MOSaic
FALL 2016











T
HE
•
osazc
(n): a combination of diverse elements forming a more or
le
ss
coherent whole (Oxford English Dictionary)










Marist Literary Arts Society
presents the Fall 2016 Mosaic:
/
Executive Board
President:
Marisa E. Maccaro
Vice President:
Katherine Maradiaga
Secretary:
Julia Franco
Webmaster:
Shane Brennan
Mosaic Editor:
Jessica Bosak
Faculty Advisor:
Prof. Lea Graham
3









-
Contents
Damaged Goods
Addison Donati
6
What if
.
..
Daiki Hirakawa
7
Trois.
Naja-Michelle Innis
8
Honey, Please
Kaliyah Gardner
10
We're Fucked
Sean Norman
12
Foreign Language
Carmen Henriquez
14
Marrying a Marshmallow
Amanda Dettmann
16
The List Story
Kinlin O'Brien
18
I Believe in Brown
Kaliyah Gardner
27
Indigo Child
Darriel McBride
30
The Aesthetic of Ruin
Naja-Michel/e Innis
45
A Girl Named Finn
Erin Taylor
so
The Math of a Grapefruit
Amanda Dettmann
60
Advice From a Stranger
Bernadette Hogan
62
Excerpt from "The Magnificent Mil"
Brian Spiess
72
a man once asked/we've been so sad
Shane Brennan
74
The King of Castle Hill
Raquel Medina
77
To Reminisce
Kathleen Larkin
89
Untouched
Riana Ramirez
90
Laughter Lines
Julia Franco
93
The Summer I Was 18
Demi Yoshida
98
My Best Friend
Kathleen Larkin
101
The Moss Blanket
Shane Brennan
103
Fly Away
Elizabeth Miller
106
4






Front Cover
by
Brenden
Davis
Back Cover
by
Brenden
Davis
5








-
Damaged Goods
By
Addison Donati
I need you to know, I find your mind to be incredible. I crave your lips in
the most damaging way. There is no reason to love you, every reason not to,
actually. Loving someone who cannot love you back is the quickest means t
self-destruction. Yet my love for you is sensational while your love for me is
convenient. How strongly I desire your soul is exhausting. Do not tell me to
sleep, rest is not what I need.
Do not look at me. Do not make me the motivation for your happiness whe
all else fails. Do not make me a second thought. Make me your first. Let me
flood your mind with lust. Lay me down and exist with me, in me, for hours.
Taste me for days on the back of your tongue. I want my name slurred out o
your mouth while you realize that this is it. I never say these words aloud;
wasted breath is all it would be, this, I understand. I'm looking at you and
lying through my teeth while I beg for you to choose me. It will never be rig
but I will always allow it to be. I do not have the strength to rid my life of
your presence. Hurt me just please don't leave me.
Understand, my passion for you is involuntary; if I could choose to love
another, I'd choose myself. There is not much of me left; you own a good
portion. It's rightfully yours, for I had dismantled myself by my own will an
handed you those pieces to keep even when I knew you didn't want them.
But if you're done with your portion, I'd love to have it back I breathe to
yearn for you and you breathe to live another life. Having one life is stupidly
unfair. I need to know, would you love me in another life?
6









What
if ...
By Daiki Hirakawa
What if someone turned
you on and just left?
You would be turned on 'til you
burnt out
And then you would be
in
the
dark forever
...
So
turn
the light off when
you leave the room.
Christopher Mitchell
7












-
Trois.
By
Naja-Michelle Innis
According to Google, Musee du Louvre takes up 652,000 sq. ft., and holds
35,000 works of art. Logically, one person can't see the entire museum in
one day. It would take about 100 days to see the entire museum if they spe
about 30 seconds at every piece of art. Even if someone returned every da
the layout of the museum itself makes it difficult to see a different room ea
visit. Eventually a habit is formed.
Cross Rue Rivoli and enter through the street entrance. Down the escalato
Through the checkpoints. The feet, as if of their own volition, walk toward
some entrance named something her American mouth can't wrap itself
around. Up some stairs, down some stairs, and suddenly we're in a pure
white garden spotted with green trees nearly too perfect to be real. The
gods and goddesses look past us, forever trapped in poses symbolic of thei
power ... mostly in proud nudity (or semi-nudity). Some are perched atop
magnificent horses, rearing back as if approaching battle. Others
sit
amon
rocks with their rods victoriously pointed downward at enemies that we
can't see. The goddesses lie among the flowers like kin, wistfully glancing
into the distance at some imagined object of desire
.
The sculptures will make the proudest person feel modestly mortal.
She found herself hyper-aware of her own softness compared to the cold,
polished stone. Bleached with time were the images of people who had
the
chance to live forever. They were gods
in
true form. Hard to break, hard to
ignore, a marvel to the human eye. And they were there long before her,
an
her mother, and her grandmother, and her great-grandmother ... And they'll
continue to be there long after she's in the ground.
No matter how many times she tried to explore other parts of the Louvre,
she ended up in the Garden, with her journal in her lap, seated comfortabl
under some bearded deity that disregarded her presence.
8




Nina Godfrey
9





Honey, Please
By Kaliyah Gardner
"Give me honey, baby. I really need it,"
he whispers.
But having been put back on the shelf
and only used when convenient,
I'd prefer
to preserve myself.
I refuse to open my bottle for you,
because I know for a fact
the moment I turn my back
after giving you a taste
you'll forget how to act,
letting my nectar go to waste,
letting my sweetness drip
until it's almost completely drained.
In the bottle,
you'll leave
just a corner,
of my sticky love,
at the very bottom
for me to reminisce
about your selfishness
disguised by duplicitous decorum.
You'll leave me on your shelf for display,
The furthest thing from full
but not empty enough to throw away;
but used to the point
that
I'll be disregarded
by others that will just reach past me
like I'm the first piece of bread,
never eaten,






just patiently
rotting
waiting
to
be discarded.
After
what's left of my
honey love
has dried,
crusted over, and
solidified
you'll
open
a bottle that's
new,
'
untouched,
completely
unused,
and
decide
to give her a
try.
11







We're Fucked.
By
Sean Norman
Look, I don't have a whole lot of time, so I'm going to keep this brief.
We're fucked. Plain and simple, we're fucked. How fucked, you ask? We are
completely fucked.
I'll put it another way.
You know that feeling you get sometimes? It is that feeling you get after a
long day and you find yourself outside after the sun has gone down and
you share the road with nothing but the street lamps. You know how, just
for a split second, there's a twinge in your back, or a crick in your neck, or
a heaviness of your head? You feel it, you look around, you see nothing, yo
dismiss it and you move on, right?
Well, while ignoring it seemed to be the best course of action at first, trust
me, it is no longer a good idea. You know that local missing peTson that
hasn't been found yet? The one that existed as the side character to everyo
else's main character. They were the person that will always coast through
life without causing a stir.
Maybe not. Perhaps there was a kid you knew in high school that committ
suicide recently. They were never a particularly popular individual and ha
their quirks, but were overall decent enough, right?
I'm telling you that these people were not random. These people ain't
different for no reason. Those that stick to the shadows and come in secon
have simply discovered a truth that the rest of us are too busy trying to ge
ahead to see, or at least see clearly.
And because the people I'm talking about, the rejects and the outsiders, sa
what we couldn't, they were removed from the equation. The thing, or wh
ever it should be classified as, that gives us that feeling at night, that is wh
takes them. The only reason it doesn't take us too is because, as long as we
ignore them and move on, we aren't considered a threat. They leave those
us that are ignorant alone.
12








-
Well, th
ey did at least. It ap
p
e
ars time for ~hem to start taking over.
v
e you noticed the cra
zy way people around the world act now? Every
H
a
dli
ne seems to be a
b
o
ut
s
ome new dead person or the next dictator rising
~
:
;o
wer. How can this w
orld, this civilized, advanced world, face more barba-
ris
m
and chaos than it e
v
e
r had before?
S
impl
e
.
It's them. We are
b
ei
ng hunted, taken over, and changed
,
or even
w
or
se, erased. The huma
n
ra
ce is under attack.
T
h
e
p
roblem is, ifwe fight,
w
e
are erased, and if we don't, we are either taken
over or killed by those wh
o have taken over.
In oth
er words ... we're fu
c
k
ed.
Kal
i
yah Gardner
13








---
Foreign Language
By
Carmen Henriquez
Language: mine, not my own, spills
over the edge like dough rising; a crescendo.
I want to own it, to conquer it, to love it
but I am dizzied by her,
unable to unravel the knots in her long mane.
Insatiable, I sink my fingers deep into her roots without sucess.
Her massive waves drag me under-I am breathless
but in love, always in love.
I lie to myself. She will love me one day;
yield her mysteries to me.
Loving her too much will be my undoing,
the death of me.
I am battered from the longing for her.
Cold from the empty promises she makes,
I have no choice but to concede ... again.
As tree bearing the weight of snow,
Her feminine form not unlike my own should be easy-
to conform to me, my desires, but her road
lead me in, closes and traps me;
sunlight dies breathless in her grasps.
She is untamed, inarticulate to my need but
silk smooth music for another lover- not me.
I persist in rampant pursuit,
unwilling to call a truce
I must have an answer.
14










MY
heart pound
i
ng in anticipation,
1 wait, a black smudge inside a white perimeter,
a
star in the blackness of the sky not knowing
it has already died; its brightness, a last breath.
I wait, taut
a
nd inexplicably patient
for the answers to come.
I
J
\
Brenden Davis
15








Marrying a Marshmallow
By
Amanda Dettmann
I'm sorry bride
but for this day you must switch, wear the dress black
against all tradition of purity
while he stands pale at the alter,
his puffy white tux tugging at chalky stretch-marked lips.
Do not bleach your hair
for it will match his sleeves of sponge, his gelatin figure
of pure naughty confection.
You do not want to be an indulgence to the groomsmen
as he is to the maid of honor.
Hire a caterer
that has no experience with sticky desserts
.
This means no s'mores, banana creme pies with fluff,
or blueberry lemon mousse cake with (you know what)
in the middle. You cannot upset your soon-to-be husband
by making him eat himself.
Ensure the lights
are not LEDS. You want a muted kind of brightness
or ten minutes into the first dance
you'll feel a gummy substance dripping
on your arm. A melted man is not pleasant in pictures.
But you knew all this when he proposed.
You are forever the Forgiven to his Sorry.
Remember, the candy ring came with three deals:
He is not made to be intimate.
He cannot be touched.
But he should still feel your heart,
pulsing honey.
16





Jenna Woulfe
1
7







The List Story
By Kinlin O'Brien
"Come on, what's so hard about it?"
"I don't know I just used to do that with my buddies in middle school,
an adult now. I'm at a dinner with my girlfriend; I don't know I don't thi
should be making a list of the prettiest women in the room. I want it to
special night."
"Why? They'll never find out. I just want to know what you're interested i
"You.
I'm interested in you."
"Yeah, but all your old girlfriends look so ... different."
"Yeah,
they all had short hair."
"Yeah, they did, and I don't- What was your first girlfriend's name again?
"Come on, don't do this."
"Brandy? Brianna? What was it? Brielle?"
"Stop. Maybe that is why it didn't work with those girls, maybe short hair i
for me?"
"Honestly,
really what is the worst that could really happen, a food fight?"
"Yes, exactly a food fight- I don't know, I've had it happen to me and it
literal mess."
"Ok
well, let's start there."
"What."
"You say you're an adult but you can't even follow the bouncing ball. Tell
the story of when you made a list."
"Fine. You asked."
"We'd all been together since the first grade, the twelve of us. In kinderga
18
















