Absence 2010 Magazine

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A B S E N C Ezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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Penn State Greater AlleghenysLiterary & VisualArts Magazine

Published byStudents, Faculty, and Staff ofPenn State Greater Allegheny

Printing ByH.B. South, McKeesport, Pennsylvania

A B S E N C E, 2010


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Penn State Greater Alleghenys

Literary & VisualArts Magazine

2010 || Volume 12


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EDITORIAL STAFFDan Miller || Coordinating EditorBianca Hooper || Associate Editor

Yidi Li || Associate EditorAbigail Aguinot || Staff EditorBonnie Thibodeau || Staff Editor

Jenna Tyzinski || Staff Editor

Jaclyn Wasco || Staff Editor

CREDITSCopyediting || Bianca Hooper, Yidi Li, Yahiritza Alvarez

Correspondence || Bonnie ThibodeauLayout/Design || Jenna Tyzinski, Dan Miller, Abigail Aguinot

PR & Contributors Notes || Bianca Hooper

FACULTY & STAFF ADVISERSClifford T. Manlove, Ph.D. || Sr. Faculty Adviser & Publisher

Nancy Egan || Staff Adviser & Staff Editor


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The Mission ofA B S E N C E

e Mission ofABSENCE is the annual publication of a high-quality literary and visual arts

magazine for the Penn State Greater Allegheny community. e magazines goal is to provideall full- and part-time PSUGA students, faculty, sta, and alumni with a shared venue for theircreative endeavors, and to generate interest in the arts in the Greater Allegheny community. emagazine also provides students the opportunity to prepare for professional careers in publishingand document design.

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Submission Guidelines &Editorial Policies

Eligibility for publication inABSENCEis open to all full- and part-time students, faculty, sta,and alumni of Penn State Greater Allegheny. Original poetry, ction, non-ction & creative non-ction, visual arts, and photography will be accepted for consideration by the student editors.

Previously published works will not be considered. Upon publication, all rights revert to authors/artists; however,ABSENCEreserves the right to republish all materials electronically and to usematerials published in the magazine to fund its publication. A blind-review process ensures thatall submissions are judged solely on artistic merit. A maximum of 10 submissions per volume can

be made to the Senior Faculty Adviser, who removes all biographical information before turningthem over to the student editorial stafor review.e preferred means of submission is by email at-tachment; send to: [email protected]. Final publication prerogative rests solely with the Editor andthe Publisher.

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Submission Deadline forPublication in Spring, 2011 (vol. 13) is

7 February 2011


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Table of Contents

Mission Statement/Submission Guidelines &Editorial Policies || 5

Note From the Editor || 11

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Bonnie ThibodeauWinner, The Chancellors Prize For Best Literary Art

Fowl Love Story || 22-25

Jenna TyzinskiWinner, The Chancellors Prize For Best Visual Art

Childhood Dreams || Inside Front Cover

Jaclyn WascoSecond Place, The Chancellors Prize For Literary Art

Pomp and Circumstance || 35-37

Amanda WesterlundSecond Place, The Chancellors Prize For Visual Art

Dandelion Drops || 49

Jennifer LeWinner, St. Valentines PrizeDefinition of a Man || 47

Dan MillerSecond Place, St. Valentines Prize

LOVE is EVOL || 56-58


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Welcome to the Cemetery || 102Snow Town || 97

Andy Holtz

Chenonceau Castle, France || 42Haunama Bay, Hawaii || 98Mountain Sunset, Tucson || 79

Bianca HooperA Grain in the Sand || 110Intelligence || 96

Laurie HouseholderSnowy View || 99Jessica Joschak

Loyalhannah Lake || 67Hilton Head || 16

Alexis Rose Joseph

October || 34Jamilah LahijuddinBlack Man Dead at 23 || 80Fly Pink Elephant Fly || 74-77

Jennifer LeDenition of a Man || 47

Alex LaFleurEscalier || 65MTC || 48p2 || 38

Eli McCary e Fish || 83

Dr. Mildred R. MickleConversations in Haiku || 66

Dan MillerLOVE is EVOL || 56-58

Christopher ONealFor Miles || Inside Back Cover

Good Luck Charm || 54


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Last Lullaby || 103Safeguard || 73

ree Story Flood || 53

What Lies Behind these Walls || 40White Sand || 18Melody Peters

You and I || 92David Porter

Change Before Its Too Late || 111

Luke ProvenzanoReections || 39Trees || 55

Christopher ReedDreamtime || 12Lucidity || 85

Randall RothbauerStill Life || 89Michael Shaver

Hope Even in Dark Skies || 18Brandon Simpson

Brother to Sister || 78

Arthur A. SmithIn Need of a Hero || 32-33Andy Spagnol

Death of a Dustman || 94grotty jacket potatos, tiny gutties, a kitchen roll, and one very

unimportant soap dodger || 95

Bonnie ibodeauA Promise of Cider || 70Fowl Love Story || 22-25Happiness is Made in China || 104When She Leaves His House in Morning || 17

Jenna Tyzinski

Calm Before the Storm || 13


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Childhood Dreams || Inside Front CoverDirty Habits || 64Macbook I || 81

A Sandy Escape || 93Serenity || 19Matthew Very

Access Denied || Front Cover || Chancellors Honorable MentionSelf Portrait || 26Street Shadows at Night || 63

Jaclyn WascoCadence || 41Hide and Seek || 33Pomp and Circumstance || 35-37

e Love Aair || 43-45Amanda Westerlund

Amur StareMara the Amur Tiger || 72Brilliant Blue || 21Dandelion Drops || 49Odd One Out || 60Web Of Life || 46

Johnathan J. White & Markisha Bennett

Roll Call (In Honor of Great Poets ) || 105-110John WicinasHe || 100-101

Chelsea WolfeSunset Over Pittsburgh || 31

Xuerong Xiao

Untitled || 101Anthony Yang3 Rivers || 84

Contributors Notes || 112-115Teaching International || 116-117Acknowledgements || 118


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Note From The Editor

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once wrote: We are shaped and fashioned by what welove. Within the pages of this 12th Volume ofABSENCE: PSUGAs Literary & Visual Arts

Magazine, you will see just that. Works of visual art, poetry, and short ction that dene notonly the love of art, but also the way we, as a campus, are able to push and defy the odds of artitself. Within these pages, the artists and writers are able to take a blank canvas, and create some-thing so beautiful, so captivating, that we realize it is the arts that give us purpose. It is the artsthat transform us, and help us to become who we are today.

When I was rst approached with this project, I had no idea what went into it. Soon,

however, that would all change. Countless hours invested into a project such as this truly showsyou who you are as a person. It shows your tastes and dislikes. It shows your love of something sointangible, that soon you are able to make sense of it all. I believe that aer working on this proj-ect, I have discovered what art means to me. It is not about nding yourself; it is about showingyourself and your gis to the world.e talented men and women in this years magazine haveshown me their love of the arts, and I am now able to share that love with you. ere is a massive amount of thanks and gratitude that I have for those who made thisyearsABSENCEMagazine possible:

To the staofABSENCE, Volume 12: I wish to thank you all from the bottom ofmy heart. Your love and dedication to not only the arts, but to this project in particular, hashumbled me deeply. I now know what it is like to be a leader of something important, and youall made my job that much easier. Special thanks to Jenna Tyzinski, who worked with me on theproduction of the magazine layout, and to Bianca Hooper, whose unique ideas made this years

magazine a special one.To Dr. Manlove: You have been an integral part in assisting the stathese past fewmonths.e months went by too quickly, and if I could do this all over again, I would. Yourhelp has truly been amazing. I wish you the best, and hope that next years edition turns out evenmore amazing then these rst twelve. I truly thank you.

