re a bitch. I can see now that I was wrong about you being my best friend. You really don’t give a shit about anything except yourself and how high you can get for how long!" All of the seniors had gathered around them and Ashley had just said, "Fuck you."
Kelly had come over and grabbed her hair, and Ashley flipped. She took Kelly’s head and ran it into a locker while Kelly kept screaming at her the whole time. Kelly tried to hit her, but she moved to the side and Kelly ended up hitting the doorway instead. Ashley punched her in the mouth, and a teacher ran up and pulled them apart. Ashley later learned that the reason for the fight was that someone had told Kelly that Ashley was saying things about her.
It was going to be pretty difficult for them to become friends again after that. She certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move either, not after Kelly had started the fight. She wasn’t even sure if they should get back together at all. They might have been best friends and cared about each other, but maybe their friendship just wasn’t meant to be. She decided to wait and see what Kelly did.
Ashley remembered going to meet a friend of the girl she lived with, who was a fifty year old ex-hippie. Her friend had asked him what he thought the meaning of life was and he had answered, "1 want to be able to look back at my life when I’m on my deathbed and be happy with the decisions and choices I made. I also want to have left some kind of an effect on the world." She thought about that and realized that was what she wanted out of life and that pot wasn’t doing that. Since then, she'd cut back a lot on her marijuana intake and started thinking about her life’s direction.
After school that day, a friend told her that Kelly was waiting for her outside. She wasn’t sure what to expect-another fight or what? Maybe Kelly
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had thought about how much their friendship meant.
Kelly was waiting for her at her car and said that she wanted to talk about things. They began to talk and Ashley told Kelly, "I’m trying to get away from pot anyway and work some of my problems out." They talked for two hours, remembering the times that they’d spent together.
Kelly brought up the night that they'd looked for a hotel room for four hours and the last hotel had a room. Kelly said, "When we got to the room, a case of beer was sitting on the dresser. The only room we could find, and it’s got a case of beer. That’s a sign that we were meant to be together." They remembered how they had drunk it and walked around the hotel, doing stupid things. "You almost fell down the stairs; and remember, you were hitting on the cleaning guy when we were only sixteen." By this time, they were both crying and hugging each other.
Kelly said, "I was thinking about going to college after this year. I think you should too ’cause you’ve certainly got potential."
Ashley said, "Why, thank you. I was thinking about it too, actually. Kelly, you’re more important to me than pot ever will be."
"Ditto", Kelly said. Ashley knew at that moment that they’d always be best friends and that they must share a brain.
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SHE’S NOT THERE
She’s not there She just isn’t there She’s not there right now Young man, nothing’s changed
She just stares at you With a silly grin on her face
You try to talk to her
But her mind is in outer space
She’s in such a deep sleep She won’t respond to your shouts
A large gob of spit
Collects on her wide-open mouth
She lays in the comer Like a bump on a log
Her mad eyes bulge out Like some weird, diseased frog
Doctors poke her with needles And she doesn’t respond
Until her favorite Favorite TV show comes on
Now you look at her quietly In her gray hospital dress
And you beg and plead to her But nothing reaches that mess
She’s not there Lord, she’s not there Baby boy
Mommy’s not there
William Meriwether
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STONE FLOWERS
by Holly Hill
He was such an asshole! I had heard people say that word, but being ten my Mom told me that I’m too young to say it. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it means though, and I can think it if I want to.
I’m speaking of my Dad. He left us, my Mom and me. He didn’t even say goodbye. I mean, didn’t he want to see me grow up? Did he want to make my Mom sad? Did he enjoy seeing her cry? I guess he’s the one missing out though, maybe I am too. He’s going to miss my graduation, I’m going to miss his hugs. He’s going to miss seeing my wedding and seeing me have five kids. I’m going to miss out on hearing him say how proud of me he is. It’s all his fault though, he’s the one who left.
I remember last week asking my Mom if he would ever write us and let us know how he was doing. "Wouldn’t that be neat?"
"You know he won’t do that Marie. He can’t! You know that!"