ere thirteen of us, but poor Scott just couldn't hang. I wish I could tell
thereh\ story but Scott's parents had th~ twelve of us sign a little pink piece of
you
t
a romising that we would never discuss it again. So
I'll just tell you about
paP~~~en of us. There was Nick, Ryan, Jeff, Jeremy, Johnny, Carol, Carl, Peter,
the .
Ally, and Barb and well me, Toby. Back then I preferred to spell my
JessicaT-0-13-1-E, against my parent's will obviously. Because
I felt like Tobie
nam~ore of a golden retriever name while Toby was more like a beagle. I'd
~~~er
be a golden retriever you know, obviously loyal, man's best friend, you
know?"
"
Oh,
obviously."
"So
J
guess you noticed that there were mostly boys in the class. Jessica always
liked
to remind us that "girls go to college to get more knowledge and boys
go to Jupiter to get more stupider." Jessica was one of those girls who wore
pigtails and glitte
r
nail polish. So you can take a guess at the annoying voice
she would say it in- mind you she would say it everyday, like seriously. One
of
us would sneeze and she would be over at her desk bopping her head back
and forth saying that stupid little rhyme. But we used to let it slide because
she was the prettiest, but let's be real
,
the pigtails got old real quick and she
is constantly biting her nails, if you get the picture. Plus Barb got a haircut-"
"Baaarrrrbbb, yes that was her name. Is this
the Barb?"
"
Yeah
,
yeah blah blah I dated Barb for a short period of time, doesn
'
t matter."
"It was the short hair that gotcha, wasn't it?"
"Jesus, would you just listen?"
"Jesus had shortish hair, would you go for him?"
"No, I'm more of a Bob kinda guy."
"
You like my brother Bob?"
'
i\lright- Are you done?"
She smirks at me.
"
Y
up."
19







"So Barb, she was from one of those hippie, flower child family, or at least
is what my mom used to say, so her hair was like down to her butt and t
were always little bits of paper in it-but like, when she got a haircut, itwa
short with no dead ends
,
no paper bits, it was beautiful. So all the boys
over Jessica. And like, Carol was pretty too, but she is Carl's twin sister so
automatically went to the bottom of the list."
"Hold on."
"Yes, yes, before you can get ahead of yourself, there was a physical list. I
remember where it's hidden. In the drop ceiling above the third stall in
boys' bathroom. Wow. But
,
um, so post-haircut the list read:
1.
Barb
2.
Jessica
3.
Ally
4.
Carol
I know it seems so abstract coming from the minds of middle school boys
there was a science to The List."
"Oh I got to hear this."
"You see spots one and two are interchangeable but three and four are pr
concrete. The dynami-"
"You know what I think if I hear the science behind this
I'll
want to dump
right now. I don't need to know the shallows of your adolescent mind."
"True. Alright ... alright, alright,
I'll
keep going."
"So, know it all Jessica Walters finds the list and marches right up to me
goes, 'Tobie Oswald Caldwell,' like she was my mother and she had just
fo
my collection of dirt that I kept in my closet. And I have to be honest, this
made my heart race and my armpits sweat. God, I couldn't tell if I was in I
with her or just scared of her.
"Is that how you felt when you first saw me?"
20














.
t time I saw you, you were chugging not one, but two bud lights while
"The fidrs s Captain Jack Sparrow, and if I remember correctly, you were yelling
dresse a
t"
h w you lost your parro .
about o
"
Hey.
It was Halloween. And like your "sexy" nun costume was any better."
"
Was
that really the first time we met?"
"Y
"
She smirks at me.
up.
"
So
Jessica is heated, obviously and gets all up in my face and says, 'This list,
~lain
.
Now.' And I'm terrified, you know
,
like every sensor in my little pre-teen
~:dy is going off and I just start rambling
,
'Well Barb got a haircut and all the
boys agree that we are into short haircuts now and if you want to be number
one I can always cut your hair but if you don't that is cool and you know-you
know you just can't always be number one,' and oh was that the worst thing
to say, for years whenever I saw the color red I'd picture Jessica's face. Man,
haha she was so pissed she said something back to me like, 'Oh I can always be
number one and I don't have to cut my hair like that bible thumping Barb did
,
to do it,
'
and she tossed in a finger wiggle and went on her way
.
"
"
Ohh, so you're into short haired Catholic girls? There seems to be a pretty one
in the back left corner in the booth, where is she on the list?"
"
That girl is in a booster seat, sooo I'd say she is number 3."
She laughs this time.
Now I'm the one smirking.
:·
so
when my body stopped tingling I was like, 'Do you even know what the list
15
for?' Because we didn't write like 'The Pretty List' on top it just said their
n~m~s in order, in pencil in case there were any changes. And obviously she
~idn
,
t know what it was but she had to throw a fit about something so she was
ike
,
, No. But it seems important and I am very important so I should be number
~ne. And I was like 'Well, frick yeah, it's important, it's The Pretty List.' Because
was an idiot and can't keep my mouth shut.''
"
Was
· ·
an idiot? As in past tense?
"
21





Yeah, yeah, you guessed it, now I'm the one smirking and laughing.
"Oh you got me ... So essentially, Jessica was having a conniption, and a
could tell her was, 'I told you. Barb got a hair cut.' She threatened to tell
parents and to have Barb switch hairdressers and wanted to start a petiti
that everyone had to wear hats. You know classic scare tactics. As you kn
I look terrible in hats, so I swooped in with yet another great line. I told p
little Jessica to 'prove herself' and maybe she could be moved back to num
1. And man oh man did that make her head spin. She started going off, 'Pr
myself. Ha, you want me to prove myself, prove myself huh Toby Caldw
wants me to prove, myself. Ok. I can do that.' Like pigtails were going in ev
which direction and I had the audacity to say, 'Yeah. If you wouldn't
min
And there was a classic like 'Ok meet us girls in the art room after Engli
comment and I was like 'Ok, I'll bring my best boys.' And I really remem
thinking that I was in love with that girl."
Oh God she is just staring at me.
"I know nothing can compare to that but, when did you know you loved m
She is staring at me because she thinks I don't remember, but I think abou
all the time.
"It was snowing and you, being from the west coast over dressed. You had
purple snow pants that were tucked into pink rain boots and a big puffy jac
and a white hat with a blue porn porn on top. You were standing in the mid
of the quad alone, because we were meeting up to build a snowman. Andy
were standing there alone with no mittens or gloves on with a pile of snow
your hands. I remember because your hands were bright red and you turn
and looked at me and said, "My skin has only ever turned red from a sunbu
before."
"Wh-why then?"
"Because you changed the color red for me."
She was giving me the most curious look but I've never been so certain.
"Shall I go on with my story?"
"Of course."
22







,,
the girls were burning holes in my skin with their glares the entire day.
So, were they fierce little things, you wouldn't believe it. Well you know, all
Ge;~arol- she was a nice girl but I think there was a deviant soul deep down
b:
e one time in the first grade I brought in those sugar cookies with the
~ci~g
·
on top- you know them, you love them- and she told me she didn't
'.
,
like" them. I know- crazy. Anyway, from that moment on I never really felt
like I could trust her.
The bell rings and the girls head out single file. Clearly so intimidating to all of
the boys. Honestly, looking back I just want to know which one of them went
into the boys' room and got the list from the ceiling. It was probably that Ally
girl. She always gave me the heebie jeebies. Whatever, so as requested all the
boys went to meet the girls in the art room and of course the lights were off.
Classic sca
r
e tactic. And you know all the boys puffed out their chests like the
macho men we were, when in reality we all made sure to make a quick pit-
stop in the bathroom to relieve ourselves so we wouldn't have any accidents.
And we're standing there in this sort of dark room and we can see that all
the girls are standing there basically in plain sight. Um, all straight in a row
and they were holding something. And we were all just sort of standing there
and then Carol scuttled over to the light switch and flicks it on and yeah, she
scuttles back because that is just what Carol did, she scuttled around. Carl
used to say it had something to do with her under developed kneecaps- I
don't know, I really try not to ask So. So like I said all the girls are standing
there. And yeah, you guessed it. They're standing in the exact order of the list.
1.
Barb
2.
Jessica
3.
Ally
4-
Carol
With the added factor that they were all standing there with buckets of paint
:nd you ':'on't believe it hahah but all I could think in that moment was 'Geez,
arbs hair sure does look good.' And my buddy, Jeremy, is standing next to
rne
and he nudges me and says, 'We're done for
.
' And me being the leader still
~~anding tall- I can't believe I said this- but I asked Ryan, this real lanky-ass
Id to play Taps in C major on his kazoo to send us out."
23







"Stop."
"I can't make this stuff up."
"Oh God, the best part was that Ryan let out like a single note and Jes
walked up to him and slapped the kazoo right out of his mouth. She was
scary, wow. Then she ordered us to form a line- like god knows where
faculty member was when this was occurring- but we all formed a line
each girl approached us and made us dip our hands in the paint buckets
ensure we would be the ones who were caught 'red handed.' Well actu
never mind, I was the only one who was served the red bucket. Oh my God
Barb was the one who was holding that bucket. I remember trying to make
contact with her in an attempt to flirt but her bangs were covering one sid
her face. What a bold move by me.
But we all just stood there with our hands dripping, hanging at our sid
we musta looked like a gaggle of basset hounds. Defeated, hanging lo
remember my one friend, Jeff, was already wincing at the idea of the
throwing the paint at him. Man his existence bothered me, I wonder what
is up to ... whatever. So the girls count down:
1.
2.
3.
4.
And when they hit four, all of us boys go chicken crazy like absolute anarc
completly haywire like it was just crazy. The funny thing was we
established a plan if the girls were ever to flip on us. You know, back in
third grade things started to get a little dicey, I think because Jessica go
pallet expander. So whenever she tried to say stupider she would spit, so
called her 'Jesspitica.' Not our best work but it did make us devise the
'If
Girls Ever Go Crazy Run Around Like Chickens Plan' plan."
'
'Amazing."
"I know."
24










,.
0
we are all running around like wild people, it is anarchy in the art room, but
5 nly a matter of five seconds. Let me see, we had, Peter and Ryan clutching,
for~ other tightly, Nick was wailing like a ghost from that bad haunted hayride
eac went to, Carl was under a desk, fricking Jeff was standing in place closing
;.e eyes and stamping his feet singing some hymn from church. Obviously
15
u know me, the hero, I stood strong. I was ready to take my punishment.
~~t
we noticed that nothing had happened to us. So I called off
'If
The Girls
Ever Go Crazy Run Around Like Chickens Plan' plan and we opened our eyes,
unclenched our fists, and got out from under desks. The girls were giggling
and they were covered in paint."
/
"What?"
"Oh just keep listening- they had dumped the buckets of paint on themselves.
They had framed us."
"So let me get this straight- by dipping all the boys hands in paint and then
dumping the paint on themselves, it made it look like you guys threw paint at
the girls?"
"You got it
.
"
"I assume it was all Carol's idea."
"What a smart girl you are."
"So that's it, you guys just got in trouble?"
"Oh no, no no no no no, we weren't about to let them win."
"What did you do?"
"We just knew what we had to do. We went full on flag football on these girls.
We tackled them at the waist with no mercy whatsoever. The goal was to
smear all the paint so no one could get framed. Soon all the bright primary
colors turned into a muddled brown. The screaming turned into laughter
~nd we made paint angels on the ground. Needless to say we were banned
rom the art room, pink slips and all. And that is why I don't make lists of the
Prettiest girls in the room."
25









"Why, because you could get banned from the art room?"
"No. Because I learned women are more than just their haircuts or how
th
walk or if they give you the heebie geebies."
"Yeah, well, you learned that when you were a kid. What makes a pre
tty
gi
to you now?"
"It's how she makes you feel about the color red."
She is smiling at me.
26
Carmen Henri
quez











I Believe in Brown
BY Ka/iyah Gardner
1
believe in brown, in all of its _shades and hues.
popular o~inion would most hkely lead you
to believe 1t to be
nothing worth looking twice at,
dirty, unclean.
But I believe in its radiance.
Let me tell you
what brown means to me.
Brown,
a color that is my color
nurtured by the Sun,
which caresses me to a copper complexion,
and toasts me to caramel perfection.
I am bronzed in elegance.
Those who hate brown call this arrogance.
Brown,
a
color dark enough to hold secrets untold,
of ancient mahogany queens and kings,
all dressed and bejeweled in gold.
Brown,
a
color as old as night.
It is the color of my ancestors,
and the color of their plight.
A
color under constant discrimination.
A
color that still persists
~o break the shackles of oppression
•n this "free" nation.
Brown
,
symbolizes progress and growth.
27



The color of soil that is home to roots
that grow wholesome plants
that harvest sugary fruits.
Brown,
eyes
described
as
dull and common
by those who do not care to realize
they are caves
adorned with amber and almond.
Brown,
The color of melted chocolate,
hazelnut,
and treats
that kiss my tongue,
so sweet.
Coffee, Honey, Brown Sugar Baby,
you make my life complete.
28




Lisa Fay
29











Indigo Child
By Darriel McBride
In the Puerto Rican household, you know you're in trouble when your
ma
threatens you with a flip-flop or worse, sends you to live with your abuel
who smells like she's been dumped in a tank of dead flowers and holy
wa
but Ma calls that a bafio. It's what you shower with if you've come across
evil spirit that has worked its way into your life like an infectious disease.
Or in my case, when you did something absolutely unholy. Like losing
your virginity to a guy who probably plays nine hours of Street Fighter,
al
while eating week old pizza with ketchup, a family size bag of Doritos
an
everything on the McDonald's dollar menu before he even thinks about
picking up a book. But of course, I had done something much worse than
that. I had fallen in love with a black boy.
Sanchez was absolutely unconventional. An old soul who wore a musty b
denim jacket, black aviators, black cargo pants and black timberlands.
He
never wore any other color. I remember one burning cold winter day
wh
we smoked by the track field across the street from Yankee Stadium. I ha
asked him, what's so special about the color black? Admiring his gleamin
skin that was as dark and glassy as an obsidian gemstone.
Black
is power, elegance,formality and mystery. A mysterious color
associated with the unknown. Usually, it has a negative connotation, but
in
reality, it symbolizes strength. I believe it's a very prestigious color.
He always had an intricate way of explaining his perception of the world,
but I loved listening to him speak. The way he broke down words and
concepts like poetry. The way he'd rewrite the telling of time, love, space,
sex, education and everything we've been taught to believe. He made me
question. Everything. Social change, community development, womanho
individualism, loneliness, making choices based on how others perceive
gangs and police brutality, the modern day slavery, and the challenges of
being a person of color in America. He said everyone else is at the top, Joo
down, laughing at those at the bottom of the American social hierarchy.
Sanchez was revolutionary. Our conversations went deeper than rivers
an
wells. So deep that every emotion I felt was with a vivid and overwhelmin
30





Ka/iyah
Gardner
31














intimacy. Partly because every time we spoke we were vibing over a pe
rolled blunt, but also because pretty soon I realized that we were more
than I thought. We found ourselves making connections over things we
imagined.
Everything you say sounds like something I would say.
I rested my hand
on
shoulder and replied, Everything you say sounds like something I need to
Our eyes would lock for a while, and I'd turn away and smirk. I know it's
cheesy, but sometimes, being with him made me feel like my life was a
m
You ever heard of an Indigo child?
A what?
I laughed.
An indigo child.
I stared at him in confusion. He sighed softly as if to shield his
disappointment in my ignorance of the subject.
An indigo child .... is an individual who challenges social expectations by
not
confirming
.
They see and feel the world much differently. They are a totally
rebel, but in a positive way. More philosophical.
He brought the blunt to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting out a cloud
of
smoke before he began to explain.
Listen closely ... he paused, an indigo child
is
born feeling and knowing
that
are different or special.
Special?
Let me finish,
he snapped. Although taken aback, I continued listening.
An indigo child
is
more confident and has a higher sense of self-worth.
Abs
authority, the kind with no choices, negotiation, or input from them does
n
sit well. Some of the rules we so carefully follow seem silly to an indigo
cM
they fight them.
I continued to stare at him, watching as he licked his midnight blue lips
in
32


















sentences. I cleared my throat.
between
.
's
feel lost and misunderstood, which causes them to go within. They
I
nd190
ntisocial unless they are with their own kind. If there are no others of
s~e7,;
consciousness around them, they turn inward, feeling like no other
sim
n understands them.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
huma
So
you're an indigo child?
We
both are. We're both indigo children.
1 pondered the thought of being different too. I'd always felt different, but
never had the words for it until I met Sanchez. He always managed to do that
to
me
.
Leave me lost for words.
I rolled my eyes jokingly.
You're so different,
I said, while snatching the blunt
from him and taking another drag. Marveled by every word that slid its way
through his lips.
Sanchez would walk me home most days, and during those walks we talked a
lot about family rituals and traditions.
I heard Puerto Rican moms are crazy.
Yup, only their madness can explain how they can manage to send a flip flop
flying across the room to hit you right in the head! I laughed. My mom is
different though.
How
so?
She's very spiritual and superstitious and well, I'm not, so we just clash
sometimes
.
And when I say sometimes, I really mean all the time.
That's the indigo in you. Your mom will probably have a hard time
understanding that, he replied, Lots of people do.
Tel/ me more about indigos.
ihey get frustrated with religious systems that are ritually oriented.
We
nunediately laughed in unison and I swear, the magic between us felt like
33






falling out of a plane with no parachute. It was scary as fuck because in
moment, I knew I loved him. And I had no idea how I could possibly contt
to love someone who would be
so
forbidden, so unpleasant, and so dislik
by my own mother. But I brought him home to meet her anyway.
Ma wouldn't allow me to refer to Sanchez as my boyfriend.
Friend. He is your friend,
she repeated. Amigo. I rolled my eyes and walked
over to the couch. Tio Manuel, who was visiting from San Juan, rose from
seat and gave me a tight squeeze.
Tfo, este es mi amigo,
I said, introducing him to Sanchez who extended
his
hand graciously. Tio Manuel gave an apathetic head nod and walked towa
the kitchen. He was a man of few words when meeting new people, espe-
cially since he never spoke English. I glared at Ma, who stood by the kitch
fridge with her arms crossed over her chest. I rolled my eyes and grabbed
Sanchez by the hand and we sat down on the couch. We sat there silently,
while Ma and Tio Manuel began chatting in Spanish. I could really care
les
Sanchez was in my house! I reached into my backpack and pulled out my
journal.
So I wrote this poem the other day ...
!
think you'd like it.
I extended the boo
for him to grab, yet he seemed so disturbed.
What's wrong?
I asked.
I have to go,
he uttered. I squinted my eyes in confusion.
What? Why?
Without a word, he rose from the couch and headed for the
door, walking past Tio Manuel and Ma, slamming the door behind him. I
darted my eyes over at Ma who continued talking to Tio Manuel, unbothe
by Sanchez's sudden departure.
Que pas6 con tu amigo? Tio
Manuel asked.
What happened? What happened was that he left because neither of you
we
polite to him!
I shouted.
34














anquilaf No need to get so upset,
Ma
ad~ed. I've always hated being told
;Tr
Im down. When has that ever worked for someone? Don't people
to
cda rstand it only just makes a person angrier?
un e
1 down? Calm down! ... how can I calm down when you both are so rude? I
Ca ,nn Tfo Manuel at least had the decency to say hi, but Ma, you wouldn't even
,nea ,
acknowledge his existence.
1 DON'T LIKE HIM,
Ma
snapped stubbornly, placing her hands on her hips.
You don
'
t even know him!
I don
'
t have to
.
His face ... his body ... his color says it all.
His color? What are your talking about?
She shook her head impatiently.
He
is
no good for you. Escuchar a tu madre! Listen to me, I know what i'm
talking about.
You wouldn't even give him a chance.
Do you know what ma/ de ojo
is,
Crystal?
Yes Ma,for the love ofGod,you
'
ve told me a million times already!
l shouted.
Do not use the Lord's name in vain! Mal de ojo, or the evil eye,
is
envious
looks from others. Why do you think I make you wear your azabache? It's for
protection. Its tradition. It's how our family protects our daughters from the
evil eye. Malllll deeeee ojooo,
she repeated. I looked down at my ankle; a gold
bracelet with black and red coral charms in the form of a fist. I couldn't help
but roll my eyes.
Not everyone
is
out to get me Ma and there's no proof that this even wor-
but
before I could say anything else, I felt a striking slap at my mouth.
Being protected from evil
is
stupid? That negrito you think you love has got
~~u
fucked up,
she yelled. Although enraged, I remained silent, holding my
robbing mouth
.
Corning into my house dressed in all black like that. The fucking devil he
is.
The
35








devil has gotten into you too!
i Vete a la mierda!
I had never seen her that upset before, even though that wasn't the first
she had told me to go to hell.
You better stay away from him!
Or else what?
Suddenly she stormed out of the room and I prepared my-
self for a traditional asswhopping. You really shouldn't test a Puerto
Rican
mother, but I didn't care. It was worth it to me, but instead she returned
a maleta from the closet. Within minutes, she had sorted through all my
clothes and packed me a suitcase.
What are you doing?
Don't fucking speak to me.
Are you serious?
I want you out of this house.
Where am I supposed to go?
She said nothing.
The following morning, I got a call from mi abuela.
Ho/a Crystal, ic6mo estas?
Hi abue/a, I'm good? How are you?
Bueno mi amor. Listen, jo mather es really upset.
I know abuela, but I didn't do anything.
Nena, we think it best
if
ju come stay with me and Tfa Blanca.
Abuela!
l protested.
Tia Blanca will meet you at the airport in le mafiana when ju land.
36















. us
r
tossed the phone aside and burst into Ma's room. She quickly
fur~~d ~p from her bible, but before she could break into one of her
1~d
0.
uJous prayers, I shouted at her until my head throbbed like a sore
fl
IC
.
thurnb
.
YI u're sending me away for something so fucking stupid!
I yelled. I was
~aking and after a certain point all I could hear were my ears ringing while
~a's lips were moving. There was so much more I wanted to say, but instead
1 slarnmed her door and dashed out of the house, taking only a small duffle
bag with me.
Sanchez agreed to link up with me. I needed to talk, badly, but before I could
do that I needed to know where we stood.
Why'dyou run off like that?
l asked.
Was it something I did?
He wouldn't
respond.
Sanchez you can tell me, what is it? What's bothering you?
Your mother.
I took a deep breath and exhaled,
Things were better when they were a secret.
She called me a nigga, Crystal.
He exclaimed, staring me directly in the eyes.
How
did you know that?
I heard her. Confused, I tried to formulate a recollection of the moment
where perhaps this was true.
You speak Spanish?
I understand it better than I speak it.
Oh god, Sanchez . .. I'm sorry. For real.
It'
s
all good. You didn't know.
!
0
We remained outside, sitting and talking about what it's like to be a
b ark-_skinned Dominican on the front steps of his building, what it's like to
e mistaken for a black boy, what it's like to be stopped by the police for no
37









reason, up until the sky turned a fiery tomato red.
So what's the move?
He asked. I sat there on the edge of his bed, placing
Ill
fingertips against my temples.
I don't know. I really don't know,
I replied, holding back the tears. I refused
cry in front of him.
Come here,
he said, grabbing my face and pressing his forehead against
mi
I closed my eyes and let his savory kiss encompass my taste buds .
.
There
were no words, just the rhythmic dancing between his tongue and mine.
Between our bodies and his sheets. It was like a sweaty hot yoga session
not once did I think about what it all meant because it felt too good to
ruin
with a question like: what does this mean? What are we? Or worse ... do
love me? I knew he did.
I had over 40 missed calls from Ma and Abuela that week and I ignored ea
and every one. I was becoming comfortable at Sanchez's place. At least th
we had privacy and freedom. I saw no reason to go back home other than
get more clothes and a change of underwear, but I wasn't ready to do that
either.
Is this yours?
he asked, handing me a thin ankle bracelet. My azabache.
Yeah, must have broken and fell off my ankle.
Then I remembered what
that
meant. Ma always said that when an azabache breaks it means bad luck.
H
and her stupid superstitions.
But it wasn't long before I found myself falling asleep alone. It wasn't long
before it was 4 am, and I didn't know where Sanchez was. Before he starte
pushing me away. Before he had consistent love bruises on his neck that I
didn't give him. One night, when Sanchez actually was home and fast aslee
I laid next to him in the dark feeling so alone despite his presence. I stared
up at the ceiling with parts of me hating myself for being so vulnerable.
Maybe I was being dramatic? Sanchez had given me a place to stay and foo
to eat despite what Ma thought of him. Maybe I was expecting too much.
And suddenly, I was interrupted by his vibrating phone. I immediately sat
38















d natched the phone from the nightstand and rushed into the bathroom.
an
s ed
at
the phone to discover who the call was from. Private number.
I
!
s~a~ed deeply and wiped my sweaty hands on my thighs and clicked answer
10
11a The voice of a female broke out in curiosity and forced its way through
ca •
my
ears.
Hello? I said.
Who is this?
1
hesitated for a moment, my nerves on edge.
Who ... is this?
Don't worry about it. My question is, who is this? She replied in annoyance.
Who are you? I snapped, rolling my eyes.
/s this Crystal? She asked, laughing devilishly. My heart nearly skipped a beat.
I sat down on the cold bathroom floor and listened closely.
Who the hell are you? I demanded.
Girl, I pity you. You're a joke, she laughed.
Whoever this is, you're fucking corny and need to stop calling.
Does Sanchez know you been creepin on his phone?
WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?
The one he's thinking about when he's with you.
1 tossed the phone to the ground and pulled my knees to my chest. Fighting
back the urge to wake Sanchez up and tear his head off like a lion whose
supper has been long overdue, fighting back the desire to pack my bag and
:ove where no one would ever be able to find me, and evidently, fighting
_
ack the urge to cry. I remained on the floor for the next two hours. Sitting in
~
-
tlence. Every now and then whispering to myself repeatedly. I should have
b'
stened.
I
should have listened ...
I
should have listened. She never called
ack,
39










That was the first time. The first time I felt pain. Like real pain. Not the
you think you feel when you're three and your mom slaps you or
gives
a cocotaso for throwing candy wrappers behind the couch, but the
pai
strikes your heart right in the funny bone until you collapse-wheezin
chest burning, lungs crying out in fractious agony. A week and a half
it took. That was all it took for him to rip my heart out of my chest
with
my permission, squash it with his bare hands and let my feelings pour
the floor with no intention of cleaning up the bloody mess. The betra
eating me alive. I stopped eating. I stopped sleeping. I stopped caring
a
how I looked and he had hardly noticed.
Jesus Christ, Crystal! Where were you? You had me so worried
.
I called
everyone! I had the goddam policia looking for you! I didn't know if you
dead or alive. What the fuck were you thinking?
Ma
shouted frantically
.
hair signified that she was just as stressed as I was. I stood there
before
in silence.
Did you hear me!?
And suddenly, my eyes began to water.
Calm down. It's gonna be alright,
Ma
whispered, her motherly embrace
me feel like a 5-year-old, but I fought back the tears.
My azabache broke.
She looked at me, her eyes filled with worry, yet a
promising ray of white light.
There's something we have to do.
She went into her bedroom and retu
with a small notebook and a silk indigo purple sheet. I stared at her in
confusion as she placed the sheet on the floor and ordered me to sit on
walked over and sat down, crossing my legs and placing my hands on
Without a word, she kneeled down in front of me, her eyes focused on
Give me your hands,
she said. I hesitated and she reached out and clench
my wrists.
I see it,
she whispered.
40





























s,e
what?
.1 'rit
I yanked my arms away and stood up quickly.
rr,
eev1
sp1 .
't
believe in that.
/
don
t
I
Sit the hell down and listen she yelled
,
pointing her fingers to the
1Si
ental
:ued my eyes and sat back down on the sheet.
o
oor:
r
I've never wanted to impose my beliefs on you. I just wanted to protect
N
ena,
yo
u.
So
why
didn't you just tell me?
Te
l/you
what
?
Th
at
you're a witch!
I shouted.
A
witch
doesn't dress in white, or go to church, or read into the future. Yo soy
un
psiquica.
A
psychic!
?
Yes ..
.
now shut up and let me figure out what that spirit wants.
That's when
I
really started freaking out. All of the things I couldn't quite understand
began
to hit me at once. I placed my hands in hers and she clenched them
tigh
tly as she held her eyes shut. I sat there nervously waiting for a reply, a
so
und, or some kind of sign, but all I could hear was my heart throbbing in
my
ears
.
A heart beat that sounded like being underwater and hearing the
wav
es
explode against a rocky shore. She opened her eyes and grabbed the
n
otebook
that laid beside her.
Wh
at
is it?
lt
was
the colors black, green and red.
Wh
at
does that mean?
8a
d
'
b
v,
rations ... envy.
Wh
at?
From who?
41






You need a cleansing,
she said while flipping through the pages of her
boo
What kind of cleansing?
She looked up at me immediately, her face was
yet her voice was filled with genuine concern.
A spiritual one. We have to go. NOW
Sometimes betrayal is like having a splinter and no tweezers, you'll
experience pain, but you won't always have a remedy. That's what being
a crowded plane from New York to Guayama, Puerto Rico felt like. A big
splinter. And even though I hated him, that's what being away from
Sanch
felt like-a big ass splinter that I had no means of removing. Tia Blanca,
I had never met and only spoke to a few times over the phone when
Abue
called for the holidays, met us at the arrival gate. Welcome to "La Ciudad
Brujas" (The City of Witches). I blinked my eyes rapidly to make sure I
seeing things, but that's what I saw.
Crystal! Oh my god
,
look at you!
She shouted, startling the sheltered touri
who strolled behind me and ma
.
Latinas have no shame when it comes
to
family. I smiled helplessly.
Welcome home!
When we arrived at abuela's house we spent less time catching up and
more time preparing my bafi.o. Ma and Abuela gathered nuts and
flowers
for the bath. They said it was for reducing tension and increasing mental
acuity. Then there were eggs and sea salt to ease physical pain and provi
protection.
Blanca, she need to learn,
Abuela announced sternly as she mixed the
ingredients into a bright blue bowl. Now more than ever.
But mama,
Tia Blanca objected.
Shh!
Abuela spat, placing her long nailed finger over her mouth.
Levantarse
.
Without a word, I rose from the couch, standing before
Abuel
like a canvas waiting to be painted or clay waiting to be molded. I remern
42











eat dripping off the back of my thighs from the wrath of Puerto
~e
~w
August humidity. Abuela strolled over to her santos and placed her
R
1
c
0
.te hand on La Virgen Maria b
_
efore removing the white rosary from her
eragi
neck. wrapping it around her left hand she held it to my forehead and
oW~bed the bowl, and without any warning, I was suddenly drowning. All
gra
uld hear was the sound of her soft words of prayer Santa Maria madre
1 ~o Gasping for air, I tried to scream, but ended up swallowing loads of
o,os.
the
liquid into my mouth, eyes and nose. All went black before_ I felt the
'
brations of the ground beneath me. I hurtled to the floor fallmg to my
;ees, trembling, as Tia Blanca snatched the bowl away from abuela. Ma
stood there motionless...
;
furiously, Tia Blanca turned towards ma and shouted without hesitation,
So
this is what you flew my niece out here for?
What are you talking about?
Ma replied.
This isn't your life Marisol!
Tia Blanca shouted, nearly popping my ear drums.
Abuela stared at both of her daughters, her eyes widening with what looked
like fear. I couldn't tell. My vision was still a bit blurred allowing me to see
only portions of red and white. I glared at Tia Blanca as she hurried over to
me,
wiping the water out of my eyes with a towel.
What
exactly are you two trying to prove?
I
told
Crystal that
I
was only trying to protect her,
Ma spat aggressively.
From
what? Evil?
Don't
tell me how to be a mother!
You
wouldn't know the first thing about motherhood, Marisol!
I stood there
;atching them argue. Abuela had inevitably joined in, standing in between
e two of them, cursing in Spanish.
I'
rn
pregnant,
I uttered. They all stopped immediately and their eyes and
rnouths
shot
open wide like cartoon characters.
What?
43













What!
Que!?
Abuela gasped.
I'm ... pregnant, I repeated softly.
Ma slowly began walking towards me
Wi
tears in her eyes.
Are you sure?
Yes . .. and I'm scared.
Admitting my fear, hearing myself utter the
words
aloud, was what did it for me. Suddenly, my walls, the walls that have
he
me up this whole time just. .. collapsed. Moment by moment, they fell
as
I sobbed into Ma's chest unceasingly, hands clutching at her blouse. Sm
crystal beads trailed down my cheeks to my neck, lips, and my chest.
Sh
held me in silence, rocking me slowly as Tia Blanca and Abuela joined o
embrace. The pain came in forceful waves, minutes of sobbing broken
a
only by short pauses for recovering my breaths, before hurling me back
the outstretched arms of my grief.
I've seen lots of movies and shows. People never truly cried, yet from
w
have seen when someone does
it's
not pretty. Their eyes swell and turn
They are unable to speak, unable to breath, nothing. The world around
becomes a blur of color that melts to gray. With the weight in their
chest
and locks in their throats, the pain in the back of the mind comes
forwa
the slightest reminders. I always refused to cry. Hating the thought
ofbe
vulnerable, but crying is how I understand myself best. When I cry I
kno
who I really am. It's my strength and my weakness. Strong because it
bri
about a sense of clarity and weak because who wants to watch salty
sno
down my nose? I wish I could turn my tears off, I do. Or perhaps just sa
until I'm alone, but I'm not wired like that. Sanchez was right. I am
diffe
My emotions swirl like ocean currents, deep and strong. Sometimes
I'm
scared to dive in because there's always a chance that I won't make it ou
alive, but I can't be anyone else. I don't think any of us can, especially
not
indigo child.
44













Aesthetic of Ruin
:~aja-Michelle Innis
W}lat I wouldn't give
for
the pictu'.e of my
Self-destruction
To
be the epitome of
Cinema and sex.
A
fantasy of going
out
In a
haze of Error and
freedom
My
cliff dive off the wagon
Would be streaked in shades
Of
black and blue and
Violet too.
Evidence of the nights
When
I
was grey cool.
Cloaked in the mystery
Of
what went south.
Instead my sabotage
Was
a blur of beige.
Beige
beige beige.
Beige
red beige.
~w
do you ruin yourself
rong?
45







Christopher Mitchell
Carmen Henriquez
4
7









Bernadette Hogan
48
Iii
Sometimes the truth is
what's
left
alter all the possibilities
have been exhausted
Lisa Fay







Lisa Fay
Chr
is
topher Mitc
hell
49











A Girl Named Finn
By Erin Taylor
I don't do group therapy. I go, but only because the doctors make me.
Th
doctors and old Barlow make me. I go, but I don't say or do anything
at
group. People can't change or fix me. Only I can.
What they don't seem to get is that for me, group is pointless. Sure it
might do something for the depressed girls or the anxiety boys. But
they
really don't seem to get that group therapy does nothing for my paranoi
personality disorder with a sprinkle of OCD. And yet every single day
at
10:30 am, I have to sit in the twelfth plastic chair in Rec Room C, the
one
closest to the door, and listen to some sociopaths and schizos talk
about
much they want to kill each other. It's routine, and I like routine. But I
do
like group therapy.
There are thirteen seats. Thirteen, not twelve. One two three four five six
seven eight nine ten eleven twelve THIRTEEN. There shouldn't be thirt
seats. This is 10:30 group, there are only twelve of us. Two paranoids,
fi
schizos, three sociopaths, a depressed, and an antisocial. But there's a
thirteenth seat. I sit in my twelfth seat with the hope that as soon as I
do
seat thirteen will disappear and it was only a med-induced hallucinatio
sit. Shit, it's still there.
"Good morning, my little lambs," Shauna says in her airy voice as she
en
the room. She's wearing that yellow and orange tie-dye get up today. I
h
it. She usually wears brighter colors when she wants to remind us that
even though we're all stuck here, we still have potential. She begins grou
the same as usual, with breathing exercises. This is promptly followed
b
asthmatic Johnson screaming that he can't breathe. Then one of the schi
Quincey, starts running around the room because she thinks a hornet's
has fallen on her lap and she's about to be stung to death. It'll be anothe
solid ten minutes before Shauna has calmed everyone down and will ask
someone to share their feelings, hoping to cure us all of our mental and
·
emotional ailments.
50














a way to start the day," a voice suddenly says to me
.
I turn to my right,
-Wh
3~
thirteen -thirteen- and there's someone in it.
A
thin, gangly thing
to
_
se~he shiniest bald head I've ever seen. Who the fuck is this? I've never
wi
th
them before, ever. Who just
_
shows up in a thirteenth seat and tries to
see~ commentary? I don't like them, A) for showing up out of the blue and
111~
eg a thirteenth seat, B) for trying to talk to me as if I talk in group, and C)
:r
;aving no obvious indication of whether they're a guy or a girl. It needs to
go.
Lunch is almost as useless as group therapy. Do you know how many crazy
eople refuse to eat? Whether
'
it's a depressed who doesn't see a point in
~ourishment or a socio who would rather save their food to choke their
roommate with later, only a small percentage of us patients actually eat. But
three
square meals a day is what's enforced here at Holiday Hills Mental and
Emotional Rehabilitation Facility. What a bullshit name,
Holiday Hills.
In here,
your
only holiday is from a peaceful normality. However, I do enjoy watching
old
Barlow chase Quincey down who was trying to sneak a fruit cup out to
her
chinchilla overlord.
"You
don't talk in 10:30 group." I turn to my side. It's sitting next to me, not
looking at anything, pushing the corn on It's tray with a spoon. No one sits
next to me at lunch. But It is, and I don't like that.
"
No,
I don't."
"You should."
"
I'll
pass."
"Why?"
"
I
don't do group therapy."
"Why?" Please learn a different letter, It.
"
Other people won't fix me. Only I can fix me."
•
ecvouJd help you." And then It gets up, throws away the uneaten corn, and
ens ·1
nu es at old Barlow.
51










Bpm- 10pm are leisure hours. I hate everyone here, and trust none of
but I like to spend it in Rec Room A where people attempt to play cards
or listen to music. Being surrounded by so many other nutjobs is oddly
comforting. Except when Vain decides to show up. Fucking Vain, with
h'
dumb face and superiority complex.
If it weren't for the fact that he
was
convicted killer who's avoiding jail time by claiming to be insane, you'd
he was nothing more than an oversized playground bully. When Vain
de
to spend leisure hours in Rec Room A, he tries to force everyone to
wa
reruns of Hogan's Heroes. No one in their right mind would want to
wa
those reruns, and even the psychos out of their right minds in this loon
don't either. But Vain threatens to eat you in your sleep if you dare go
n
the remote, so usually we're stuck.
But Vain isn't here tonight, which means I can watch everyone else civi
fight between
General Hospital
and
The Flintstones.
The only different
about tonight is that It is here, sitting on a chair towards the back,
happ
watching Fred and Barney getting ready for their bowling tournament. I
really annoying me, suddenly showing up where I am and being all cava
about it. What's wrong with It, anyway? What got It stuck in this place?
It looks over at me, like it just heard my thought. It gets up, walks over,
sits in the seat next to me on the other side of the room. It doesn't talk
and keeps watching the old cartoon on the TV. I look at the TV too, beca
there's no way I'm going to talk to this thing. Exactly twenty-one secon
pass and I look at It out of the corner of my eye to make sure It's not loo
at me. It's not, and I look back at the TV, not paying the least bit of atten
Another nineteen seconds and I look again. Still not looking at me.
Back
the TV. Eleven seconds this time. Still not looking at me. Listen, It, if
you'
going to be hanging around me, which I don't want you to, I at least
nee
know who you are.
"What's your name?"
"Finn." Fuck, still don't know if they're a guy or a girl. All I can think to
is "Oh."
"I know what you must be thinking."
52


















ttY
sure you
have
no idea
what
I'm thinking, It, but go on.
rrn
pre
.
k·n
d of a girl's
name
is Finn? Well, it's not a
girl's
name, but it's
,what
,
"
~~~
\
rrn
sorry
I
asked.
e ar
e an extra
three
security guards stationed around the mess
Thl~:oday.
Old Barlow
must realize he's getting too old for this job.
~a
verhear
Johnson
tell
his roommate that Vain had to get his daily
0
hedu
l
e
moved arou
nd after attacking an antisocial during his 2pm
~oup
ther
apy, and
now
he's in our lunch shift, hence the beefed up
gec
urity.
I
don't like
changed
schedules, especially when it means
fuck
i
ng
Vain
has to
eat
the same time as me. I see him
walk
down the
ais
le
b
etween
tables,
trying
to decide who to sit with and torture for
40
minut
es. For the
first
time in years I regret sitting alone/since this
seems
to
peak
his sinis
ter interest. Just going to stick to the routine
an
d
p
reten
d he doesn'
t even exist.
He
lazily
drops
his
plastic
tray on my table. It bounces, and juice
fro
m h
is
fruit
cup spla
shes onto my arm. But I don't react, I don't
eve
n fli
nch
. This
piece
of shit isn't going to get anything out of me
.
He
Chr
isto
pher
Mitchell
53