Finally, I wish to thank all of the artists who are showcased in this magazine. You are allextremely talented, and I thank you for allowing the stato read and feel what you feel about

art. I hope all of you continue to produce and create amazing pieces of work over the course ofyour lives.

Once again, thank you to all involved in this years edition ofABSENCE!

Dan Miller, Coordinating Editor


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Dreamtime

Christopher Reed

Time rose,As time grows,

Blooming with our assistance.

Time rows,As time ows,

Sailing into the distance.

Time knows,As time chose,

Rehearsing our resistance.

Time goes,As time dozed,

Dreaming into existence.


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Calm Before the Storm

Jenna Tyzinski


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Ivy

Mike Frank


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ings I Learned as a Stoop Kid

Winner, StaChoice for Best Alumni/Faculty/StaArt

Glenn J. Beech

As a child, I enjoyed sitting on the front porch stoop of Nonnos house on 33rd Street becausethere was so much to be learned from so many people!

r*MFBSOFEUIFSTUMFTTPOPOSFDZDMJOHXIFO*TBXFOUJSFIPVTFTNPWFEJOUBDUGSPNPOF

property lot to another property blocks away.Mr. Taylor.r*MFBSOFEIBWJOHUPPNVDIUPESJOLBU-BSSZTIPUFMDPVMEDBVTFUIFTJEFXBMLTUPNPWF

Mr. Dellavock.r"MUIPVHIBOFXQBJOUKPCPOB$IFWZNJHIUMPPLHPPEGSPNBGBSZPVEPOUVTFBDBOPG

Dutch Boy and a paint brush to repaint a car.Mr. Emmerson.r*FOKPZFEUIFCFBVUZPGUIF8FMTIMBOHVBHFBOEUIFLJOEOFTTPGJUTQFPQMF.SBOE.ST

omas.r*MFBSOFEDSB[ZDPVMECFIVNPSPVTCVUXIFOOPUUSFBUFEJUXBTBMTPTBE.T&WFMZO$IVUFr*MFBSOFENFOUBMSFUBSEBUJPODPVMECFLJOEHFOUMFBOEIFBSUGFMUBOEOPUTPNFUIJOHUIBUXBT

scary. Ms Aggie.r*SFBMJ[FEJG*XBOUUPLOPXXIBUXBTHPJOHPOJOUIFGBNJMZ*OFFEFEUPMFBSOUIF*UBMJBO

language.Nonno and Nonna Mazzucco.r*MFBSOFEOPUBMM*UBMJBOTHPUBMPOH/POOPBOE.S%J1PEFTUB

r*MFBSOFEUIFTBNFQFPQMFXIPBSSJWFEBUDIVSDIMBUFXFSFBMTPUIFTBNFPOFTXIPEFQBSUFEearly and were the most vocal about the hypocrisy of others.St. Perpetua parishioners.

r*MFBSOFEUIFNFBOJOHPGWBSJPVTIBOETJHOBMTBOEIPXUPSFBEMJQTTJNQMZCZQMBDJOHBDIBJSon the street to reserve a parking spot for a family member.Potter McCuneemployees and the parishioners of St. Perpetua.

r*MFBSOFEUIFEJFSFODFCFUXFFOBBUUPQBDSFXDVUB%"BOEBQPNQBEPVSIBJSDVUCousin Michael, Johnny Cordisco and the Kelly boys.

r4QFOEJOHUPPNVDIUJNFBUUIFUI8BSE$MVCNBEFGPSWPDJGFSPVTHIUTCFUXFFOhusband and wife.Doc Daughtery.

r7PDJGFSPVTHIUTCFUXFFOIVTCBOEBOEXJGFMFEUPNPSFGSFRVFOUUSJQTUPUIFUI8BSEClub.Doc Daughtery.

r*GZPVTBURVJFUMZBOEMPOHFOPVHIJUXPVMEQBZPwBOJDLFM/POOP.B[[VDDP


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r*MFBSOFEUPEJTUJOHVJTICFUXFFOJEFOUJDBMUXJOTTP*XPVMEOUFNCBSSBTTNZTFMGXIFOTBZJOHHello!Jim and Joe Gaudy.

r*G*UJNFEJUSJHIUTP*DPVMEHFU/POOPUPTJUPOUIFQPSDIKVTUQSJPSUPUIFJDFDSFBNUSVDLcoming through the neighborhood, he would by a Popsicle which we would both

share.Nonno Mazzucco.r*MFBSOFEOPUUPZFMMPVUUPNZ%BEXIPSFUVSOFEGSPNUIFBOOVBMUI8BSE$MVCQJDOJD

Are you sober?Glenn W. Beech.

Some of the best lessons in life I learned while sitting on the front porch stoop on 33rd Street!

Hilton Head

Jessica Joschak


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Ungodly HourSarah Fiore

Moving on from this ungodly hour is at times unbearable

Its easy just to give in, but no one wants to be weakFinding strength on your own aer so longCan feel as though youre scrambling blindlyIf I told you this is what I wantedere are times you may not believe meAer a certain point, love becomes unconditionalAnd that other half becomes your best friend

When you begin to realize that the pieces just dont tShould we keep it incomplete because its ours,Or should we go nd a new puzzle to build?At times like these I wish crystal balls were realAnd that fairy tales existedRealizing that plans are brokenAnd goals will not be made

Feels like the future is lostAnd you are starting over incompletely

When She Leaves His House in MorningBonnieibodeau

She sips from a cup of humiliationShe takes hers with two lumps of shame and sugar.

While she waits for it to coolShe considers the tempting plateOf lemon cookies and sour regret.


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White Sand

Christopher ONeal

Our footprints tell of moments passede snow entombs each step

But while each speaks clearly of its owners hardshipe coming springnds it inept

For the rising sun will glisten

Shedding heat upon each strandMaking every moment disappearRevealing new life below white sand

Hope Even in Dark SkiesMichael Shaver


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Serenity

Jenna Tyzinski


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Color My World

Darlene Mandekic-Fine

Ive seen the brilliant shadows of my lifeReected sharp against a world so greyBut neither dreariness now hatred can

Penetrate the richness of such colors gay.In the beginning was a dazzling lightat which, in turn, became both day and night.White soness mirrored in new fallen snowAs the gentleness and innocence ofA new baby who gave life so long ago.e golden rich hues of a sunowers bloom

Will far outnumber all my days of gloom.e orange Gerber daisys quite the sightAnd shares the glory of a red mapleAer a warm, Indian summers night.As red denes the rich ruby of a rose,Its ames are soened; sunsets sink in prose.Silvers iridescent icicles shine,And glisten against the moonlight at night.e lush green captured in springs earlyeldsWill whisper fresh life following winters yield.e crispest linen blankets autumns days;Its deepest blues are tossed on oceans waves.A smoky, violet sunrise begins each morn

And springing forth from sage, late summers born.e indigo of larkspur hides from sightAs dusk slips quietly into inky night.A sign to all that binds all that remains,A promised rainbow; His kingdom shall reign.