Yeah, I guess I did. I wish that I knew more about him though. If there is one thing that will never be erased from my head, it’s how he looked the last time I saw him. First though, I remember him being tall and when I was little, he used to put me on his shoulders and I would have to bend over him or else my head would hit the ceiling. He had wide set brown eyes which always sparkled, like he was going to laugh. He had a smile that just by looking at it could make other people smile, and his teeth were straight and white. Mom always said that it wasn’t fair that he had white teeth because he was a smoker, and smokers weren’t supposed to have white teeth. He had a pretty cool mustache which sat above his full upper lip, and he loved the way that my Mom would giggle because of it whenever he would kiss her neck. I thought it was pretty sick how they kissed all the time, but I guess his mustache did tickle when he kissed me goodnight. He sure did like to make my Mom laugh!
I remember that his short, curly black hair showed no sign of balding, and he didn’t have any gray hair at all, unlike my Mom who said that she got it from heredity or something like that. His jaw was strong, his ears long, and his nose somewhat flat. A lot of women looked at him and Mom didn’t like that at all. I asked her a long time ago why a lot of ladies looked at him, and she said that it was because he was a good looking guy. I looked at Dad and tried to see that, but all I saw was my Dad, not a guy. Anyway, Dad was old!
I remember that my Dad was able to sleep with his eyes open. It was really cool. Mom said that it was because he was in a war. Viet Nam. She said that there were probably a lot of men who slept with their eyes open because of it. I doubted it though.
My Dad could do a lot of things. He could tell when things were going to happen even before they happened. One time, my Dad ran out of the house carrying a knife. I looked at my Mom and started laughing because he looked really funny. My Mom got all scared and worried looking though and
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it turned out that my Aunt, my Dad's sister, was getting mugged and he saved her! When they got to the house, my Mom stopped looking worried, but she still looked scared. It was like she didn’t like the way my Dad could tell when things were going to happen. I thought that it was neat! I mean, how many other kids had a Dad like mine?
My Dad loved me a lot, too. When he took naps on the couch, it was me he tucked under his arm. When we went out to stores, he always held my hand. He was the one who always let me stay up past my bedtime, too. He even let me pick out my punishment when I did something bad. That was my Dad...my asshole Dad. I mean, who was I kidding? He couldn't have loved us
all that much or else he wouldn’t have left.
Dad, why, huh? Why, Dad? I loved you! I still do, so why?!! Why
did you have to go away? I’ll be good. Just come back, please? I promise I’ll be good, I’ll make my bed. I’ll even eat all the green beans at dinner. Daddy? Please? Come back! I love you!
God? Why did you have to take him away? Did I do something bad? Can I have him back? I need him, God. I need him. Mom needs him. I hate You! You didn’t have to take him away. You already have enough help in Heaven, and we need help here. You're mean for taking him away and giving him Cancer. I’ll pray every night; just bring him back, okay? When I wake up tomorrow morning he’s going to be there, all right? Please?
I wipe my hand across my cheek and nose, and I’m not surprised that it’s wet. I look down towards the ground and look at the marble stone and the
small pot of different colored flowers next to it.
"At least look in on us every once in a while. Dad. Okay? Goodbye
Daddy, I love you."
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THE "IN" CROWD
by Melanie Renee Atkinson
"Welcome back everyone! Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance." The principal’s voice sounded over the loud speakers. Gabrielle or ’Gabby’ as she preferred to be called, stood up and recited the Pledge with the rest of her homeroom. As she did, she looked around the room at all the nameless faces.
Why did my father lose his job? she thought. Why did we have to move? I miss my old school, my friends.
The morning announcements droned on. "The cafeteria will be open from ten-thirty to one-thirty....Classes will be shortened today due to the extended homeroom session....And finally, cheerleading tryouts will be tomorrow after school, in the gymnasium. Good luck to all."
Throughout the entire day. Gabby thought about trying out for the cheerleading team. She had cheered in her old school and knew that a cheerleader was "the" thing to be. Instant friends and popularity, she thought. With her experience, she knew she could make the team. The teachers had told her that trying out for the team would be a good idea for making friends since the cheerleaders were nice girls and didn’t get into trouble like others in the school. Just like at her old school, the cheerleaders seemed to be the "elite."
Friday came, and Gabby couldn’t wait for the tryouts to begin. As the last bell rang to dismiss class, Gabby ran to the gym to warm up. When she got there, she saw Ms. Robertson talking to a couple of the girls.