chuckles like a fucking cartoon villain, like what he did actually hurt rne
sits down. I eat my sandwich. He's not eating, but he's looking at me, I c~
feel it. He's sizing me up, trying to figure out what my kryptonite is,
what
needs to do to set me off. He's shit out of luck though, because the only
c
have is how dry this bologna sandwich is.
"You've been here a long time, haven't ya? I've seen ya here for a couple
years now. You must be real nuts to be here this long. What's wrong
with
anyway?"
I wonder if my not answering him is encouraging him or not. "Not gonna
to me? Come on, I thought we could be pals. We've both been here a whil
we could cause some serious damage here, don't ya think? Or are you
one
those goodies? You don't start trouble, oh no. Only the fucked up ones
Ii
me start anything. You need to be a good boy and get out of here, right?
G
back home to Mommy?"
He leans closer to my face. His rank breath smells like a sewage. I keep
on
chewing. "Well guess what- your mommy doesn't want you. She'd
rathe
you rot in here, in this crazy house. Because that's what you are.
"Crazy."
"Psycho."
"Lunatic."
Keep talking, asshole. Not like I've never hear those before. Go on, keep
trying to get a rise out of me. You won't. I'll keep eating this sandwich
un
you're the crazy psycho that has to be dragged out of the mess hall.
Keep
trying to break me. You won't. We're all crazy here.
And then he leans right next to my ear, so close I can feel the cracked
skin
his lips on the helix of my ear.
"Worthless."
Okay, time to die. A moment later, the big oaf is pinned to the ground.
My
hand is gripping his struggling wrists together, my right hand doing its
b
to gnaw his face off. Even though I'm focusing on my nails raking through
his skin, I remember to press my weight onto his chest via my knee. He's
screaming, trying to fend me off through bites and wads of spit.
54