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Brilliant Blue

Chancellors Honorable Mention

Amanda Westerlund


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Fowl Love Story

Winner,e Chancellors Prize for Best Literary Art

Bonnieibodeau

ere were these two ducks, the tall white kind with big orange bills, like statues you seestanding on old ladies porches and wearing dresses with matching bonnets, or a yellow slicker.As if ducks need rain coats, right? I saw two of them almost every day.ey would be waddlingaround, side by side, between the dumpster and the row of dead trees that lined the road lead-ing out of the projects where I lived. Sometimes theyd be picking at whatever scraps were le

behind aer the stray cats and raccoons had torn through the trash. Hoping to nd a coupleslices of Wonder bread, I suppose. I never really paid them much mind until my girlfriend, Min-nie, moved in with me. On the mornings when I dropped Minnie oat her waitressing job atDennys diner on my way to work at the old steel mill, she would always look for them before wepulled out onto the main road, and shed smile when she saw them.

She said, did I tell you I named our ducks?I rolled my eyes at her, but she knew I was only teasing her and that I loved her cause of

all her silly little habits, like naming ducks. And the fact that her favorite thing about winter wasthe arrival of wooden boxes of juicy, easy-to-peel clementines. I remember the way shed dissectthe each citrusy piece; splaying the sections and making a pile of the thin, white skins on a papertowel so she could just eat the pulpy insides. Youve never seen someone make such a mess ofsuch a bitty orange. She didnt like to wash her hands right aer because she said she liked theway the peels made her hands smell. I liked the way it made her kisses taste, and she let me lick

her stickyngers.Whatd you name them, Goober? I said.Well I named the taller one Heathcli, and the short, chubby one is Lucy, she said.Heathcli? Like the orange cat from the old cartoon?No, this is a dierent Heathcli. Hes a character from Wuthering Heights. He was kind

of a tragic character and he turned into an old grouch, but he was hopelessly devoted to thewoman he loved. So I named the male duck aer him because he seems so serious, and he struts

around like hes Lucys body guard.I like it, Minnie. She was so smart, she was always reading something. She said she

must have gotten it from her grandpa, that he used to do the SundayNew York Times crosswordpuzzle with a pen. I took aer my grandfather and my father too. None of us had more thana high school diploma. She was only working at the diner while she was getting her mastersdegree.ose were hard years for both of us. We fought a lot; about money, her school expenses,


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about wanting children, not being ready for children, and the crappy house with the walls sothin that we could hear our neighbors on the other side when they were ghting. But its kindafunny how the toughest years usually turn out to be the good old days. Most days we were fall-ing harder in love than we could ght.

And cross my heart, stick a needle in my eye, one day I was walking by the playgroundand saw him pung his chest and apping his wings all in a fury and he started chasing aersome kids who tried to pet her, she said.

I looked forward to nding post-it love notes on the bathroom mirror, inside my closetdoor, and on the dash of my old pick-up truck. She always told me how much she enjoyedus cooking together. Id usually make spaghetti or macncheese while she baked tomato soupcupcakes. Sounds nasty, but I promise theyre the best. You should try it sometime. We ung thespaghetti noodles at the wall to test if they were done and would stick, and she spread vanillaicing on the cupcakes and my nose. We went for walks in the small park a little ways away, threwrocks across the pond, and talked about the dog we would get when we didnt have to rentanymore. She insisted on a big slobbery dog with a tongue that hangs half out of his mouth. Iagreed. She wore cotton dresses when it was warm and shed slip her shoes o, half walking, halfdancing along the shore, not because she was graceful, but to avoid stepping in goose shit.

I laughed and told her she was full of it.No doubt we were good at making each other mad. But we were better at making eachother laugh. She was the most beautiful when she laughed really hard, cause her wild, red curlswould bounce in every direction while her dimples stretched toward her plump cheeks. Her big,bright blue eyes would squint and tears would roll from them while she held her belly in stitch-es. Sometimes shed laugh so hard shed snort, and her hand shot over her mouth in surprise.

Alright, well what novel did you pull Lucys name from? I said.

I didnt. She reminded me of Lucille Ball because shes always quaking. Never shuts herbill.

Reminds me of someone else I know.From the passenger seat she punched my right arm and said, not funny, but her smile

betrayed her. One time she asked me and the guys if she could join us for poker night, and ofcourse they didnt mind.ey liked Minnie. Plus, she oered to make bualo chicken dip and

chili.ey invited her to play again for the same reasons she realized she wasnt cut out forpoker. As soon as she read the cards she was dealt she let out little noises of delight or disap-pointment.

I wonder what theyre doing here. It seems like an odd place for a couple of ducks toplant roots. Besides there being no more water for them to sit in than the puddle of spit on thesidewalk when ol Joe Landy sits on his stoop chewing all day, its the middle of winter and theyjust stay put, I said.


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where she used to smilebut I think she was nearly as upset about her death as Heathcliwas.Every day he paced frantically around the trees and dumpster, and the dried creek, looking forher. I wouldnt believe it if I hadnt watched it myself, but I swear on by Ford, that poor duckspent the rest of his drawn-out days looking for Lucy. Eventually his frenzied search slowed to a

dejected but steady trudge. He lost some of his bulk and feathers, but I hate to say he didnt diefrom his broken heart, he kept suering with it, and Minnies heart broke for him. I thought itwould have been easier if Heathclihad just given up his will to live, like what happened withthe dogs in Where the Red Fern Grows. Instead, he kept on livingin limbo and alone.

All of that was a long time ago, and a lot has changed. e steel mill had to let a lot ofpeople go. We moved out of state not long aer. I got another job, Minnie got her degree, andwe bought a house. We tried to have a baby. We got the big, slobbery dog Minnie always talkedabout, but the thing about big dogs is they have shorter life spans. We had seven good years ofwalks, swims, fetches, naps, and snacks together. Somewhere in between the major milestones,we forgot to do the little things. Minnie and I got a divorce. ere isnt much le to remind me of them, but every now and then I think about thoseducks.

Concrete LeafBrandon Garner

S lf


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Self Portrait

Matthew Very


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Meltdown


Jim Davis

Miss Paula hands me a sealed envelope and oers a pat on the back. She serves upidentical envelopes and pats on the back to three other classmates and sits back behind her deskwithout a word. I suppose she assumed we would continue with our multiplication tables or

grammar or whatever we busied ourselves with prior. Instead, we shredded the envelopes andspent countless minutes devouring the contents, letter by letter. Ocial school heading, formaltypeface.ey said wed scored high enough on the history aptitude test the class had takenweeks before and that, you have qualied to participate in a History Bee hosted by the studentsof our AP History class, under the direction of [Insert Teachers Name Here] Eight moreparticipants were chosen from the two other elementary schools in our district.e number ofstudents in my graduating class at the three schools combined was approximately 240. At this

thought my mind quivered for a moment, then settled. Even in h grade I understood that Iddone something fairly impressive. Standardized tests be damned; theyd never given me anythingbut useless numbers. I now had a number that meant something: one of twelve, out of 240.