"Hello girls! I’m Ms. Robertson. I’ll be the cheerleading coach this season. Now would everyone arrange themselves in alphabetical order along the bleachers, please?"
Having the last name Kininski sure had its advantages at times. This way Gabby wasn’t at the very beginning or at the very end of the line, which made her feel a little more comfortable.
Gabby had a good chance of making the team. There were only twenty girls trying out. After the tryouts, all of the girls were waiting in anticipation for Ms. Robertson’s announcement of who made the team. Finally, she spoke up. "Congratulations, girls! You all tried hard, but unfortunately we only have the equipment for seven of you. It was a tough decision, but I have the list of the 1995 Siena High School cheerleaders. Susan Addams, Paige Davis, Anna Fields, Lindsey Jacobs, Gabrielle Kininski, Kelly Mane, and Marley Victor. Congratulations to you all."
After the tryouts were done, Anna Fields congratulated Gabby. "Hey, nice job! You’re a good cheerleader. Have you cheered before?"
"I cheered for three years at my old school," Gabby replied.
"That’s great. Hey maybe we can get together sometime and go see a movie, or shopping, or-"
"Congratulations Gabby," Lindsey Jacobs interrupted. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
Anna nodded to Gabby to show it was all right, and then they said good
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bye.
Lindsey continued, Tm having a party Saturday night if you’d like to come. Everybody will be there-almost the whole cheerleading squad and the football team and a couple of others too."
"That sounds great! I’ll see you there. And thanks for inviting me. It’s nice to know someone around here."
"No problem. See you Saturday."
The teachers were right. Gabby thought as she left the gym.
Cheerleading was a good way to make friends.
« * * *
Gabby pulled up to Lindsey’s house that Saturday night and found a place to park. As she entered the house, it seemed as if the entire school was at the party. Lindsey met her at the door.
"Here, let me take your coat, and I’ll introduce you to some people. Hey Bob! I’d like you to meet Gabby Kininski. She’s new here and is on the cheerleading team with us now. Bob’s the quarterback on the team."
"Nice to meet you. Gabby. That’s quite an interesting name.”
“It’s short for Gabrielle," she replied.
"Come on. I want to introduce you to some more people," Lindsey said as she dragged Gabby around through the crowd. "This is Cory and Paul from the football team, and you know Susan and Paige from cheerleading."
"Where’s Anna Fields?" Gabby asked Lindsey. "I haven’t seen her anywhere tonight."
"Oh, Anna. She’s not one for partying. She’s a great cheerleader, but she doesn’t really ’Fit in’ with us."
"That’s too bad. She seemed nice."
"Well, whatever. Why don’t you mingle around a little on your own?"
Gabby walked around through the guests trying to recognize some of the faces from the classes she was in. Finally, she found a place to sit down for a while.
Suddenly, Bob came up to her with two beers in hand. "Here, I brought you a little something to drink," he said, handing her one of the beers.
Gabby was shocked at first and then responded, "No thanks. I don’t drink." All she could think about was her best friend Erin in her old school, whose father had died of complications from alcoholism. She had told herself then that she’d never drink, but it was tempting now with the star quarterback of the team handing her one.
"Come on. Everybody’s drinking here. It’s like being one of the crowd. Bob said as he tried handing her the beer again.
Gabby looked at the beer for a moment, slowly grabbed hold of it and
took a sip.
"There, that wasn’t so bad was it?" Bob asked as he put his arm around Gabby and sat down.
Before she knew it, Gabby had several drinks, and the party waS beginning to die down. She felt a little tipsy, but she knew if she called her parents for a ride home, they would kill her for drinking. She decided she drive home herself. She’d just drive very slowly.
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"Thanks for inviting me to the party," she told Lindsey as she grabbed her coat and staggered out the door.
On her way home, she listened to the radio. Her favorite song, "Oh What a Night," came on. Gabby started singing and moving to it in the car when suddenly she looked up and saw the lights of an oncoming car heading straight for her. All she heard was the squealing of the tires as she pounded the breaks and the sound of grinding metal as the two cars collided.
The next thing Gabby remembered was waking up in a hospital bed, wondering where she was. Her parents were sitting next to her, relieved that she was going to be all right.
"Thank God, you’re alive!” Her mother said with tears in her eyes. "We were all so worried about you. You were unconscious for two days!"