't hear what he's yelling because everyone around us is too. My fans
I can heering for me. His fans are trying to beat up mine. This must be what
are
~all is.
J
wouldn't know, I was never one of those sports-crazed kids. I
fo?tk it w
a
s the first time my dad was disappointed ih me.
th!O
n hear old Barlow's voice now, pushing through the hysteria. "Get the
~:k
off of her! Hey, you, put them down! Let me through, I'm ending this
now!
"
Sorry, officer, but this isn't ending until I've scratched Vain's ugly face off
clean
.
Should be soon, his wrists are struggling less and less.
/
I'm
so proud at all the chaos I've caused. It may not be routine but it's the
first exciting thing to happen here for years. The sociopaths are all fighting
now too
.
The schizos are crying in the corner. And there's Finn ... sitting there.
She's
just...looking at me. Why does she keep doing that? Why is she just
looking at me?
And then I feel Barlow's hands around my arm and neck. He yanks me from
Vain'
s
body, hollering something about extra therapy and new meds. He's
dragging me to the doors with unnecessary force because I'm not struggling,
Barlow. I'm watching Finn watch me with that fucking face of hers. The one
she makes when we're sitting together at group, not talking, and when we're
watching
Flintstones during leisure, not talking. That face that just ...
!
don't
know,
knows. What does she know?
I'm not worthless. I may be a crazy psycho lunatic, just like Vain says, but I'm
not worthless. Maybe she knows.
I'm not allowed to leave my room for leisure hour anymore. Not until the
doctors feel certain I won't beat up anyone else. The doctors and old Barlow,
that is
.
I
'
m staring at the wall, counting how many white dots are in the pale
feen wallpaper. Four hundred seventy six, four hundred seventy seven. The
oor opens and Finn walks in. She just waltzes in, like she's allowed to come
: nd go as she pleases, and sits next to me on my bed. I'm not saying anything
ecause I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. I feel like she's going to tell
:~ ~hat I did to Vain was wrong, and that none of us want to be here and we
Wish we were better, wish we were normal.
5
5













She finally decides to speak to me, "Why are you here, Pete? Why are You
Holiday Hills?"
And I tell her why I'm here. I tell her about how I was always a worrier
as
a kid, and oddly organized, but it happened when I was fourteen. I knew
my history teacher was actually part of the Mafia, and was planning
my
death when I wrote a paper about the evils of the Mafia
.
I knew they
were
going to get the mob together and get me, I really knew it, and I had to
stop it. She only communicated to her mob by snail mail -you know, to
b
inconspicuous- which is why I had to but the cherry bomb in her mailb
and the seven mailboxes near her house. And since I was a minor and
did
actually harm anyone, only federal mail, I was sent for evaluation instead
juvie. And that's when they decided I had paranoid personality disorder
a sprinkle of OCD. This is where I've been for the last five years. My paren
used to visit all the damn time, but once they realized nothing was chan ·
they came less and less. It's been exactly 342 days since my mom came
to
see me. So this is where
I'll
be until I'm 21. Then the doctors and old Bari
will assess me and see if my progress is up to snuff. If it is I'll be let out.
F'
nods, listening to every word of my story, but isn't saying anything.
"You don't talk in 10:30 group either
.
" I decide to point out. I want to
ask what's wrong with her, why she's in here, the same thing she asked
m
But I don't.
She smiles. "I know."
"Why not?" she just shrugs. I decide to remind her that "it could help you.
She smiles again and stands up. "It could." Then she walks to her room.
It's my first day of group after beating the shit out of Vain. The doctors di
want me around too many others for a while. We had to wait the standard
three days after my incident to make sure I was not a threat to my own
li
or the life of any other person on the premises. It's like they don't trust
m
something.
I'm walking into the room and I notice something's off. Let's see, there
are
one two three windows on the west wall, one two tables against the
back
wall, and one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve
ch
56










·
ng a semi-circle. Wait, is that right? One two three four five six seven
:;:' nine ten eleven twelve. Twelve. Not
_
thirteen, but twelve.
•
Good morning, my little chipmunks." Shauna has ar
~
ived wearing the pink
d red poncho I've hated for years. I sit in seat number twelve. Shauna
an
rts with our breathing, which I don't do. Usually while I don't do breathing
5t3
rcises, I think about who I hate the most in group that day (spoiler, it's
~~:ally Shauna). But not today. I just wonder where Finn is.
Group just ended and amazingly only one sociopath threatened to kill us
all.
I hear Shauna tell old Barlow, who's stationed in the main hallway this
morning
,
that that's
"
progress." Yeah, progress. Keep on dreaming, Shauna.
Just because Finn doesn't talk in group either doesn't mean she wouldn't
go
.
J
never talk, but I
still
go. Mostly because they make me and because it's
r
outine and I like routine, but I still go. Maybe she forgot? Or slept in? Or
overdosed or was killed by her roommate the depressed or was eaten by
Vain in some sick revenge scheme. I get to her room and walk in the door,
the same way she always did with mine. She's not there. Her roommate is
though, and not too pleased to see me. She spews several curses at me and I
ask where Finn is.
"
She's gone." Gone? Like ... gone,
gone?
"No, she didn't off herself or anything.
She was checked out this morning. Apparently they thought she was normal
enough to go home. Lucky bitch."
I'm walking down the hall from Finn's room to mine. The hallways here
are probably the most stereotypical mental institution halls you could ever
imagine. They're big and wide and the lighting alone makes you want to
kill yourself. It's that overly bright florescent that gives you a headache and
makes you nauseated in an instant
.
If anyone's ever in the halls, it
'
s either
Pale people in tattered pajamas and robes trudging to meet their doctors or
~crea
_
mers being dragged by two security members to be sedated. Unlike a
~~pita!, which likes to cover its pastel walls with obscure pieces of art and
~h Ildren's drawings, these walls are barren. Nothing is on them and I hate
a
_
t. They're so empty and the hall is so quiet and it's all just a deafening
wc!~l
of agony, of "GET ME OUT OF HERE, I WANT TO GO HOME, I'M NOT
1
'V'!.ZY."
57














I'm at my door now and go in my room. I don't have a roommate
. Not
because they don't trust me with one, it's the other way around. I
don't
anyone else. They learned that within my first year here, that it's
best
fo~
progress if I have one of the single rooms.
Illy
It's quiet in here.
Another day, another 10:30 group therapy session. I take my sea
t,
number
twelve, closest to the door
.
Twelve today. Not thirteen. One two t
hree
four
five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve. Not thirteen. Shauna
comes
in wearing the purple and teal shawl. She leads the breathing ex
ercises,
Johnson gets taken out because he started hyperventilating, an
d Quincey
starts screaming that a guy has a gun to her forehead. Shauna fin
ally
regroups us all.
"So, who wants to share something with us all today? What are y
ou
feeling
?"
And I raise my hand.
Carmen Henri
quez
58






Carm
en
Henriquez
59









The Math of a Grapefruit
By Amanda Dettmann
When I was seven my mother laid a grapefruit
cut in two
in each of my palms.
How many lives has it lived?
I counted each purple-red section in my right hand,
having to start over multiple times
after forgetting the number following eleven.
Twelve! This one's lived twelve lives, Mama!
So
put them together. When full, how many?
Ummm
. ..
Twenty-four lives, Mama!
This fruit
is
an old lady.
She said my math was right,
but the age wasn't.
She told me to lean back my head
while she squeezed the blood
of both grapefruit halves
over my eyes.
Can you see
how long it's lived?
I never answered.
I was blinded by and beaming in
the champagne-colored fizz.
60









for cou
nting
li
ve
s
is
tirn
itJ
ess
as
0
ur
story ca
nnot be sectioned
into tw
enty-fo
ur parts
of a sin
gle
grapefru
it.
Lisa Fay
61





Advice From a Stranger
By Bernadette Hogan
The clock read 6:4 7 a.m. and Chief knew he should probably head
out
office soon.
He etched his number slowly at the bottom of the finished product.
H
twenty copies and shuffled down the steps and out of the revolving
d
After three blocks to the subway he took out his duct tape and
plaste
first of the makeshift signs to a telephone post:
"WE MET WALKING TO THE BROOKLYN FLEA. MINNESOTA STEP
YOU'RE A BIKER YOU'RE A PAINTER YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. CALL
Bleating car horns demanded indifference in the distance, but the
fo
promised a clear day ahead.
Chief worked his way through the teeming throng of bodies,
stepping
up in concrete fashion like a windup toy soldier. At the top of the Ian
halted abruptly, posing, fracturing the rhythmic flow behind.
"YO I'm walkin' here you God-DAMN tourist."
The thing
is,
I wish you would just do the right thing.
He replayed the worded memory over in his mind.
You'll know what's right, trust me- I know you have the intellectual
ca
It's just disappointing to see you keep choosing the wrong thing.
S. Larsen at 44 MacDougal Street, Apt. 10 on 10th floor.
Folding the address and the flyer and tucking them safely into his jea
pocket he decided: it was coke weather- definitely coke weather.
He
gered the left breast folds of his leather jacket and fished out a cigare
mighty slim one, and took to lighting it.
62






































de a left, another left, and ducked under a low hanging awning right
rna
.
to a sometime woman and dyed pink Pomerarlian trotting about
ck
in
ble wire. A grumbled
Watch it!
and
Oh! Excuse me?
and cell phone
3 '
.
~
gle fumigated the almost-awkwardness, as dog and human exited
...
..n
-)10
~
edly outwards through a portal of sunglow.
(made
towards the grimy soda shelves, paid the $1.25 and
Oal
:tlessly
made the crossover back outside, his third footfall treading-
•~n
tentionally mind you-on the tail of the little canine. It yelped and
:
ered,
slinking towards his woman bruised-I~, but she ~as smoki~g now.
-lft>o
W
deep inside a brown paper bag, she wasn t even paymg attent10n to
Qli
ef'
5
entrance because now, the traffic light had turned green.
,-y
father's gonna fuckin' kill me Jer- KILL ME if he finds me out here on
3rd
drinkin' like I am-"
Qu
efleaned against a box advertising EXOTIC fruit priced at $5.15 per
po
und,
and took his first sip, bathing fuzzy teeth with liquid for the first time
w
hat... twelve hours maybe?
A
group
of fifteen elementary age students shuffled by in uniforms, their
JDl
mg Ms.
Thing of a teacher trumpeting:
"Oka
y
kids! Remember, crossing the street looking both ways! And try not to
take
up all the sidewalk space with your suitcases!"
ilb
I am, I'm fuckin' drinkin' I am- Wha'? A'course you- Well fuck. Missed
:
sagain and you know-you know where I'll be? Hell in a handbasket-
arto
God Jerry."
~
~allowed a third swig before leaving the bottle and began to cross
'IIUWJl
town.
.
it
:i
in a handbasket like all the other Catholics. And hey- " Chief stopped
face
~.
address, but her look of reproach instead landed on the little dog's
· -You'll be there too."
Ile
walk
lnd
i½ct
ed_ a~ross the street deliberately as the wind swallowed
Uahty s very own distinction.
63














"Name one thing you would honestly be thrilled to pick up at
this flea
right now- anything at all. Can be weird,
just
be honest."
''A
new tie
.
You?"
"Hm. I've been searching for the perfect frame for this tiny pa
inting
J
di
d
larger than my thumb. Everything I've seen just doesn't matc
h the feel.
again, I've only been looking a week so-"
"So-"
"So
the quest continues! Tell me, what is it you do?"
"Corporate
management. I basically go into the different depa
rtments
o
f
company and see what works and what doesn't."
"Ooo. So you must be crazy busy. You're pleased?"
"Yeah it's great. I'm always moving, never stationary at one
desk or
one
office. I'd die."
64






