For years Id absorbed and memorized the address of the high school from the clutterycascade of parental notices stuck to our refrigerator over the years99 Lowber Road, HerminiePA. About a month earlier in the school year I happened upon the location of 99 Lowber Road

while scanning one of my dads road atlases. None of that means anything, however, becauseId never actually been there. Finally having an opportunity to experience this place in personfelt strange and almost foreign, as if Id been invited to y to Hollywood and would soonndmyself squirming in an antiseptic, spotlighted TV studio answering questions like a game showcontestant. I didnt like that feeling, but I willed myself to reconcile my reluctance. Aer all,I supposed I would win if my nerves held up; if my school desk, perpetually stued with thelibrarys history books and exploding with paper knowledge at every li of the lid, were an ac-

curate indication, I was poised for triumphant victory. e other ace up my sleeve, my dad, I carried like a big stick. Hes always had a way ofdropping random bits of trivia out of nowherethe kind of trivia a person doesnt get frompublic school. It makes sense because he never gave much heed to the value of a solid secondaryeducation and preferred learning by doing (plus, this was during the late 60s and early 70sIcan speculate what all he was, learning by doing).

One time in the middle of a conversation about his recently rock mangled boat propel


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One time, in the middle of a conversation about his recently rock-mangled boat propel-ler, he mentioned that most of the river names in western Pennsylvania came from local NativeAmerican tribes, and then proceeded to rattle othe denitions of Youghiogheny, Mononga-hela, and Allegheny.ey were convoluted and I neglected to remember them upon further

inspection of the situation, the denitions may have been half-truths at best, fabricated to toywith my youthful gullibility. Hes such a joker. However, when a father tells his only child any-thing at that age, his word resonates with he. His word is Gods word.

For the next two weeks nothing was said of the history bee, my history bee. We wentabout our business of adjective-noun agreement and/or long division and/or the War of 1812(e Star-Spangled Banner was penned by Francis Scott Key in a poem about the Battle ofBaltimore; Id just read this in a new book my mom bought me). Meanwhile, my impatience

swelled and my feet scued on the carpet and myngers tapped martial rhythms every time Irecalled that, in a mere eight daysfour daystwo days!I would show what I learned frommy dad, and my favorite encyclopedia set, and my library books, and I would spill a ood ofanswers and unleash a hail of applause. Nobody else (in my class, at least) would follow my am-bitious leadI gathered that fairly early on in the countdown. While I spent my spare momentssponging up war history, Id never seen so much as a single page of black-and-white muskets or

oddly bearded men grace any of their ngertips. Such apathy! My fellow history scholars: notmuch for history, I see! Maybe thisght wouldnt end as fairly as Id hoped. An easy win? Per-haps not, but perhaps so. e announcement to board the bus came clear through the rooms loudspeaker; I wasthe only one to stand without being asked. We exited the room single-le, toeing the silver linebetween the oor tiles all the way to the front entrance. We looked on towards the short bus(which at that point I did not know served as transport for ALL exceptional students, not just

the impaired ones, and I became worried that some sort of mix-up had occurred), and we tookour seats, neglecting to buckle up. Aer a rough shudder from the diesel engine and a squealfrom the closing door, we departed for the high school. With all our legs free to hang across theaisle from seat to seat, I could tell the nervous from the calm by who was attached to the jitteri-est appendages, which I believe was my friend Olivia. Very uncharacteristicI once danced theminuet with Olivia in our second grade music class and she didnt falter once.e other two,whom I cannot recall, stayed rock steady, wordless. I did not recline over the aisle for the entiretrip; once we hit unfamiliar roads I xed my nose to the dewy window and followed our path.One more bit of knowledge for the road, so to speak. e high school loomed in red and tan brick. Every one of the parking lots was biggerthan my elementary school.e rooms, taller.e windows, longer. Everything on a grand scale.Along with our teacher escort we got buzzed in by some secretary frowning through the tinygray screen outside the door and the teacher lead us through the halls, giving us a tour. e

l k b h b b l l k d k d h ld b d h


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lockers were bright, but beaten.e tile oors looked ecked with gold but marred with scus.October leaves blew in with the November air and sparsely littered the corners of doorways,kicked there by big shuing shoes in a rush. It seemed dingy and smelled like wilderness. Not atall like the TV studio I had envisioned. More like a set for a bad movie.

e murals on the walls painted by the senior art students lined the entire hallway andguided us to the art room, where we sat briey next to a pile of junk canvases and listened to therules and regulations of the bee.irty seconds per question. One wrong answer and youre dis-qualied. You will sit back down with the contestants but you will not be called again. e othereight students sat at the other side of the room with the nished works, united in common goalsbut segregated by demeanor.ey wanted to win. I saw it.ey all sat attentively, mouths shut,

heads forward. So did I, and so did Olivia, somewhat, although I could tell she just wanted toget it all over with but the other two slumped and downturned their glazed eyes. If their dadshad taught them anything, it shouldve been to give a shit. e auditorium stareadied for our miniature big time.e black metal folding chairsstood in a row across the middle of the stage.e twelve of us picked our places on stage. I chosesecond from the le, between some kid with glasses in the hot seat and Olivia to my right. Soonwere a lonely island of sitting ducks preparing for aring squad of four distinguished old strang-

ers at a long table with crackly microphones as their weapons of choice. e spotlights burst on.ose among us not already perspiring from anxiety beaded up from the hot wattage sprayingus, heating us up, beating us down. Like interrogation, designed to derive knowledge underduress. I just wanted to answer some questions about the Gadsden Purchase.

It started without much ado: a brief intro of the judges, a clipped spurt of more rulereview. First question: unmemorable. Maybe something about where Abraham Lincoln got shot(Fordseater) or when the Louisiana Purchase went down (1803). Glasses kid nailed it, satback down, dgeted with his pants pockets. We caught eyes for a second and he stopped.

Second question: memorable. What was the rst nuclear accident in U.S. history? Dadtold me this. One day we passed the Madison exit on Interstate 70 while going to get gas. Hepointed at a thick tower with a peeling W painted on it. He asked me if I knew aboutreeMile Island. I nodded and hummed my verication. Your teachers probably told you thatsthe rst nuclear accident, but it aint.at happened in 1979.is place is called Waltz Mill. It

melted down years ago, back in the 60s.eyre still dumping concrete over where the core wasbecause it keeps burning away, still now. Released a bunch of radioactive gas above this wholearea.ey kept it all real quiet. Its crazy that stuhappened in your own school district andthey aint ever told you about it, huh? People have no idea its like a big cover-up or some-thing. I nodded and hummed my verication, more eager this time. A few seconds later, with abig watery glint in his eyes, Jim, yknow why the deer up theres so easy to hunt? ey glow.

I was rst in line to answer I marched to that microphone I stared down the judgesI


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I was rst in line to answer. I marched to that microphone. I stared down the judges Iknew I had the edge. ere would be no fear in my voice, no reservation, no hesitation. I an-swered in the surest tone my prepubescent larynx could tolerateWaltz Mill.