"How could you do something as stupid as drinking and driving Gabby?" her father asked.
Tm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. I was just trying to be one of the crowd." Gabby cried.
"That’s not the way to be one of the crowd," her father continued. "Only one of your so called ’friends’ came to show support."
"Here's the card that she left for you." her mother said as she handed Gabby a blue envelope.
As Gabby read the message inside, she dropped the card and began to cry. Puzzled, her mother, picked up the card and read it aloud.
Dear Gabby,
Why did you have to go to Lindsey’s party. I wanted to
warn you but I didn’t know how. I would have been your friend if you
had just asked. You didn’t need to drink to be one of the "in crowd." I
just pray you get better so we have the chance to become friends.
Your friend,
Anna Fields.
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consumed by the purple night I walk alone and dream in hues of bleak reality promises of a tortured life force me on my way revealing a slashed soul with dove-white scars I am learning to be a hope this motive that was ground on me.
Nicole Margeson
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GAMBLING
Should this simply be another page of rambling?
Or, is there some more suggestive void, here to be filled? Questions, always questions. Will they never cease?
(Acting as if questions and I were not the best of friends.) Preoccupied by my own lethargy,
I wonder if I really want to play.
But of course, as usual, it's just a matter of getting me going. Then, like a down hill sled run, it becomes quite hard to stop me. Enthusiasm, like a plague, soon over runs me And takes me on even faster.
If while picturing this whole predicament,
you think it’s fun, then you are grievously mistaken.
Yet isn’t this what life is all about?
A threat
Which you secretly hope to confront.
A bet
You know you might just win.
A challenge
You fear, but gladly take to task?
Life is both the enemy and the friend,
It offers up the chance, while holding in reserve the final end.
S.C. Wise
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creative as it may k\
Much of it seems silly to me.
Could it he from lack of appreciation, For all their work and dedication, ironies, simdies, metaphors, and such, Never cross my mind when I'm in a crutch. Learning to express these feelings inside, when others use ten syllable words, From which they hide, colorful poems are sooo impressive, Get down to it and Just express it!!!
Bad Poetry
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Mark Za*k°
The petals cut
Piercing through my untouched skin Leaving only scars
Emily Barry
Dark gray winter skies Capturing winds carry on Renewed releasing
One sparrow feeding Winter hid you well away Curiosity
Caressing sun now Embraces reciprocal Not always to be
Dark bird on the wing Contrasting so, the light sky Still part of it
Aligned dead com rows Evident future and past Sacrificed for us
Single line tracing Divides while interlacing Leading to nowhere
S.C. Wise
Tis not poetry Only the lonely stanza Of one unsaid truth
Strict meter and rhyme Make the difference to me Governed like the land
Stone-made flower trees That reach up to vaulted highs Die and follow me
Timothy M. Smith
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clouds
clouds march endless skies thunderhead tanks blasting rain life comes to desert
spring
rain slams frozen ground ice retreats beaten soldier the coming of spring
nicole margeson
Afterplav
Fingers trace circles Feather touch raises gooseflesh A most pleasant chill
Firefly
Ephemeral blaze Minuscule flutter of life Alighting the night
Tracey DeCicco
Not Funny
Laugh and the world laughs-With or at you-you should know Better stop laughing
Images
Black, on black, on black Now it’s dark, but I can see Blind but better off
David Snegosky
The bottom of the
Sea floor has a reddish glow
Octopus moves slow
Bill Meriwether
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Structure’s not for me Otherwise I’d wear a tie And write dumb haiku
Nature haiku stinks Like a dead bunny rabbit On a sunny day
Jufe Brown-Tsai
Open up your eyes Through enchanted ecstasy See the other side
distance adjunct galloping winds hustle along Tearing, devouring me
Matt Fogarty
Paralyzed world Whispers of solitary spirits Rumbling stillness
Salty white waters
Sand dollars, birds caught inside
Radiation void
Emily Savino
The rain hits my face A cold, refreshing alarm On a slow morning
Stephanie Chichester
The rose half opens Catching a glimpse of the world In disgust, closes
Melanie Renee Atkinson
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Concert
She watched him singing,
And the took in her eyes made Me want to sing, too.
Teaser
Her hand touches me.
My heart races till I see She was just browsing.
David Alan Scott, Jr.
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