1 think I'd die if I was inside all day. Which is why, initially, I was so
e
too.
to
move here. I thought so much .was done indQ_ors but, the weather
,et\'
~us
mazing and I've biked everywhere!"
ai,
re
1s a
h
7"
Minnesota t en.
'50
,
Minnesota- my family has lived there since the first ones came over
,Y
ep
,
Norway. Cow people. I'm literally the only person to have moved away
rro
rn
.k h'
,,
lll
sornething
h et
irty
years.
b d
7"
"l)i
d
you know any o Y.
•
Ac
ollege roommate actually::_ I live with her now. Here wait- answer me
lbiS
-"
The popsicle was stained red. "What falls down but never gets hurt?"
"Wh
at-"
~
o thinking! Just answer! First thing that comes to mind!"
111
-"
-Y
ou're
thinking again!" She danced beside his side, one hand on bike, other
on
stick. She swiveled her upper lip and nose, narrowing both eyes while half
mc
king one, as she pointed in the air like a modern-day female Socrates.
"A-
"
i'im
e's up! Rain. The answer is rain. Rain falls without consequences or fear.
So
what about you, my new friend? Have you fallen and not been hurt?"
T
m
not one for metaphors I don't think"
~
e. You're playing wrong I'm not letting you get away that easy. You need
What's the word-"
Cie
l
ti
PPed fingers snapped .
•
-ah1
It' 1·
,
· s 1ke have no limits'-but that's not it, no!"
Co
llapsi
.
ng 1
.
n breathless laughter, she was cool and smoky over her bicycle.
1
bareJ
Y even know dude, but, I can tell you need to-lighten up! You must
65





carry many thoughts with your head, many worries, no?!"
Chief laughed too, this time grabbing at her arm and naked popsicle
She danced sideways and shrieked, bicycle nearly careening into
the
as the front rubber tube sagged curbside.
"Jesus!" Chief lunged for the girl and bike in what would be a heroic
oncoming cars weren't stalled by the nearest red light.
"Second time! Not a good start for you hun- you need to work on
yo
game."
In college I received the texts, the screenshots, the phone calls.
Do you see what your father does to your mother? I'm not trying to
ca
trouble, but your dad is really unfair to your mom.
An ex-girlfriend of mine once asked: You think your mom and dad
wo
get back together?
Honestly, that'd be pretty sweet if you think about it, but, I think wi
signing the prenup and all, my mom's pediatrician salary and Tim's
government checks he's been cashing in since the four and a half
mo
the day my mother said / do, the benefits wouldn't split too evenly.
what you get for going along with organized religion. And that's
why,
get married, which I'm not as of now,
I'll
be signing that piece of
pap
How do people just fall out of love like that? I guarantee they still
love
other.
Every once in a while when my dad and I go out, he'll get hammered
start talking about her. I don't think he's ever gotten over the fact
tha
months after their divorce, she started dating my stepfather- still
in
mind you. You're not even supposed to date while in
AA!
He talks
this
he slugs whiskey after whiskey and finally switches up to beer. I'll
fin
again. I swear I will, but I mean I haven't been Catholic in years, so,
m
a false hope.
66






















0
oUI's in a span of two years, and Tim hasn't taken a sip in six.
gotd7ooks better though -by far- because defeat makes a person
da
akes
them always have something to prove. Unearned satisfaction
'~her hand, well, makes me think of a woman's ass and thighs when
tbe
0
n't worked out in a while-what's it called? My mom says, She's got
has
/ebags
.
don't just lose something, sorry, someone- and expect to find them
·
n
unless of course they want to be found. But people are too proud for
Usually
.
re's
nothing like a building with no elevators and of course his
·nation was ten flights up. He buzzed three times before the door's
ic barrier lifted, and he began moving up, up, and up.
ide
No. 10
he paused, wishing he had a cigarette. Fifteen seconds
d
and he put his hand down. Maybe he wouldn't knock after all. In that
ment, a gray haired woman opened the door.
en? Honey, I think you've got the wrong address."
king
again at the address and the flyer, he turned away back toward the
rs
.
He opened the door and nearly toppled a young woman carrying
toc
eries
.
"Ob
my-"
lut
she stopped midsentence and stared.
"Ob
my-"
lie
helped her up.
11
0\vdid
YOU-?"
67




"You sign all your pictures: McDougal. Not with your last name. I didn't
realize till I saw in the subway-"
"I really thought you wouldn't find me again."
She smiled. She took a step to the left and he saw the inscription.
They were on floor number 9.
Jesus! You're gonna knock me over dude!!!
He wasn't even finished opening the cab door before a biking girl
slammed
into the side then tipped off her bicycle as the tire skirted the sidewalk
edg
and into the street and-
Oh SH/T-l-
He grabbed at her body as she barricaded him in the backseat.
Jesus let GO OF ME!!
Wriggling to be free, the girl on top of him thrashed like a fish in osprey
talons. She shoved an elbow and whacked him in the nose-blood instantly
gushing.
UGHH! Let- oh my GOD I'm so sorry I didn't mean to-
It's fine no, I'm sorry this
is
my fault!
No I- ahh shit/-
Hold on I have ti
s
sues! In my back poc- oh shit no, ah damn it, no I don't!
Here- use my shirt-
The twisted pair spilled halfway outside the cab, her blouse halfway up
her
torso as she attempted to left the edges to his nose.
Oh geez this
is
all my fault-
68















hey you two out ofmy car now! You, bleeding boy-you realize how much
ffe('gonna cost me? I charge you extra!
thlS
.
she
began to laugh now, still on top of him.
H
what's so funny there miss!? Miss-
ey,
Give him a break-
I
could s~e Y~U for making contact with this cab door-
I
say free rides for all and no time
m court!
No
,
no you can't-
/ can and
I will. Actually, I'll ca!l my lawyer right now!
No
miss!-
Hey,
man it's fine I'll pay chill- miss it's okay- here-
$50
cash, that good?
Yes- now get outta my cab!
Chief handed the cab by his money but before he drove off, grabbed Chief's
arm
and whispered, "Maybe don't say bye-bye to her so quick, man. I could
listen to that laugh longer."
She was still laughing as she gave him a hand to get out.
What did you do that for? I had him right where I wanted him.
Nah
,
better to pay him off
Anyways, that
$50
should be in my pocket for almost pancaking my body.
I
could say the same-do you like crooked noses?
You-a/right fair enough Hammurabi-
/'// make it up to you though.
Sure you
will ...
how do you plan on doing that?
Wei/ where are you off to?
The Brooklyn Flea actually. And you?
69












This might be your lucky-or very unlucky-day because
,
so a
m
I
.
I'll esc
you-if you'd like.
0
I think I'd like that.
By the way, what's your name?
Stephanie.
It was the first time he ever took advice from a stranger.
7
0
Lisa
FOY













Excerpt from "The Magnificent Mil"
By Brian Spiess
Overshore was a small, quiet little town on the very edge of
Rhode
place of small merriments, quiet joys, and a large, expansive
beach
easternmost border of the village. The time was late May, a
most
month for Overshore, when the sun was just starting to peak
out
0
clouds of rainy April and people were starting to exchange their
and blue jeans fort-shirts and shorts. After all this time, the
beach
again open for business, the stores were preparing for the
ever-po
Summer Blowout," and the children were squirming in their
schoo
about to explode from the anticipation for summer. Summer
was a
time for the small town of Overshore, a time when the sun
shone
the people smiled and danced along the seashore. And judging
by
nice weather and the reports of a strawberry moon coming
soon,
be a summer the citizens of Overshore would not soon forget.
But this year was different, for in a strange turn of events,
summer
early for Overshore.
That specific year, summer came on May 31, at precisely 12:06
in
morning.
At that time, a man by the name of Milton Aberdale was living
in
and had made his living as a struggling stage magician for four
yea
months, and approximately twenty-four days. It was that specific
that saw him make a significant career change overnight, and
learn
whole new world just under his nose ...
In Milton Aberdale's experience, birthday parties always meant
go
for magicians. In Overshore, they were usually large affairs,
many
showed
up, and if you were lucky, you could get a gig at one
hosted
wealthy family. Fortunately for himself, Milton was the only
magic·
town, and his act had a certain positive repute, so whenever a
partY
72








d
rolled around he could expect a somewhat-large pay.
tu
;the party was a pretty ordinary day for Milton, as when it
\ : went through it the _same ~ay he went through almost_
every
d_ay.
he
had a certain checkhst which he followed to map out his mornmg
e:
7
:00-
Wake up
7:lS _ Breakfast
7
:45 _ Get dressed, brush teeth, comb hair
S:OO _
Take inventory of magic kit
S:15 - Practice the act
8:50-TBD
n
would follow this checklist every time a gig rolled around- it was
"
tion, after all, and traditions were to be honored on the day of a
The sacred days were getting rarer and rarer, and therefore all the
valuable for the young prestidigitator. It seemed not many people
In
need of a bit of magic in their lives anymore. Nevertheless, Milton
ued to soldier on
,
not knowing in the slightest the wonders he was
celebration its
e
lf took place on May 30th, during a sunny afternoon in
est District of Overshore. The district belonged to the mostly wealthy
e
lite of the small town, and Milton was most excited to entertain their
n
,
bring the beauty of magic and mystery into their young hearts-
a
little to dip into the seemingly infinite resources the parents had to
Slipping into his magician's getup and starting up his "Magici-Van"-
erted van he had owned for several years decorated with his name
several
"
magical
"
illustrations- he started off for the birthday party,
g he would get there early.
7
3







74
a man once asked/we've been so sad
By Shane Brennan
a man once asked
me ( of all people!)
so I told him:
how to make it to
Shangri-la,
(1) chopped fruit;
(2) brandy;
(3) cane sugar,
and;
( 4) Spanish red wine;
mix thoroughly,
garnish
with orange slice (optional)
;and
when he complained, I could only say:
"Ay dio[nysu]s mio!"
we've been so sad
so let's just get married,
(screw the priest!) my brother's an ordained minister,
"And you better not ferget it prrffessrr!";
won't invite our parents
neither;
and we can get divorced
when we're bored,
I be trothed.




Lisa Fay
75




Bernadette Hogan
76









fbe J{ing of
Castle
Hill
BY Raquel Medina
fhere
was
a song my mom used to sing to me before bed. It went something
rke
:
tu puedes sonar en lo que quieres ser real. You can dream up what
ybu
~ant
to
be real. I never got that. I mean, we have everything right here.
1 don't mean to brag, but I'm rich as fuck We live in a mansion- a palace,
really. You should see the place all done up for Christmas. Ten times better
than those wannabes in Westchester. The tree, man. The tree my brother,
Santo, picks up is always th~ best fuckin' tree of them all. It's mad tall and
shit and fluffy. Like it makes you wanna hug it or something, but you can't
because all the prickles. It looks great against the hardwood floors in our
mansion ... I mean, palace.
Thing is, people misunderstand where I live. I'm the kid that lives on Castle
Hill. I
mean, the name fits it because, like I said, we live in a palace. Because
we're rich. People tend to think of me as exotic because I got this glowing
skin and green eyes. People say I look like something outta Narnia and, hey. I
agree. It fits because this is a magical place.
Lemme break it down for you. My mom is the best lady in the whole court.
She's as white as it come, so people never guess she's Hispanic. She got
green eyes like me. Her flan is amazing and so are her
pastelillos. Can't
choose which is better. She says she has a magic touch when it comes to
cooking. That's truth. But she never cook much because she can't trouble her
delicate fingers with such nonsense. That's why we always get our food from
the outside chefs. They even know we're so important that they only charge
us a dollar forty nine for the Fiery Doritos Locos Tacos. Now, that's special
treatment,
I gotta say.
Then there's Pops. My Pops wasn't like her or like me or Santo. He was black
as
a chunk of coal. He used to walk home from work, toothpick hanging
out of his mouth, and sometimes bring me and Santo "trinkets" from the
~Utskirts of Castle Hill. Santo would be like: "Pops, what's a trinket?" and
ops would be like: "It's a fancy word people in far off lands like Westchester
Us "A
e.
nd Santo and me would shrug our shoulders and take the magic cubes
77


















in our hands that could tell how many pet dragons we'd own i
n the
futur
Pops said these magic cube predictors were called
"dice."
(Well,
that's
the.
common-folk name for it). Santos always lost these magic cube
predicto;
and
Pops always had to be buying new ones, which he always re
minded
:s
was a hassle.
But like I said, I'm rich. Rich as fuck And everyone goddamn k
nows
it
too.
Like, when I walk down the street in my polished Jordans, Lu
pita,
the lady
who works at th~ royal ";ercado at t~e ~orner of C~stle Hill a
l
w
ays
be
giVing
me free egg muffms. She s always wmkmg and tellmg me that
she likes
my
shoes. I tell her I like them too and that they were very expens
ive and
that
Pops got them for me last Christmas. And then she always loo
k
s
up
at me
with her big-ass eyes and says pobrecito as she pats my shoul
der the
way
m
y
mom would do whenever I got a scrape on my knee at the enc
hanted
jungle-
gym.
Christo
pher
Mitchell
78










ailY, everywhere I go in these parts, people be looking at me strange.
,\ctU
e chick in my magic class, you know where you make shit explode and
S~~
apart the insides of toads that belonged to evil wizards, gave me
~
tray
Pttostones
and told me to tell mom that her family offers their condolences. I
~on't even know what a condolence is, but those
tostones
were mad good!
Thing is, I know why people give me and my brother weird looks. It's
because they jealous of us. I mean, who wouldn't be. I would be too. Like,
ur palace even has a white gate around it and a security camera my mom
:ot
some peasant to fix the other day. It's real nice. Like people probably see
that and think, wow. That's the castle on Castle Hill. It's true. It is. I think the
other reason why people started looking at us weird and sending us trays of
tostones was because of that day a couple of months ago.
That morning, I got up and brushed my teeth as usual-gotta keep the image
fresh, you know. And as I was walking down the street to the school where
all
young princes gotta go, some chick comes up to me, asking me about the
battle. There's a big battle, you know, happening now. There's black knights
and white knights. My Pops was the proud black knight of Castle Hill. This
chick's dad was part of the Castle Hill black knights, too. My Pops and her
dad were friends.
So I tell this chick not to worry, that all is good on the battlefield. And she
believes me because I think she had a crush on me. At least that's what
my
black friend, Sean, said. I would too, if I was her. I mean, who wouldn't
want to date a prince? So she smiled this big, dumb smile at me and told me
that she'd see me later in magic class. Everything was pretty normal that
morning. Castle Hill was looking fine as fuck with its little tree next to the
fire hydrant.
Thing is, about the battle, I'd always wanted to fight
.
My Pops said that I was
a fool for wanting to because people die and shit. Well, duh. It's a battle. I
Wanted to be a black knight so bad, but Pops used to tell me: "Boy, don't be
gef~ing mixed up in the battle
.
You won't fit on either side, so best stay out
0 Itl"
p
·
lik · ops would always get real mad when I brought up fighting. He never
ob e~ any of that and told me that he was only a black knight because it was
Vious. I didn't care. I still wanted to fight.
79


So this day, I'm feeling very brave. This day, I'm feeling like I could
sla
dragon. I could save the chick in my magic class. I could be crowned
Castle Hill because, this day, I wanted to fight a white knight.
I met my friend, Sean, behind the enchanted-jungle-gym.
"You got the stuff?" I asked him as he poked around his bag.
"Yeah. It's here," he whispered as our magic teacher walked by, not n
us.
"Good."
"What exactly do you wanna do with all this stuff?" he asked.
"The point is to make a big deal, Sean. The point is to make people
see
"Ok, ok!" he shrugged. "When do we do it?"
"Whenever. Right now. I don't care!"
"Ok, I can't do now. I have class upstairs now," Sean said.
"Fine. I have class now too. After lunch we go." I extended my hand
for
to shake. Real knights do shit like that. Thing is, Sean wasn't exactly
s
wanted to be knight. He was flakey like that. But he shook my hand
an
"So ... " he began.
"I'll see you later. After lunch," I said, running up the stairs.
Lunchtime was always a mess. Chicks were always dancing to Drake
o
Yeezy on the blacktop, I guess for the next ball they were going to be i
to. Chicks loved the balls at Castle Hill. They'd get all dressed up
in
gli
clip-on diamonds and fancy dresses that exposed as much of their
legs
back and chest that their mothers would let them. Their dads never
lo
happy as their escorts would pick them up at their doors and lead
the
the ballroom on the second flood of this here building.
But this lunchtime, I didn't care about paying attention to the dancing
on the blacktop. Me and Sean had a mission.
80












t your bag?" I asked Sean.
oug
0
h It's here
.
"
ea·
d
the shit's still in there?" I asked.
at
..
. what now?" he asked.
ollow
me." Lunchtime was almost over and me and Sean had to make our
o
ve.
We snuck behind the enchanted-jungle-gym again and crouched over
bag.
y
Pops always used to tell me not to ever go behind the enchanted
pi
gle-gym. He said it was okay to play in the enchanted jungle, but it was
aev
er
good to walk too far beyond it because bad things happen. I'd ask him
wh
at
kind of bad things and he'd say that it wasn't a place for kids because
tha
t's where the bad black knights go to do illegal dealings. I found it crazy
beca
use there couldn't be no bad black knights, but Pops said there's a little
ba
d
in everything, even in things you love. But that day, me and Sean weren't
~
ds
and we were ready to face the bad. We were ready to fight the white
kni
ghts and so we ran through the enchanted jungle-gym to the other side.
'Y
ou
sure this is a good idea?" Sean asked, a little shaky.
"D
amn,
muchacho! Calm down."
i
rs
just that I don't want to get in no trouble!" Sean said in a loud whisper.
"W
e
Won't. Hand me the stuff."
~
Sean was going through his bag to get the stuff, a white knight happened
Walk by.
°Wh
at
are you kids doing?" the white knight asked, coming closer to us.
"N
o-no
-
noth·
" S
d
mg... ean stammere .
81


