Could you repeat that? requested the head judge, with lips overgrown so heavily with

wizened grayuI couldve sworn he said nothing at all.Waltz Mill.Sorry, thats incorrect. Youre out. What? I turned unsteadily, plopped down in my chair and listened to the echo of the

metal chair legs rubbing the wood oor.Next contestant, Olivia.ree Mile Island. Correct. I felt them all eyeing me. Waltz

Mill?

e bee continued for thirty agonizing minutes. I answered literally every other ques-tion in my head. Externally I maintained a faade of sweaty mess, but internally I ate myselfaway. Dad, you let me down. Dad, maybe youre not Gods word. Dad, did you bullshit meagain?e thing ended, we ate some pizza. I spilled my Pepsi down my pants and onto the oor.I felt the eyes again. I heard a chuckle. Why. Why. Why. On the way home I was the one withthe jitters, and my sugary shoe soles stuck slightly to the oor, emitting a wet Velcro crackle that

brought all the accusing eyes that I didnt need.Outrageous.e judges, all ve local guys and ladies, no doubt old enough to validatemy (maybe) correct answer from common knowledge yet victimized by the same public schoolsystem that told me everything from a book books written and edited by people, people whoare fallible, people who want to keep things hidden. Granted, maybe they know better. Maybetheyre right. Like I said, maybe dad screwed with me. I told him about what I got wrong. Hewas all up in arms. He didnt get it, called their judgment, and Im paraphrasing here, A load of

shit. So much for that theory. I still believed him sort of.Imagine though, youre in a situation where you either trust a page of a book or trust a

person whos been there for you your entire life and never let you down on the important stu.Sure, at age 4 or 5 he told you baby calves come from round hay bales, but he was only kiddingand you half-knew it. at person feeds you a factoid and it blows up in your face during one ofthe most relevant things youve done in your ten short years.

As I sit here now, I can say that he was right. At some point years later, maybe aroundage een while taking honors chemistry, we talked about radioactive isotopes and I ashedback to my history bee. In my next class, computer applications, I hopped on Google and guess what? Waltz Mill: April 3rd, 1960.ree Mile Island: April 2nd, 1979.

Dont trust your professors. Trust your teachers.


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Sunset Over Pittsburgh

Chelsea Wolfe

In Need of a Hero


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In Need of a Hero

Arthur A. Smith

I always see a look of sadness upon her faceShe always has on that stone cold grinShe covers her problems with a smile while the tears are falling on the insideShe talks with a shake in her voiceHer emotions are all torn up from the heartache and painShe sometimes cries at nightHer heart seems to be failing because of all the depression, problemsAnd stress in her life

Shes in need of someone to come to her rescueShe needs a hero to save herA hero thats 6 2 with broad shouldersHuge arms, steel chest, impeccable absBronco buster booty, ripped thighs muscular calves courageous like a BearAnd can li a 5 story building with his pinkyBut since none of those exist

Id like to take that place if she doesnt mindA 510 skinny big head kid that weighs 140 lbsWith crazy ideas like for instanceTrying to be a superheroNot really muscularMore like athleticNot really as courageous as bear

But has the heart of a lionCant li a 5 story buildingBut can li up her heartI may not be able to ght ovillainsBut I can ght for her happinessIll be there to ght away all her fearsIll wipe those tears away so fast they wont even be able to reach her cheeks

Ill hold her tight and tell her over and over Im here for youIll keep the tears from running on the outsideAnd keep the sadness from growing on the inside

Ill use my heart to keep her warmAnd my soul to keep safeBlocking away all her problems and all her stress


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October


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Alexis Rose Joseph

Pomp and Circumstance


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Pomp and Circumstance

Second Place, e Chancelors Prize for Literary Art

Jaclyn Wasco

Pomp: n. 1. stately display; 2. ostentatious show or displayCircumstance: n. 1. a fact or event; 2. conditions aecting a personPomp and Circumstance: the ridiculous song played by a band at your high school graduation.

I must admit that the denitions of the words apart really do relate what a graduation ceremonyis. First, youre forced to wear hideous polyester gowns and caps in your schools colors. (e symbolism

of our colors being black and navy blue is not lost on me.) Second, youre forced to parade down theaisles of seats so family members can take pictures and show you the obnoxious bouquet of CongratsGrad! balloons and owers wrapped in cellophane that they bought you. en, all of the Honors kidsgo up on stage to speak about their amazing experiences when the rest of us just want them to shut thehell up so we can leave.

Well, in my case, I didnt want to come to begin with. I didnt want to participate in pictures. Ididnt want to see everyone excited and smiling. I didnt want to wear this stupid ass outt. I didnt want

to see the empty seat three rows in front of me and six seats over. And I certainly didnt want to see theside glances that everyone around me was throwing my way.

Aer twelve years of schooling, youd think that people would learn to be more discrete.As Kirsten something-or-who-cares, Miss Valedictorian and Most Likely to Succeed, droned on,

I couldnt help but let my eyes wander over to that conspicuously empty seat. It wasnt a mistake by somemoron that didnt come to rehearsal and it wasnt because someone was late. It was because someonewasnt coming. She couldnt.

Her name is Eloise Christianson but everyone calls her Ellie. Well, I suppose the proper way toform that sentence would be to use the past tense. Ellie was my best friend and she died a week ago in acar crash.

You see, she was that kind of person that you couldnt help but notice and want to be around.She was so eccentric and full of life and comfortable in her own skin that everyone envied her. I know Idid. She had this platinum blond hair with hot pink streaks running through it and it made her impos-sible not to be noticed. at was the way she liked it.

It was the rst day of Senior year. She was new and everyone in the Senior hallway just stoppedand watched her as she passed by. Im pretty sure she even put an extra bounce in her step for aect.Somehow, she had the locker next to mine and I forced myself to turn away so I didnt look like a com-plete pervert or something. But I guess she didnt mind because she reached over, took my schedule from

my hand, and placed her own in it.

ank God you have rst period Chem with me. You look like youd be good at Chem. Im aw-ful at it. She didnt even look at me while she went over the rest of my schedule. Im Ellie, by the way.

en she smiled up at me with crystal blue eyes.A h Pl Sh l h d h


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Anthony. Pleasure to meet you. She laughed at that.As clich as it sounds, we were pretty much inseparable aer that. Even if I had wanted to shake

her loose that rst day, she wouldnt have let me. She followed me around for that rst week and I cer-tainly didnt complain. She was gorgeous.

ough it is a joyous day, a dark cloud hangs over us all, Kirstin said with false feeling from thepodium. I glared up at her, daring her to go further but she just kept that pointed nose of hers up in theair. If I could hit a chick, shed be the rst one Id go aer. Last week, we had the misfortune of dealingwith a devastating loss. In the prime of her life, Eloise Christianson passed in a tragic accident. While wehold her in our prayers, may we remember to live our lives to their fullest. We never know when it will betaken.

Pretentious bitch. Need I mention that she spoke to Ellie the equivalent of three times in the

past nine months? And of course that lovely shout out caused everyone in our class to look at me.eywere all waiting for another show, a pomp, if you will.

I looked at my phone again. Nothing. It was eleven and Ellie still wasnt here. Wheres Ellie? Jason asked as he picked at the paint of the bench he was sitting on.

We were at graduation rehearsal on a break because, apparently, lining up and sitting down inalphabetical order was strenuous or something for our feeble minds.

Umwell, Im not entirely sure, I said, looking towards the door for a flash of her hair. She

called this morning to say she was running late so I got a ride from Clair. But she should have been here bynow. I tried calling but she didnt answer.

She probably stopped at the gas station to get a coffee and got pulled in by those trash magazinesshe likes, Jason laughed. I tried to laugh too but it didnt come out right. He noticed and patted me onthe shoulder. Dude, Im sure your girl is fine. My phone decided to ring at that moment and he laughedagain. What did I tell you?

I laughed and answered the phone. Hey, El. Where are you? Mrs. Evens is freaking out.

Honey? Where are you? I looked down at the caller ID to see Mom shining up at me.Mom, Im at school. Whats that problem? I asked. I walked towards a quieter part of the hall.How did you get there? She was starting to sound a little less panicked but I was still confused.Clair gave me a ride. Why are you asking?Oh, honey. She took a deep breath. e exhale was shaky with what I finally understood to be

tears. eres been an accident.Im pretty sure my heart thudded to a stop. I slumped against the wall. Who? Dad?

No. She sighed. Its Ellie, honey. I guess I was silent for too long because she continued. Itseems like she ran a stop sign and a truck hit the drivers side. She kept going like it mattered but thewords started to taper offlike I was holding the phone far away. I just stared at the wall in front of me andscratched my head, completely confused at what she was telling me.

Hernal words rang through like she was screaming them in my ear. Im sorry, sweetheart. Shedidnt make it.

What? I shook my head, trying to connect the dots. No. Youre lying. Shesne. Shes on her way toschool.

My mom snied and took another deep breath. No, honey. Im sorry but . . . SHUT UP! I screamed in to the phone My hands were shaking and I kicked the wall repeatedly


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SHUT UP! I screamed in to the phone. My hands were shaking and I kicked the wall repeatedlyuntil Jason pulled me back. He started asking questions but I couldnt understand what he was asking. JUSTSHUT THE HELL UP! I yelled at them both. I hung up the phone and held my head as I dialed Elliesnumber. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Come on! I started pacing while Jason watched on. People were starting

to gather in the hall as I continued to yell at the phone. Fuck, Ellie! PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE!All I could hear was their whispering, which was getting louder and louder until it sounded like a

chant. I grabbed at my hair and took odown the hall towards the entrance, pushing everyone who got in myway. I could hear Jason chasing aer me but I just went faster.

I pushed the doors open despite the protests of the useless security guards. I sprinted towards the stu-dent parking lot and moed up and down the aisles, looking for her red Ford Taurus. I stopped at her assignedspot as I dialed again.

is is Ellies phone. Leave it.e phone fellom my grasp as Jason and someone elsenally caught up to me. I plopped onto the

cement and held my head in my hands, urging myself not to cry. It just couldnt be true. It couldnt. Sure, shedidnt like stop signs but she couldnt have gotten hit. It was impossible. She couldnt die. She wouldnt. eylied.

Mr. Sawyer! What is the meaning of this?I looked up to see Jason pocketing my phone and a winded Mr. Carlson looking down at me with his

legendary stink eye. I just stared back up at him. What more could he do to me?Well? he asked, pursing his lips.I turned awayom him and looked at the parking space I now occupied. She wouldnt pick up.

ey asked for a moment of silence when they called Ellies name. Everyone bowed their headslike they cared except for a few scattered people that were too busy pulling at loose strings or goingthrough the program. I liked those people.ey didnt pretend like they were best friends with Elliewhen she really only had a close group of friends. Everyone could say it was sad, sure, but dont act like

you personally felt the loss. You didnt. You dont have any idea.I could see her like she was up on that stage. She joked that she was going to do some victorydance once she got her diploma and then unzip her ugly, unattering gown to reveal the beautiful dressshe bought for the occasion. I could see shaking her head from side to side as she moved across the stage,the spotlight following her. She pointed out to me and laughed when the principal told her to get othestage.

e vision didnt vanish when they called the next name. She continued towards me. I waited

for her to disappear but she came to stand in front of me. She even held my hand. She didnt leave oncethe ceremony was over and I hoped she never would.

p2


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Alex LaFleur

Reflections


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Luke Provenzano

Wh t Li B hind W ll


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What Lies Behindese Walls

Christopher ONeal

What lies behind these wallsWhat lies behind these wallsy neighbors love, to hateSo stop them at the gates

For they shall never seeWhat lies behind these wallsWhat lies behind these wallsWe keep a peaceful stateTo protect and to keep safeAnd none shall interfere withWhat lies behind these walls

What lies behind these wallsOutside is full of fraudulenceWhere more fake lies than notBut we swear only truthWhat lies behind these wallsWhat lies behind these wallsBeware of phony facesWhich may mirror our ownBut which are surely cover forWhat lies behind these walls

Cadence


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Cadence

Jaclyn Wasco

Piano.Mute is on, notes are soened.Maestro slows the batonInto graceful, gentle strokesLike the brush of a feather.

Grave.e bass carries the beatWhile the cello takes the melodyIn its deep, tender timbre.Its vibrato is felt deep,Intense with the remembrance of the Allegro.

e viola has the accompaniment,Leading to the end.

Diminuendo.e violin leads into a mezzo forteWith a tremolo like a quickening heartUntil the nal strokeWhere, together,All dri to the close.e last note blends into the silenceand bows hover like feathersIn the still air.

Fine.Maestro lowers the baton while his head bows.He mourns the endDespite the many pieces to come.

Chenonceau Castle, France I


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Andy Holtz

e Love Aair


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Chancellors Honorable MentionStaChoice Award

Jaclyn Wasco

Bloody cat! Get the hell out of my way! Mr. Malone screamed at the cat that brushed upagainst his shins as he hobbled towards the front door. Napoleon, who was the devil incarnate in Mr.Malones humble opinion, grinned up at him with obvious mirth at creating trouble before the old manle for the day. How he missed the days of his middle age when he had the ability to kick the dementedfeline.

Like every other aernoon, Napoleon tried to escape out the open door to inict misery onother unsuspecting mortals. And as tempted as he was to let the beast run wild, Mr. Malone knew thathe too would be out of house and home if he let the cat get away. So, with the utmost care, Mr. Maloneused the end of his cane to catch Napoleon around his purple scarf just before he leapt othe front step,dumped him back inside the house, and slammed the door shut with a murmur about exorcism andeuthanasia.

Leave poor Napoleon alone! Mrs. Malone screeched from the living room window.

Damn son of a bitch tried to run again, he shouted back as he carefully took the porch stepsone at a time. He could feel his wifes beady eyes glaring into his back as he limped away.

He took his time walking around the back of their one story house, mindful of the pain in hisjoints which were now worse because of that wretched cat. Today was not going to be a good day. Helooked up at the semitransparent clouds oating across the bright sky. It would rain tomorrow evening atthe latest. He didnt need a man with a green screen and a clicker to tell him that much.

Aer circling the back of the house, Mr. Malone stepped up on to the back patio. He shed his

keys out of his le pocket and proceeded to open the door to the separate apartment that was attachedto the house. He loved this place for a multitude of reasons and actually smiled as he walked inside andclosed the door.

It was his equivalent to the Bat Cave. Not only did it get him away from his wife and her petdemon who would love to turn his beautiful cello in to an expensive scratching post, it held the courseof his life on the walls. Nailed to the boring white drywall were framed newspaper articles, sheet music,playbills, programs, and two diplomas, all bearing his name.ere were a number of photographs on the

mantle above the replace of him with conductors, directors, and actors.He knew full well that some of the parents of his students thought that he was entirely tooboastful about his achievements for he loved repeating old stories during practice and clearlyaunteddocumented evidence of it. However, it was because of all of his experiences that lead him to his reputa-tion for churning out some of the most brilliant students in music.

Needless to say, he didnt see the harm in bragging a little bit. What was the point in being oldand successful if you couldnt show it o?