We never really saw that many white knights because they were
us
ually
ff
busy fighting the black knights and couldn't be bothered by
little
pr
inces~
ike
us.
"I said;' the white knight repeated, "what are you doing?" His
pale
fa
ce
Wa
s
turning red and he made circles around us. "What's in the bag,
boys?
"
"Oh
my god!" Sean was crying.
"If
you don't tell me now, I'm going to rip the bag open myself!"
screa
med
th
e
white knight, still making circles around us.
"Say
something!" Sean whispered to me, half crying like a little
bitch
.
"Please!"
"Sir
... " I began. "It's really nothing."
Julia Franco
82

















•
l'Jl
give ~ou until the
_cou~t
of three to op~n ,~hat damn bag all the way!" the
white knight was yellmg. One ... TWO
...
TH-
,what's going on here?" my Pop's voice said from behind me.
•
pops!" I
shouted.
"What are you doing here?"
I
•
No, Ernesto." Pops was mad, I could tell. "What are you doing here with
Sean? Did I not tell you a hundred damn times to stay away ... "
,Who are you?" the white knight interrupted.
•
This boy's father," Pops said, pointing at me.
The white knight looked at Pops. Then he looked at me. Then he looked back
at
Pops and laughed.
"You're joking," laughed the white knight. He kept looking at me and back at
Pops. I was used to getting looked at and all because I'm the fucking prince
of Castle Hill and all, but this white knight was making me feel uneasy.
"What's going on here?" another voice said from behind. It was another
white knight.
"
Oh, hey. Luke, look," said the first white knight, pointing at me and Pops.
"
This guy says this kid is his son!"
"
Ok, and ... "
"
He
don't even look like him!" The first white knight laughed.
"
John,
I..."
"
HE'S
JUST A STUPID N-!"
"
Pops, what does n- mean?'' I asked. But Pops had lowered his head and I
couldn't tell if he was really mad or really sad.
"
Not now, son," he whispered through tight teeth.
·
w
hoa! John. You've had a long day. Maybe you should get back in the car
83










and ...
"
began the white knight named Luke.
"It's people like you that ruin places like this," white knight John was
sa .
to Pops. "It's people like you who lie and lie and make it hard for the
rest
"
us
.
To be honest, I didn't understand what white knight John was saying.
We
were the rulers of
the Castle Hill.
If
I was a prince, Pops was the king.
He
had no right talking to Pops that way, but Pops wasn't saying anything
ha
You'd think the king of Castle Hill would have said something or hit the
knight or something! But Pops just stood there with his head down.
''I'll ask it again!" screamed white knight John. "Who's kid is that?" he sai~
pointing to me.
"John, we'd better go," white knight Luke said, grabbing white knight
John
shirt. But white knight John pulled away.
"He's mine. And that's the truth," my Pops said in that low voice that
he
whenever mom got mad at him because he knew she'd forgive him.
"Liar!" screamed white knight John. He stopped screaming for a second.
"Where'd the other kid go?" he asked, turning around.
Sean was hiding behind his big bag, knees tucked to his chest. He was
shaking and crying like a little bitch.
"Get up, you!" shouted white knight John.
Poor, Sean. He was also a prince, after all, and wasn't used to people yelli
at him like that.
If
only white knight John knew that Sean's dad was
Lord
the Electric Appliance Repairs, he would've spoken to him different.
As S
got up, white knight John's face get redder.
"You mean to tell me this boy isn't your son and that one is?" he yelled.
"What kind of game are you playing here?"
"I ain't playing no games, sir," Pops said, head still facing down. I wanted
to
yell at the white knight for Pops. I wanted to tell him that my Pops was
the
84










. g and that he needed to bow down to him. I wanted to shout out that
lciO
s was always doing good because he always found enough time to
1
pick
poprnore magic cube predictors for me and Santo. But I felt something in the
up
that told me the timing was off and that I should stay shut up.
air
•
But
I think you are!" laughed the white knight John. "You see, no one like
ou
can have a boy like
that,"
he said pointing at me again. He pointed at
{ean who's dark skin had turned pale and sweaty. "You tell me that's your
kid and I let you go."
"
That is not my child," my Pops
,
said softly. "Sir, my wife is ... "
"
Lies! You see, Luke," white knight John was saying. "This is what young
apprentices like you have to learn. These people are liars!"
"
John ... I really think we should go ... "
"You want to lose your job?" white knight John snapped back.
"No,
sir."
"
Then shut up and learn the ways!" he turned around and placed a foot over
Sean's bag. "Is this your bag?" he asked Sean. Sean nodded, covering his face
with his hands. White knight John looked back at my Pops.
"
This
is
your
son. You should know what's in his bag.
If
you don't answer me
correctly, you're going to be very sorry."
"He is not..."
"What's
in the bag?" asked white knight John.
"I dunno," Pops said.
~Liar! _Is it drugs? Marijuana?" white knight John asked, wiping dirt on Sean's
ag with his dirty boot. "Is it a weapon?"
"I can't say," Pops whispered.
"WHAT'S IN THE BAG?" white knight John yelled.
85











The words I said next kinda came outta nowhere. I don't know why 1
them or why I was even talking, but the just came out because I
couldn
the stupid white knight get to my Pops, the king of Castle Hill. "You
stu
white knight! You don't have to scream at my Pops like that. That's
my
and all that's in the bag are stupid posters that me and Sean made
after
school yesterday because we wanted to be a part of-"
I don't think I know if the words I said were good. I guess not because
knight John pulled out this shiny, black thing that made three really
lou
popping noises. It was the noise mom makes when she's grinding
ajo
fo
nights she makes dinner at our castle. Except a million times louder.
An
noise hurt as it passed over my right leg. But I can't complain much
be
the noise hit Pops the loudest. It hit him right in the neck
And the noise was red as it came back out of him and splashed on to
me
Sean. Bright red. And as Pops lay there in a puddle of red noise, white
John pulled out the posters me and Sean had made from his bag.
"The fuck is this ... " I heard him say as he threw our posters down on
the
sidewalk and got into his car and drove away. Red noise started to soak
posters.
'Tm calling an ambulance," I heard white knight Luke say. But his voice
sounded like it was coming from a tunnel or a far off land like Westche
I could feel the burn in my right leg like a thousand fire-breathing
drago
had just bitten me and then sprayed their fire on me. Sean's eyes were
c
and he was like sleeping on the ground. The next day, he told me that
he
passed out and couldn't remember what had happened after the pops
out of white knight John's jacket.
Pops was also on the floor with his eyes closed. He must've passed
out
The next few days, mom couldn't stop crying. Me and my brother
stayed
our room all day. We never got out of our pajamas. I had a big, white
cast
on my right leg. A lot of people came to our palace on Castle Hill, too.
Eve
Abuela came, dressed in all black It was nice to see her again. Last
time I
saw her was when Tio Julio died.
86


















ay
,
that's why people stare, I think. I mean, not every day do you see
,'11:ng
prince like me who's already be~n in battle. Chicks dig it. Guys get
•Y
1
us I tell them Pops passed out, but he
'
ll be better. He gotta be because
•
aO .
~stle Hill needs its ruler back..
etimes my mom gets mad at me. She's been getting more mad with me
so:ry
day.
"
Ya tienes que parar esta fantasia
,
"
she tells me
.
"You're too old for
:is, Ernesto." I don't know what she's talking about because none of this is a
fantasy. It's real. Our palace is real, the outside meals prepared by the chefs
are
real, the school balls are real, and the Christmas tree that we got here
with presents I put under it for Pops is real too. And guess what I got Pops
this
year? I found some stones shaped just like those magic cube predictors
under the enchanted-jungle-gym a couple of weeks ago. So I picked those
stones right up and put them in my pocket. In magic class we learned about
stones and rocks and how some are as old as dinosaurs! I thought I'd make
Pops
his own magic cube predictors out of those stones because maybe
they'll help him predict when he'll wake up. I wrapped them myself, too.
The other day some white knights were over. They had questions to ask me
about that day with Sean and Pops and the other two white knights. One of
them, named Mark, asked what Sean and I had written on the signs. I told
him
that the one I made read: "Imagine a better world." He asked me what
that meant and I just told him that I had seen it on TV and I liked the way it
sounded. I really liked it. He asked me what channel I had been watching and
I said channel 360 where they always show the black knights and the white
knights in the street, holding signs and yelling about whose lives matter
more. It was all a low
-
key part of the battle plan. I told this white knight that
my
Pops never wanted me to fight, but he never said anything about holding
up
a sign. That was the closest to battle that I could get. Well, I ended up in
the
middle of a battle, but that was never what I thought would happen. The
White knight nodded and wrote what I said down.
:~n they left, they told us Merry Christmas because tomorrow is
if
nstmas Eve. My mom thanked them for coming and asked me and Santo
~e Wanted to help her hang up the Christmas lights outside. We were late
Wi
th Putting them up this year.
8
7













As we were helping her hang the lit-up lights from our balcony,
a fe
w c
.
a~
went by. They had red and blue hghts on the tops of them. They
we
re dri\,j
by
pretty
fast. Maybe they were chasing dragons or something
like
that.
A
ng
I wondered if they were black knights or white knights. And
I won
dered
nd
which kind of knight was protecting Castle Hill. And I wondered
w
h
a
t
kind
knight I was. And I wondered if I would get to choose the knight
I'd
be
.
An
d
of
wondered if being a knight mattered at all.
1
But
then I
remembered that I was a king. The king of Castle
Hill.
Carmen
Henrique
z
88























Reminisce
10
L k.
BY
Kathleen ar
m
1
hope you think of me
ry
time you see a soft
eve
rnorning sky and a
air of doe-eyes.
~henever a constellation
i
s
visible or you hear a
s
oothing roar of thunder
When you put extra marshm
~
llows
in your hot chocolate
or
see a b
r
ight umbrella
on
a gray
a
fternoon.
t
hope you see me in flowy yellow
sundresses, fresh linen
on
your bed and the
hearty starter at your
local diner.
Whenever you think about
whether aliens exist or
you see a photo of a rocky beach
in
California.
I
hope the sound of slot machines
in
casinos brings you back to
the
days of walking hand-in-hand
With me.
But most of all
1 hope the last
1
light
You turn off in your dark room
before going to sleep
rerninds you of
all
the epic love stories
we can still write together
·
r
1
You came around.
89










Untouched
By
Riana Ramirez
Last time you laid in my bed
I washed my sheets to wash away every single remnant of you
And I look at my own body and wonder if there are skin cells that are still un-
touched.
You see I have a lot to lose
I have everything to lose
So I still grasp onto that little bit of dignity I have left
Please don't take that away from me
It's the only thing I have control of me
Last time you touched my hand
I washed them under the sink with hot water
And I hope that the alcohol from the vodka bottles eliminates the germs on
my
lips
Because that's all you ever were
A
bacteria growing from the inside out
And I envy the snake who gets to shed his skin
Because all I ever wanted was to become something new
Something you never knew
Last time you held me
I prayed for the rain to drown my body
So it can create new life in the earth
Because it wasn't creating new life in me
Science says we shed our dead skin
But how do I shed the deadness under my skin; it's layers deep
There's no amount of soap or chemicals to erase the sin from underneath
Sins I had to intention of committing
Intoxicated by the liquor,
But my passion of the flesh
My passion, my yearning
Last time you looked at me
I remembered I was a priceless gem,
Hidden away behind a glass,
90










[
p
en
for all
to see
Gli
ste
ning
and shining
W
ith y
our
hands pressed
against
the glass, hoping for a way in
re
mp
ted
to break the rules of not touching the art
Bu
t I
hope
to be a priceless gem,
Re
ma
ining
behind the
glass
walls,
Un
to
uched.
Lisa Fay
91







Bernade
tte
Hogo
n
92





















g
bter Lines
1,au
gy]ulia F
r
anco
member the note she left behind for me. That ordinary piece of paper
:ped out of one of the old notebooks lying in the basement that no one had
ev
er
used
.
"
I'll
s
ee you in the future when we
'
re older- when we are full of stories
IO
b
e
told. Cross my heart and hope to die- I'll see you with your laughter
u
nes.
"
Th
at was years ago but that
'
note remains untouched on my kitchen table
jli
the ap
a
rtment I shared with her- lingering there like a scent- the
m
oment I touch it is the moment it vanishes into somewhere I can never
follow. This is the last piece of her I've got. It's silly- this lined piece of
pa
per wi
t
h two lines of black pen in her tight curling handwriting- thi
s
last
scra
p of someone who filled every crevice of who I was. You'd think I'd have
m
ore- the hair that she shed that got lodged in the couch, the book she left
in
termingled with mine, the fork she never used
,
the toaster we brought
to
gether- but no. She took every last physical piece of herself and vanished.
r
ve
pondered that note- wondered what she meant by it- both in the
w
ords she physically wrote and the meaning behind her leaving of the
no
te itself. We loved each other- or, I thought we did. And if we'd stayed
to
gether
,
we would be full of stories to be told- stories with the other one
as
the main character. We would see each other with our laughter lines- the
o
nes we gave each other.
Of
course, I do have some stories to be told, some of them happy, most of
th
em
featuring myself as the star and the strangers as the strangers, and the
~
Ughter lines- if you could call them that- from laughing at myself and the
a
rcumstances life has wrought for me.
I
th·
1
nk back over the days that preceded that dreadful Tuesday- what I
:
uld
have done to make her leave. I've searched and scanned every line
th
r
some kind of sign- but all I've done is come up empty
.
I've stared into
ex
e enctJ~ss void of the night sky, thinking and wondering for some shred of
Planat
1
on
,
but nothing ever makes any sense. We were in love- I with her,
9
3











she with me. We didn't care what anyone thought- we knew what we
h
and I thought we what we wanted- to go forward and face the rest of
0
years together. We weren't perfect- but who is? I loved every minute-
I thought she did too.
But I think of that note and know that something wasn't what I thought
it
was- how could it have been? We'd said "I
l
ove you. I will love you
foreve
~
But now- now I don't trust that. I don't trust her. I don't trust her when I
•
read what she wrote- that she'll see in me in the future
.
When she vanished, she took every piece of physical evidence she ever
existed- save that note. And she took a piece of my soul- long before
she
left. And I took a piece of hers- we had traded. So when she left, she
took
her piece of my soul- but I kept my piece of hers. That and that piece
of
her
soul is all I've got of her and god, I don't want to let her go. After all of
this
time, I love her. I love her more than life itself and I don't want to let go
of
that. She left me with half her soul and half of my own. What am I
suppos
ecL
to do with that? Love another woman? With my hodgepodge soul?
What
could I give her? The half that's mine? The half of the previous girl
friend?
Half of each piece? God
,
that would be a train wreck. I can't do that. I
don't
need my piece back. I need her back.
She cut the picture of our relationship in half- and left a note as if it
woul
d
fill in the other half. She could have said something, anything, even if it
was
"You're not the girlfriend I want." But instead she left a note and half her
soul. God, I hate her for it. I hate her for making me love her and then
she
j
uat
destroyed me and left a phony note for a band-aid. I would take a long,
lou
d.
messy argument where we dig up the five years of shit and fling it all
over
each others' faces than this.
Now I'm here. It's me and all of my pieces and her note, the only things
tha
t
matter in this apartment that sits as it was the day she left- feeling
half
empty. The home we shared is half empty. I'm living with a ghost- no,
nota
ghost.
A
ghost would mean there's something left.
I've got to do something with my life- for real. I can't keep going
through
94







rnotions, living the shadow of my life with her. I go to the same parks
th~
the same job and eat the same food and pet the same cat- no, that was
~:r cat and she took him too- and every la~t grain of cat litter. Everything
without her feels hollow and empty. I don't want to be hollow and empty
Y
rnore. I've been hollow and empty for too many years.
an
1 wonder what she's done with her life- what she's done every day since
he left. She's probably happy somewhere with some girl or guy or whoever.
~ot a new job, a second cat, a house, a couple kids. I mean, she's the one
who left. You don't leave if you're going to be the one wallowing in a half
empty apartment. She has everything she's ever wanted. I wonder how many
people she cast away on the way to the top. I wonder how many people she
cast away before she met me. I wonder if whomever she has now knows
what's
she
done. How many promises she broke.
I guess I never knew her. She knew me- probably too well. Knew every flaw
f
wore on my sleeve. She buried hers. Buried everything. I see that now. At
the time, well, I don't know. But she knew that if she said she'd see me again,
then god be damned I'd sit here with my stupid optimism and wait for her
like a dumb dog. I'm not some dumb bitch. I can't be. Not anymore.
I miss her. I hate her. I love her. I never understood her. I need her.
Determined to take some sort of step towards something undetermined, I
stand up from the spot on the couch I always sat. The difference is clear in
the very structure of the couch- my side is sinking towards the floor while
the other end- her spot- sits untouched, not knowing its occupant is never
coming back
I put on my shoes- the same ones that I've worn every day since I bought
them- and that was because they were an exact replication of the ones that
fell apart because I'd worn them every day since she bought them for me.
And then I stop myself. This is another reminder of her. Something else she'd
left. I'm not sure what to do with this realization so I simply find another pair
of shoes in the back of a closet that hasn't been opened since long before she
left. She left nothing else- of course.
1 grip the door handle, taking a deep breath- about to break the pattern I've
95










lived since she left. I glance back at her note on the table. Forever
unchan
"I'll see you in the future when we're older- when we are full of
sto
to be told. Cross my heart and hope to die- I'll see you with your laughter
lines."
Maybe some day. But not today. I yank open the door, every fiber of my
be
telling me to go back- that she'll never come back if I leave. But maybe
it
was doing the same old thing that did me in. She was bright, spontaneous
fun, and I was the unchanging stick in the mud. I needed her to drag
me
0
~
of the house of mud. Now I drag myself out and close the door behind
me.
I turn a corner and another corner and down stairs and around a
landing
and down more stairs and around another corner and out into the
dazzlina
sun. I'm not frantically searching every face in the crowd for hers. I'm
not
l
worried about her. She's gone. The memory of her face still burns, but a
Ii
~
bit less.
Children laugh, teens provoke pigeons, adults share coffee, I feel the sun
on
my face. I smile. The first real smile since that horrid Tuesday.
Today is Tuesday.
I laugh and linger. I vow when I get back to rearrange the furniture and
buy
a new toaster and adopt a cat and make the place feel less like a shadow
and
more like home. Afternoon fades to evening and dusk and finally when
the
first sunset I've seen since she left fades into nothing but a memory, I retum
home. Home. That's a good word.
I unlatch the door and walk inside and flip on the lamp that has sat neglected
for years. I move to pick up the note- to banish the last presence of her
fro
nt
this place- but it is gone.
"I'll see you in the future when we're older- when we are full of stories
be told. Cross my heart and hope to die- I'll see you with your laughter lines:
On the other end of the couch, she sits- like she never even left. The cat
winds around my legs like he'd never stopped.
I look at her face. She's older. Her face, though, is unchanged.
96




I
97





The Summer I Was 18
By
Demi Yoshida
A cover of clouds blanketed the night sky,
The endless grey and black mocked us from above.
There were no stars tonight, they never wanted to show themselves
anYJno
However, our pleasure was not limited by the state of the sky.
re.
Shaking water off our naked bodies,
We emerged from an ink black sea as the salt crystalized on our skin.
2am. Breathless, freezing, shaking; we collapse on the shore.
The backs of our heads buried in the sand, our faces gazing at the dark
sky.
And just like Genesis,
There was light.
Circuits, lightbulbs, sparks, currents transferring from your fingers on to
mine.
Warmth floods me.
I am reminded this is the summer I am 18.
Your lips were on mine
Hot chocolate, fire places, barbecues, sunlight;
The warmth was now a raging fire.
I was lit for you in every way.
I wanted to tell you all my secrets,
I wanted your light to scorch my skin.
But then you stopped.
Now I am left with nothing but sunburnt shoulders.
Tossing a glance through the chain link in a improbable world,
Where all good things come to an end.
98






Christopher Mitchell
C
h
ristoph
er Mitchell
99





Lisa
Fay
100



rdY Best Friend
BY Kathleen Larkin
patient, understanding, complicated
Her mind runs like a faucet that someone
forgot to turn off and
leaks with afterthought splashes
of wisdom and insight
Thoughtful and intuitive
but blindingly brilliant and colorful
Her careful gaze and calculating mind
hide behind flirty long lashes and
a
classic red lip
She has the heart of a poet and the
mind of a scientist
drawing conclusions and seeing
connections often unnoticed by
the less observant
Soft and honest like strokes of
acrylic paint on a fresh easel.
She's the look shared between two people
who want to speak to each other but are
both reluctant to start
She's the guiding lighthouse resting on
the rocky coast, reliably guiding lost
sailboats home
A Perfectionist who enjoys navigating the
lhess of the human mind
Wise beyond her years but has the wide
eyes and idealistic naivety of a child
101







102
Stars in her gaze and head in the clouds but
keeps both feet planted firmly on the ground.
She's a dreamer with a practical
mind that tethers her to logic despite
her desire to be free of it
Sensitive and perceptive, my best friend
can be found in the gray fog that hangs
above the sea and in the delicate purple
shade of wisteria in a Japanese garden.
Her presence is felt in the sound of
wind chimes on a windy day and
under the shadow of night, inside the
curve of a crescent moon
Ju
lia
Franco














fbe Moss Blanket
BY
Shane Brennan
paranoia
'
s coffee displaced nearly half of Happiness' intoxicants that filled
nW
head. The brackish liquid mixed itself thoroughly under my bouncing
blonde hair as we streaked.
If you could somehow peel back my hair, I'm
sure you could enjoy a satisfying drink; this type of happiness was a heavy
coconut rum, perfect for any coffee lover.
If you so pleased, you could remove
rnY
brain and fry it up; the marinade would certainly complement the meat.
But before you nosh on my cranial-steak, I ask of you one small favor: Leave
a bur under the saddle of my µead as its replacement. The subject matter
matters not, as I am under the impression that what keeps the stream of
human consciousness alive is neither a functioning nor efficient brain, but
the spur of motivation to prove someone wrong about something that didn't
even matter in the first place. That alone will keep the Christmas carolers
a-caroling, the rioters a-rioting, and the soothsayers spitting sooth. So, while
you fry the frontal lobes and freeze the remaining grey-matter for later con-
sumption, add the brandy of Dionysus,1 a dollop of Jim Morrison's marma-
lade, or the palpable stench of Ammit's breath into the cauldron of my head.
Churn it. Transform it, as if by miracle,2 into a thick vegetable gumbo; a true
Witch's brew.
I wondered what concoction brewed between my thighs. My genitalia
bounced as gayly as my hair with each stride. My pale skin, protected by an-
gels' kisses, raced her dark flesh, proudly displaying its experiences, across
the field; it was, in fact, maintained for the purpose of playings games.
I wondered what games she has planned for me.
When we reached the end of the field, we antagonized the metal fence with
our presence. We hung off of it like the strategically placed bulbs of fat that
hung off of our bodies and began thrashing about in unsynchronized inter-
vals attempting to tear it down.
I
No God kept a secret like Dionysus; he presented Zeus with wine but kept the good stuff for
him
se
lf'
2
•
Or, a
s
if by magic. Most would argue that they are one in the same; however, religious types
tenct to disagree.
103












We failed. (Upon hiring a business consultant to analyze our efforts, it
Wou}
have been concluded that at fault was the combination of poor planning
d
beyond horrid implementation. However, upon hiring a physicist, it
wou~nd
have been determined that at fault was the lack of force placed upon
the
fence. To optimize our efforts, he would recommend a day trip to the
McD
ald's Headquarters. We would surely gain mass quickest by inhaling
every~n-
thing down to the rejected sesame seeds which were just-not-tear-drop-
shaped-enough to be befitting of the McDonald's bun.
3
Though, perhaps,
informative analyses of the situation, I would not have listened to either
of
them. Business consultants are bloodsuckers and physicists are cowards.)
Pleased with our efforts, we turned, showing the fence, business consul-
tant, and physicist what could either be sweat dripping off our asses or
premature morning dew glazing our cheeks and began our naked stretch
back across the field. There was an audience greeting us at the other
side of
the stadium: a sea of sore thumbs, all of which were pointing towards
the
ground; our game did not please them.
Sadly, they were half-deaf, half-blind, and half-dumb. Each had less than
half
of their taste buds left, the majority singed off by the special blend dark
roast
that they sipped each morning; ignorance made it especially hot for them.
They had lost feeling in half of their arms, half of their legs, and half of
their
fingers.
4
The crowd of thumbs, all uniquely identified by their fingerprints,
5
sen-
tenced us to our death. The business consultant and physicist, who were
3
O! but how these little seeds would dance with glee! Rather than being tossed aside
never
to accomplish their designated purpose in McDonald's patented Sesame Seed Life Cycle
System,™ which starts at the farm and ends at the happy customer, these golden seeds
get to
fulfill a greater purpose, one which even Mr. Ronald Mc-"Destruction"-Donald would
appre·
ciate: the demolition of Private Property (yes, with a capital P-P)! (I mean, the body is
also
Private Property is it not?)
4
A quarter of their fingers if you cared about doing the math correctly.
5
Individuality is important to them. In fact, the head thumb, who is the reddest of them
all,
made sure that I include this. It is imperative to understand that each thumb is special
fro~
its creation to its death, most commonly caused by suffocation-sadly, there isn't enough
ail'
up God's ass, the thumbs' second favorite vacation spot.
104












00
w
flirting with the fence, interrupted their lousy attempt of setting up a
threesome to blurt out a single collective laugh and then immediately pro-
ceeded with their actions.
6
I have to excuse this outburst, however. Neither
could justify this world past a few meaningless numbers; they would never
understand our joy.
WhY
was it that we were so happy with the prosecution's decision? Well, in
answering this, I'd typically refer you to Socrates himself; however, due to
unforeseen circumstances, I will have tell you myself: In a grave there exists
no confusion, only the soft comforts of rotting wood, the rich smell of dirt,
your
thoughts, and some moss to retain the moisture.
6
It was a waste
of
an effort anyway. The fence had been out of the
game
for years
.
There was
no possible way that the business consultant's supposedly 8-inch cock-and the size of his
head most definitely justified this statement-could maneuver its way in. Furthermore, at the
mention of size, the physicist became anxious. So, as expected, nothing would come of it. In
fact, an
argument arose instead. Unfortunately, I can only recall a piece of the dialogue and it is
indeterminable
who exactly said what, but it is of no particular interest to keep it confidential:
"I've
never measured it, my ex-girlfriend wanted to!"
"I'm sure."
Rattle-rattle-rattle!
"I never said-!"
Rattle-chatter!
"What?
Me? Why? I don't
even
have a ruler!"
"Doesn't
your job
entail
that you at least have a protractor on you? Anyways, if we can't get a
Proper measurement then it's not worth it."
Cackle-cackle-rattle.
"And
one to you too!"
105




Fly Away
By Elizabeth Miller
FADE IN:
INT. SIMONS'S HOUSE-HARLEY'S BEDROOM- NIGHT
An LCD, digital clock changes from 2:59 AM to 3:00 AM.
Beside it sits a sculpture of a bird made of scrap metal.
In bed, HARLEY (17) stares at his ceiling fan
.
He looks out his window as
car
headlights pass by. This transitions to ...
INT. BUS-DAY
Harley watches a car zoom by. He sits alone on a noisy bus, staring out
the
window. Somewhere on the road, a car's tires screech. His iPhone buzzes
and
plays a ringtone. He looks down and unlocks the phone to read the text.
CLOSE ON Harley's phone:
The text reads:
A/DEN You could've stayed home.
A notification pops up:
Ana's 19th Birthday is this week.
He exits out of Messenger. The screen goes black with it.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -HOMEROOM- DAY
Harley flips arbitrarily through a metal working text book, not absorbing
anything. A STUDENT (17) sits in front of him.
STUDENT: Hey, Lee.
HARLEY: Hi
106







sfUDENT: Uh, how're you?
1-fARLEY: Fine. I'm fine. You?
srUDENT: 'm alright... Y'know, considering.
ttarley nods and goes back to flipping around his text book.
r,1S. MORGANO (mid-30s), the homeroom teacher, approaches him.
r,1S. MORGANO: Harley.
He looks up, takes a slip extende~ to him, and reads it.
CLOSE on the green slip:
Please send Harley Simons to Guidance Office Rm 325
at
11:45 AM. -Ingrid Wit/er
Harley rolls his eyes and flips the paper over in his hands.
The bell rings. Everyone scrambles out of the room.
INT.
HIGH SCHOOL-HALLWAY- DAY
Harley crumples the slip as he walks. He turns into his classroom and tosses
it into the trash. The door shuts.
A clock's hand blurs, going around until it lands on 3:30.
INT.
HIGH SCHOOL -METAL WORKSHOP- DAY
Harley sits alone, working on a sculpture.
A bush that's falling apart sits in the corner of the room.
Harley gets up to get a tool, and the bush catches his eye.
This transitions into ...
INT.
HIGH SCHOOL -METAL WORKSHOP- DAY- FLASHBACK
107



Flashbacks are denoted by brighter coloring.
Harley (16) has shorter hair. ANA (16), hair dyed in bright colors, sits
beside
him. They work on making the bush prop.
ANA: (beat) So, not only metal then, huh?
HARLEY: Nope.
ANA: How'd you learn t'make things?
HARLEY: Hobby.
ANA: Nice! I hobbied a lot, but never really stuck with- oh, crap. I have to
go. Going to be here tomorrow?
HARLEY: Every day till I get kicked out.
ANA: You'd rather stay here than go home? Kinda dreary, stuffy, and-
HARLEY: Bye, Ana.
ANA: Alright, alright. Later, C3PO.
Ana gets up and leaves, shutting the door.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -METAL WORKSHOP- DAY- BACK TO SCENE
AID EN (18) enters and quietly shuts the door. He returns a metalsculpture
to one of the shelves.
HARLEY: You doing okay? Have a ride home?
AID EN: Doing the best I can ... And yeah, my parents're picking me up. You?
HARLEY: Late bus.
AID EN: No, not that. How're you doing?
HARLEY: ( while working) I'm fine.
108





p.iden looks at him. Sensing the stare, Harley looks up.
t{ARLEY: (beat) What? I eat. I sleep. I look both ways before crossing the
street.
AID EN: C'mon, dude. Seriously. No offense. But weren't you two like ... close?
(-{ARLEY: So?
AIDEN: I mean ... you sure you're okay?
(-{ARLEY: I'm okay! Okay? Next person who asks is getting punched.
'
AID EN: Okay, okay, Spock. (beat) Don't forget to lock up.
Aiden leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.
EXT. HIGH SCHOOL PARKING LOT- DAY
Harley walks across the parking lot towards his late bus. He looks at a large
oak tree across the street.
EXT. PARK -DAY- FLASHBACK
Harley (17) sits underneath the oak tree, reading a metal working text book.
A bag drops from above, and Ana (17) jumps out of the tree. She plucks the
book from his hands.
HARLEY: Hey!
ANA: Whatcha readin'?
She reads the cover and throws it back to him.
ANA: Nerd. I just finished Math. Let's go get McDonald's in 50 seconds!
HARLEY: That's ... oddly specific.
109