He tuned his instrument in preparation for the days lessons, not that it was much needed. Heonly had three students today, all of which were in currently high school. Once his arthritis started to


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only had three students today, all of which were in currently high school. Once his arthritis started toget worse, he stopped accepting younger children for private lessons. While their vivacity and thirst forknowledge made them some of the most amusing students, they required more hands-on learning than

he could provide.ey needed side-by-side playing and demonstrations out his arse. He couldnt keepup with them anymore. His remaining students were advanced and eager to prove to him they couldplay even the hardest piece without much assistance. It was all the same to him since he still reaped thebenets.

is leMr. Malone to his rocking chair in the corner while his rst two students played piecesfrom their high school orchestras. He commented when necessary and grunted when they missed a atclearly marked on their page. He tapped his cane to the wooden oor when they got otempo, eager to

get to the more excitingallegro. All in all, they were fairly predictable and talented players. But neither ofthem held a candle to his nal lesson of the day.Right on time, Ethan walked through the door, smiled at Mr. Malone in his rocking chair, and

immediately sat down in the chair in front of the music stand. He tuned and got settled without a word.Mr. Malone had taught him to speak with music, not words.

Truthfully, Ethan was one of the most gied students he ever taught, and that was saying some-thing. You could tell just by watching him while he played. He held the bow loose and gentle in his righthand as the hair tore into the strings. His le hand caressed the neck of the cello as he moved betweenpositions like that of a lover, passionate and tender.e deep, hauntingly melodic notes that pouredforth from his instrument were only accentuated by his perfect vibrato.

But the thing that would draw an entire audience in to his music was the uidity with whichhe moved. His body swayed with the rhythm and his arms looked graceful and light. And his pensive,bowed face held a reverence in it that was remarkable. He loved and believed in what he was playing.

ough he would never say it aloud, Mr. Malone saw quite a bit of himself in Ethan. He was notworried about the young mans future at Juilliard at all.

And then Ethan rushed through theadagio and Mr. Malone wished he could take back histhoughts. He hit the bottom of his cane against the wood oor to set the right tempo only to gain an eyeroll from the brat.

When would people learn that rushing was a sure re way to get to the end faster?Aer the lesson, Ethan remained in his chair aer he had packed up his cello. He turned to Mr.

Malone who was rocking slowly in the corner of the room.Well? Ethan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mr. Malone raised an eyebrow and continued to rock back and forth, his heel nding the oorin constant time.

What? Ethan laughed. He scratched his head as he pondered his private instructor of eightyears. Now that Im in Juilliard you dont have any advice for me? ough he wanted to laugh, Mr. Malone kept a straight face and looked Ethan in the eye. Nowthat youre a Juilliard man, you still want my advice?

Ethan shook his head. I think the world might fail to exist if you dont bestow me with youradvice.

Mr Malone couldnt help it He let out a chuckle despite his best wishes Okay then He


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Mr. Malone couldn t help it. He let out a chuckle despite his best wishes. Okay then. Helooked Ethan over for a minute and then quietly uttered the words he said to every student at the end ofevery lesson.

Music is a love aair, Ethan. Any fool can fall in love.e diculty lies in learning how to keepthe love alive.

Ethan smiled and picked up his instrument like every other day. Despite his brilliance with acello, Ethan still didnt get it and Mr. Malone wondered if the time would ever come when he had to.

As he walked to the door, Ethan paused to look at a piece of sheet music framed by the door.is was always my favorite. I was thinking about playing it for the senior concert.

Mr. Malone crossed his arms and shrugged. Are you sure you can do it justice?

Ethan rolled his eyes and walked out the door with a shake of the head. Bye, Mr. Malone.For a long time aer Ethan le, Mr. Malone just sat in his rocking chair and looked around at

his trophies. He took each and every one of them in, replaying them in his mind. When his eyes stoppedon the music Ethan had referred to, he looked to his lonely cello lying dormant on the oor next to themusic stand.

He stood with care, shued over to the chair, and situated his cello in front of him. He exedhis ngers and rolled his neck. His age was in every joint and pain but he did his best to ignore it.

He didnt need the music. It was his piece, the piece he wrote when Mrs. Malone agreed tomarry him, aer much persuasion on his part.ose were the good days, the ones before Napoleon cameinto the picture. He smiled at the memory, his hands already beginning the familiar, warm melody.

His hands werent as they used to be. His ngers couldnt nd the right positions on the boardand he didnt get half way through before his le hand started to seize up in revolt. He honestly enviedEthan at that moment in time, for he could move and throw himself into his music without a care in theworld. At his young age, music was his world, his love. He could play that piece like Mr. Malone could

only dream of. He couldnt begin to fathom his gi.Mr. Malone put his cello away with a heavy heart. He briey wondered if he was having a heartattack. He shook his le arm a bit and, besides the arthritis, everything felt ne. He shook his head at hissilliness and moved to the door to lock up for the night. He purposely kept his eyes averted from the wallas he le.

He rounded the side of their house and saw Mrs. Malone standing over the oven in the kitchen,peeking over her shoulder occasionally to look out the window to her right. He considered smiling andknocking on the window to give her something to look at.

at is until Napoleon jumped up on the window sill. He hissed at Mr. Malone before proceed-ing to licking his paw with a sinister twitch visible in his whiskers. At that moment, the dying sunlightescaped through the thick pine trees and landed on Napoleons black face. His yellow eyes glowed like aragingre in the dead of night. e damn cat was going to be the death of him.

Web of Life


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Amanda Westerlund

Denition of a Man

l


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Winner, St. Valentines Prize

Jennifer Le

Our relationship was surprising,Surprised were actually compromising.e arguments I start You never take them to heart,And its shocking how you deal with me,

When everyone else decided to leave.I paid little attention to them,But you you comprehend.I get my friends and my time,Cause we each hold our own grind.e things you do, the words you state,

Im feelin every one of your traits.is love used to be locked away,Until I began to realize every day,You appreciate me, you love me,For my everythin, not just my sexy.Aer all the pain Ive gone through,I was led to this unexpected truth.

You are all the things Ive dreamed about.You got me oating higher than clouds.I was sinking my heart deep into ice,Until you came and showed me what was right.I respect you because you respect me.Damn, you really aect me.We hold each other down through anything.Ill be with you through thick and thin.And I put my trust in your handsBecause Ive actually met a man.

MTC


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Alex LaFleur

Dandelion Drops

S d Pl Ch ll P i f Vi l A t


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Second Place,e Chancellor s Prize for Visual Art

Amanda Westerlund

Metrosphere

Brandon Garner


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A

Brandon Garner

Past and Future


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A

Sarah Fiore

ere are some answers that even geniuses dont knowSome things that do not have an equation, and cannot have a planese things can only be played out to see the outcomeTake a chance, go out on a limbSounds easy unless youre afraid of heightsSharing this is like singing words to the wrong tuneIt just doesnt sound right, it doesnt make sensee past will linger inside youIt makes us who we areere are no mistakes, no regretsere just cant be, the past is what it ise past and future too oen rule our lives

How have we become?Were missing things, missing details in our own backyardIf were not living in the present, where are we?Preoccupied with what did and what willWith what could of and what mightWhat should not have and what can notLast year and next year