ANA: I'm hungry. C'mon! Then I'll spy on you and your metal works!
HARLEY: Is that why you decided to stick around me? Just to stalk?
ANA: No. For your sparkling personality!
HARLEY: Funny. Hilarious.
ANA: (teasing) Besides, who doesn't like a mysterious hermit who spends
all
his time in a dungeon?
HARLEY: Sane people!
ANA: No, but seriously. After you get past the entire
''I'll
kill you with a
look"
look, it's smooth sailing. Wouldn't hurt a fly, would ya? Besides, watching
you
work's just a bonus! So, can I?
HARLEY: No food in the metal room.
ANA: Pft. Rules. You can make an exception!
I'll
be extra careful!
HARLEY: Just like the other ... (mockingly tries to count) times?
ANA: C'mon, R2D2! This time's for real! We'll eat in.
HARLEY: You're going to turn me grey, I swear to God.
ANA: See? It's sooo fun messing with ya!
HARLEY: You're impossible. Dork
ANA: Nerd. Time's up! I'm drivin'!
INT. SIMONS'S HOUSE -CONTINUOUS- EVENING- BACK TO SCENE
Harley enters his house, making sure he's alone. He looks down the
hallway:
it's littered with beer bottles and cans.
HARLEY: Damn it...
He angrily kicks some of them out of his way as he walks.
110







[NT.
SIMONS'S HOUSE -KITCHEN- EVENING
'fhe counter is also a mess. Harley clears a space and starts gathering
ingredients, finding bottles in various locations. He puts a formed meatloaf
in the oven and then gathers up the cans and bottles. He empties the full
ones and then puts all of them in recycling. The oven dings. Harley wraps
up his newly made meatloaf and puts it in a box. He snatches keys off the
counter and shuts the door.
!NT.
MR. SIMONS'S CAR- EVENING
Harley drives down the road.
,
EXT.
DANKO'S HOUSE -PORCH- EVENING
Harley rings the doorbell, box in hand. MRS. DANKO ( 40s) opens the door
and smiles slightly.
MRS
.
DANKO: Harley ... Come on in.
Harley enters the house.
INT.
DANKO'S HOUSE CONTINUOUS-EVENING
They walk through the house and into the kitchen. There's a picture of Mrs.
Danko, Ana, and a man, Mr. Danko, on the fridge. Harley sets the box on the
kitchen table.
MRS. DANKO: You're sweet. Thank you, really. Want to share?
HARLEY: I wouldn't want to ...
MRS. DANKO: Oh, no, Honey. Not at all. Besides ...
She opens the fridge. It's practically bursting with food others have left. They
111









look at it and share a small laugh.
MRS. DANKO: You bunking over?
HARLEY: He, uh, hasn't been in for a while, so, no ... thanks, though.
Harley moves around the kitchen with familiarity to get place settings.
Th'
. .
.
IS
trans1t10ns mto ...
INT. DANKO'S HOUSE -KITCHEN- DAY- FLASHBACK
Ana gets out three table sets.
ANA: -or you can stay, y'know, forever. You're here all the t
i
me, anyway.
All
we'd need to do is turn it into sleepovers every night.
Harley laughs, cutting up a newly made meatloaf. His knuckles on his
right
hand are noticeably bruised.
ANA: I'm serious, Harley. You can't keep living in your house.
HARLEY: Sure I can.
ANA: (sees his hand, beat) How'd it go last night? Y'know ... talking?
Your
...
are
you alright?
HARLEY: (long beat) I punched him back, for once.
Ana stares at him, he looks back at her.
HARLEY: But it's okay. I'm okay. Livable conditions. (beat) Besides, I
don't
want to ... y'know ... intrude.
ANA: You wouldn't be-
HARLEY: Last night wasn't the best time.
ANA: It's never a good time ...
HARLEY: He just needs time to get over it. Two years're more than
enough ...
112






ANA: And have you "gotten over it"?
Barley stays quiet.
ANA: Y'know, the time stuff they tell you is BS. It doesn't heal. It teaches you
110
w
to
cope, hopefully.
BARLEY: Guess my father doesn't qualify?
ANA: He doesn't, and neither do you. You just don't get over something likea
death. Trust me. It's getting through, not over. In a non-destructive way.
BARLEY: You done, Dr. Phil?
ANA: (goes back to the original conversation) You're never an intrusion. My
mom's fine with it. She's wanted to give you the spare-
HARLEY: You told her?
ANA: (beat) Well I, I mean. She's my mom, Harley! She's a teacher! Any-
thingyou can say to me, you can say to her. (beat) Besides, this is ... adult stuff.
Have you ever told Ms. Witler?
HARLEY: (scoffs) I don't do shrinks.
ANA: Counselors!
HARLEY: Same difference! What'd they do anyway? I'm almost legal.
ANA: (teasing) As in you can vote and get tried as an adult. Don't get too
wild, R2.
INT. DANKO'S HOUSE-KITCHEN-NIGHT-BACK TO SCENE
Harley and Mrs. Danko are finishing their meal. There is a third chair and a
tangible absence.
MRS.
DANKO: The black box results came in.
Harley looks up.
113





MRS. DANKO: Ana was going at 5 MPH. They think she was just going
frorn a
stop.
HARLEY: Oh. (beat) And the other driver?
MRS. DANKO: 80.
HARLEY: (getting increasingly agitated) Did they blow their stop sign?
MRS. DANKO: (beat) He didn't have one. It was the intersection a few
streets
down. The one with the hill on the left.
HARLEY: Did he get charged?
MRS. DANKO: Ana had the stop sign, Lee.
HARLEY: But he was-
MRS. DANKO: I know. I know ... But, they're saying it was mishandled at the
scene and inadmissible in court. (beat) Meaning they can't use it.
HARLEY: (trying to keep a lid on it) Right. Okay.
MRS. DANKO: You know, it's okay to be upset...
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -METAL WORKSHOP-DAY-FLASHBACK
Harley works on a nearly completed metal bird. Ana opens the door. Harley
covers the bird with a scrap of metal.
ANA: You coming back with me now?
HARLEY: Huh? Yeah. I mean, uh, no. No.
ANA: (laughs) Dork.
HARLEY: Hey, that's my line!
ANA: Yeah, yeah, sure. Want me t'wait for ya, Nerd?
114



f-IARLEY: Nah, it's fine. I'll be over later.
ANA: Alrighty.
If
you're sure.
BARLEY: I'm sure. See you tonight.
ANA: You'd better come
.
I'll call the cops if you don't.
HARLEY: Drama queen.
ANA: I'm serious, Harley.
If
he's ...
HARLEY: Yeah, yeah. I got it, I got it.
ANA: See you tonight, R2.
Ana shuts the door, snapping the screen to black.
BLACK SCREEN
Harley's buzzer and ringtone go off. There are quiet heart monitor and siren
noises in the background. An EKG appears.
HARLEY (V.O.):
Hi, Mrs
.
Danko.
RYLEY (V.O.): Is this Harley?
HARLEY (V.O.): Who's this?
RYLEY (V.O.): My name's Ryley. I'm Ana's uncle. (beat) Harley, I have some
bad news. There's been an accident ...
There's a sound of screeching car tires. The EKG and heart monitor flatline.
The phone line disconnects, discontinuing the noise. There are a few seconds
of silence, broken by the sudden sound of something smashing.
INT. MR. SIMONS'S CAR -NIGHT- BACK TO SCENE
Harley drives back to his house and puts on the radio.
115




"Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol plays. The song continues to-
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -METAL WORKSHOP-DAY- FLASHBACK
Ana (16) enters and sees the only occupant: Harley (16).
ANA: God. What is this?
A
funeral parlor? Is it safe to work with sharp objects
while tears cascade down your face?
HARLEY: Radio decided.
ANA: Sure it did. (beat) You're Harley Simons, right?
HARLEY: Who's asking?
ANA: Name's Ana Danko. I need help with a set piece. They said to come
down here and ask for you.
Harley watches her in silence.
ANA: Y'know, they should advertise this place more. Being in the basement
doesn't do it any favors. (beat) You helping me or not?
Harley just looks at her, silent.
ANA: C'mon, C3PO. Out of the kindness of your heart? Plllllease?
HARLEY: Wasn't aware robots had hearts.
ANA: ... huh?
HARLEY
:
Nothing. Fine.
ANA: Great! Oooh!
She picks up one of the open magazines on the table and points at a sculp-
ture of a metal bird.
ANA: D'you guys make this kind'da stuff?
116




Harley nods.
ANA: Really?! That's so cool!
HARLEY: (beat) So. You going to describe this piece or am I trying to mind
read?
ANA: Oh! Right.
She laughs, pulls up a stool beside him, takes out a notebook, and proceeds
to
explain what she wants ...
EXT. PARK -DAY- BACK TO SCENE
Harley approaches the oak tree with a little box.
Quick Cuts of flashbacks around the tree:
*
Ana jumps out of the tree.
*
Harley and Ana sit under the tree laughing.
*
Ana drops her bag onto the ground below her.
*
Ana shows Harley a picture of Mr. Danko.
*Ana whacks Harley's arm with his text book while he grins.
*
Harley tries to throw popcorn into Ana's mouth.
*
Harley shows Ana a picture of a woman, Mrs. Simons.
*
Anna falls asleep on Harley's shoulder.
*
Harley and Ana lay spread eagle, looking at the clouds.
*
Harley attempts tree climbing.
*
Harley and Anna play frisbee in front of the tree.
*
Harley and Ana eat McDonald's under the tree.
11
7






*Ana jumps out of the tree.
HARLEY: So ... uh. (clears throat) You ... You said you liked this ... took me a
while ... but, uh ...
He takes the metal bird out of the box and places it in a hidden alcove of the
tree. A picture of Mr. Danko resides there as well.
HARLEY: Happy birthday ... Dork
INT. SIMONS'S HOUSE-HARLEY'S BEDROOM-NIGHT
Harley looks at a picture of Mrs. Simons on his nightstand.
HARLEY: (long beat) Think she'll like it? I hope she does ... You'll probably
like
her. You guys had a lot in common.
The door slams downstairs. Harley shuts his eyes.
HARLEY: Damn it...
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -HALLWAY-DAY
Harley pulls out a slightly crumpled green slip from his pocket. He checks the
number on the door with the number on the slip. For a moment, he stands
there, hesitant.
Then he knocks.
MS. WITLER (V.O.): Come in!
Harley opens the door.
118
FADE TO
BLACK






ANA: And have you "gotten over it"?
Barley stays quiet.
ANA: Y'know, the time stuff they tell you is BS. It doesn't heal. It teaches you
110
w
to
cope, hopefully.
BARLEY: Guess my father doesn't qualify?
ANA: He doesn't, and neither do you. You just don't get over something likea
death. Trust me. It's getting through, not over. In a non-destructive way.
BARLEY: You done, Dr. Phil?
ANA: (goes back to the original conversation) You're never an intrusion. My
mom's fine with it. She's wanted to give you the spare-
HARLEY: You told her?
ANA: (beat) Well I, I mean. She's my mom, Harley! She's a teacher! Any-
thingyou can say to me, you can say to her. (beat) Besides, this is ... adult stuff.
Have you ever told Ms. Witler?
HARLEY: (scoffs) I don't do shrinks.
ANA: Counselors!
HARLEY: Same difference! What'd they do anyway? I'm almost legal.
ANA: (teasing) As in you can vote and get tried as an adult. Don't get too
wild, R2.
INT. DANKO'S HOUSE-KITCHEN-NIGHT-BACK TO SCENE
Harley and Mrs. Danko are finishing their meal. There is a third chair and a
tangible absence.
MRS.
DANKO: The black box results came in.
Harley looks up.
113


MRS. DANKO: Ana was going at 5 MPH. They think she was just going
frorn a
stop.
HARLEY: Oh. (beat) And the other driver?
MRS. DANKO: 80.
HARLEY: (getting increasingly agitated) Did they blow their stop sign?
MRS. DANKO: (beat) He didn't have one. It was the intersection a few
streets
down. The one with the hill on the left.
HARLEY: Did he get charged?
MRS. DANKO: Ana had the stop sign, Lee.
HARLEY: But he was-
MRS. DANKO: I know. I know ... But, they're saying it was mishandled at the
scene and inadmissible in court. (beat) Meaning they can't use it.
HARLEY: (trying to keep a lid on it) Right. Okay.
MRS. DANKO: You know, it's okay to be upset...
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -METAL WORKSHOP-DAY-FLASHBACK
Harley works on a nearly completed metal bird. Ana opens the door. Harley
covers the bird with a scrap of metal.
ANA: You coming back with me now?
HARLEY: Huh? Yeah. I mean, uh, no. No.
ANA: (laughs) Dork.
HARLEY: Hey, that's my line!
ANA: Yeah, yeah, sure. Want me t'wait for ya, Nerd?
114


f-IARLEY: Nah, it's fine. I'll be over later.
ANA: Alrighty.
If
you're sure.
BARLEY: I'm sure. See you tonight.
ANA: You'd better come
.
I'll call the cops if you don't.
HARLEY: Drama queen.
ANA: I'm serious, Harley.
If
he's ...
HARLEY: Yeah, yeah. I got it, I got it.
ANA: See you tonight, R2.
Ana shuts the door, snapping the screen to black.
BLACK SCREEN
Harley's buzzer and ringtone go off. There are quiet heart monitor and siren
noises in the background. An EKG appears.
HARLEY (V.O.):
Hi, Mrs
.
Danko.
RYLEY (V.O.): Is this Harley?
HARLEY (V.O.): Who's this?
RYLEY (V.O.): My name's Ryley. I'm Ana's uncle. (beat) Harley, I have some
bad news. There's been an accident ...
There's a sound of screeching car tires. The EKG and heart monitor flatline.
The phone line disconnects, discontinuing the noise. There are a few seconds
of silence, broken by the sudden sound of something smashing.
INT. MR. SIMONS'S CAR -NIGHT- BACK TO SCENE
Harley drives back to his house and puts on the radio.
115


"Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol plays. The song continues to-
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -METAL WORKSHOP-DAY- FLASHBACK
Ana (16) enters and sees the only occupant: Harley (16).
ANA: God. What is this?
A
funeral parlor? Is it safe to work with sharp objects
while tears cascade down your face?
HARLEY: Radio decided.
ANA: Sure it did. (beat) You're Harley Simons, right?
HARLEY: Who's asking?
ANA: Name's Ana Danko. I need help with a set piece. They said to come
down here and ask for you.
Harley watches her in silence.
ANA: Y'know, they should advertise this place more. Being in the basement
doesn't do it any favors. (beat) You helping me or not?
Harley just looks at her, silent.
ANA: C'mon, C3PO. Out of the kindness of your heart? Plllllease?
HARLEY: Wasn't aware robots had hearts.
ANA: ... huh?
HARLEY
:
Nothing. Fine.
ANA: Great! Oooh!
She picks up one of the open magazines on the table and points at a sculp-
ture of a metal bird.
ANA: D'you guys make this kind'da stuff?
116


Harley nods.
ANA: Really?! That's so cool!
HARLEY: (beat) So. You going to describe this piece or am I trying to mind
read?
ANA: Oh! Right.
She laughs, pulls up a stool beside him, takes out a notebook, and proceeds
to
explain what she wants ...
EXT. PARK -DAY- BACK TO SCENE
Harley approaches the oak tree with a little box.
Quick Cuts of flashbacks around the tree:
*
Ana jumps out of the tree.
*
Harley and Ana sit under the tree laughing.
*
Ana drops her bag onto the ground below her.
*
Ana shows Harley a picture of Mr. Danko.
*Ana whacks Harley's arm with his text book while he grins.
*
Harley tries to throw popcorn into Ana's mouth.
*
Harley shows Ana a picture of a woman, Mrs. Simons.
*
Anna falls asleep on Harley's shoulder.
*
Harley and Ana lay spread eagle, looking at the clouds.
*
Harley attempts tree climbing.
*
Harley and Anna play frisbee in front of the tree.
*
Harley and Ana eat McDonald's under the tree.
11
7


*Ana jumps out of the tree.
HARLEY: So ... uh. (clears throat) You ... You said you liked this ... took me a
while ... but, uh ...
He takes the metal bird out of the box and places it in a hidden alcove of the
tree. A picture of Mr. Danko resides there as well.
HARLEY: Happy birthday ... Dork
INT. SIMONS'S HOUSE-HARLEY'S BEDROOM-NIGHT
Harley looks at a picture of Mrs. Simons on his nightstand.
HARLEY: (long beat) Think she'll like it? I hope she does ... You'll probably
like
her. You guys had a lot in common.
The door slams downstairs. Harley shuts his eyes.
HARLEY: Damn it...
INT. HIGH SCHOOL -HALLWAY-DAY
Harley pulls out a slightly crumpled green slip from his pocket. He checks the
number on the door with the number on the slip. For a moment, he stands
there, hesitant.
Then he knocks.
MS. WITLER (V.O.): Come in!
Harley opens the door.
118
FADE TO
BLACK










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