Wishes, wants and love gone byis is where our minds lie

Rain

Mike Frank


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Mike Frank

ree Story Flood

Christopher ONeal


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p

ese oors once so and comfortingNow lie hard and coldese halls now echo emptinessey speak of fading memoriesOf an empty shell of a homeGasping for its last breath of life

is house was once a homeNow it drowns in dying dreamsWith every picture washing oits wallsUntil theres only memories

e carpet now dampened with regrets

Only soaks in cold cruel nostalgiaOf steps that cant be retracedBecause the staircase has been washed awayAnd the created void now separatesEach tier drenched in tears

is house was once a home

Now it drowns in dying dreamsWith each picture washing oits wallsUntil theres only memoriesWhere white washed walls once stoodAnd proved to be shelter through the worst of weatheris three storyood has proven to beMore than this fragile shell of a home could withstand

My only hope is that the suns warmth will once againCoat this broken homeAnd wash over it once more

Good Luck Charm

Christopher ONeal


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p

Trees

Luke Provenzano


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A

LOVE is EVOL

Second Place, St. Valentines Prize


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A

Dan Miller

I moved slowly through the parking lot. It was still cold outside, and I was wearing aleather jacket that my mom bought me a few years ago. It still had that new leather smell thatI liked, so I wore it all the time.e mall wasnt as crowded as I thought it would be. I didntgo shopping much anymore. I thought it was a waste of time. I could be doing something else,like reading a book. Plus, the crowds and all the people just wasnt my thing. I nally found thestore I was looking for, aer winding my way past teenagers eating churros and messing around,punching each other and irting. I didnt want to get bumped into, so I kept moving. I was get-ting a bit old to remember that age. Im 25. Not too old, but old enough that my frontal lobe isfully developed.

e store was a jewelry boutique. I knew exactly what I wanted. I would be in and out.Ten minutes, tops. I walked up to the locked glass case and peered inside. I didnt lean on it,since I knew how workers hated that. Plus, I did it last time I came here, and got yelled at by

some old lady. Its ne, shes old. No sense in getting pissed at the elderly. e ring I wanted washidden towards the back middle area of the case. It sat nicely, lodged in its felt surrounding,soon to be plucked from its fellow golden rings and placed into a velvet box, wrapped up andhanded to me. I had been saving for quite some time for this, and I knew it was the right one. Iknew because she told me she always told me. I turned around and noted the idiot kids thatwere making a ruckus, waiting for a sales associate to help me. I laughed to myself when I sawa middle-aged rent-a-cop come and break up their party. I nodded in satisfaction as I heard a

voice behind me.Can I help you?I turned around and blinked. A girl, probably around my age, leaned gently against

the counter. Her wrists were tilted so that her arms and body made an upside down V shape. Igured I would be a smartass and tell her not to lean on the counter, but then quickly thoughtagainst it. I should have mentioned before that I tend to notice things about people. Little

things. Its really not my fault, I have been like this for as long as I could remember. See, I am awriter. Freelance, that is. I havent been given a break, but maybe soon. Just have to keep work-ing. Anyway, this chick had a massive amount of chunky jewelry on her wrists. Not the kind soldin this boutique, but plastic, showing oan array of colors. It looked as though she won most ofit from a vending machine. I then looked up into her eyes and raised an eyebrow.

Y-Yeah, give me a second?

She sported dark blue eye shadow, and very pale skin. Not the kind that proves youdont go outside in the summerI have that kind of palenessbut it was the natural kind. Hereyes were dark blue, and her blonde hair was tied up in one of those messy ponytails that mygirlfriend wore when she did the dishes or put up when she was pissed at me e sales girl con-


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girlfriend wore when she did the dishes or put up when she was pissed at me.e sales girl con-tinued to stare at me, giving me a quick shake of her head and allowing her mouth to open a bit,as if I was an idiot who thought this was a shoe store or something.

Uh, yeah, I want that one? I pointed to the one in the back and quickly jammed myhands into the pockets of my leather jacket that smelled awesome. She quirked an eyebrow,leaned over and looked into the case, pushing her weight against the glass. I didnt say anything;once again ignoring my inner urge to be rude and turned my head, seeing if anyone else wouldbe able to help me. Okay, cool. Its on sale this week. $1000. I nodded and looked at her as she

continued to stare at me.Can I help you with something? I asked her. She was starting to grate on me as shecontinued to stare.

Is this for your girlfriend?Yeah. I . . . I cut myself obefore I nished telling her. Why would she care? She

pretty much showed absolutely no interest in me, my purchase, or my awesome jacket. I rolledmy eyes and shook my head.

Yeah. I am going to propose to her soon. I gured it might, you know, be a good idea toget a ring? I nodded, pleased with my response.e girl nodded, seeming pleased as well.

Well, thats pretty sweet of you. Its a nice ring.I wasnt expecting that. I gured I would cop more tude from this chick if I mentioned

anything about myself, but that was pretty nice.anks, I think she will like it. I mean, its a big purchase.

She nodded as she scanned the ticket hanging from the ring, and then moved the ringinto its small box. I watched her as she worked.e chunky plastic crap on her wrists didnt stopher from moving with a quick and subtle grace. I felt a little dierently as she worked now thanfrom before, when she was being rude. She reminded me of someone I once knew. I couldntplace it, but looking at her a bit closer now

Erica? e girl looked up at me and raised an eyebrow. How do you know my name? Do I

know you from somewhere? She didnt say it meanly, but more out of curiosity.Yeah, thought I recognized you. Im Jack. We went to high school together.She quickly smiled and nodded a bit faster. Yeah!ought I recognized you. You grew

up pretty fast, Jack.I nodded and laughed. Yeah, same to you. Its been a while. So when did you start

working here?

Just recently. I moved back here from Seattle. I was working full time in a coee shopout there, but gured I would be better ohere.

She continued to wrap my purchase as she spoke.


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I nodded as she nished wrapping my gi. I handed her my debit card and smiled. She

smiled back.So, who is the lucky girl?Wendy.She looked up at me and raised another eyebrow. I was afraid of what might happen

next.Oh that is, uh, good good for you guys. She smiled quickly. Insincerely.I thought quickly why this might have gotten her upset. I probably shouldnt have

said anything. I remembered they were friends, but not too close. I didnt think it would havemattered.

Yeah, we are pretty happy.Great, she said sincerely. Insincerely.I smiled as she handed me back my debit card and receipt, as well as the small gold bag

that held quite literally the rest of my life.

You look good, Jack.You too Erica. It was nice seeing you.You too.I smiled once more and waved as I backed away from the counter, and turned to exit

the small boutique.e kids were gone, and the mall seemed a bit more quiet. I turned my headquickly back to the store and noticed Erica looking at me. When she caught my glance, sheturned her head quickly, and edged away, disappearing behind a xture.

I came back later that week to tell her that Wendy said no to me. I wasnt too mad. Shesaid that I was not, nancially stable enough to marry, or some bullshit like that. It would havebeen nice to know that seven years ago. But, whatever, you learn to deal, I guess. I asked themanager if I could speak to Erica. I was going to ask her to go out for some coee, and I had a re-ally witty joke to go along with it. But the manager said she was gone, and that she had quit justa few days ago. I asked where she was headed, but the manager didnt know.

I never heard from Erica.

Joy

Gl J B h


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Glenn J. Beech

Joy, an emotion that has the same intensity but changes throughout the years.

Joy is:

r:PVSSTUJDFDSFBNDPOF

r.BLJOHZPVSSTUTOPXBOHFM rFSTUUJNFZPVTFFUIFPDFBO r3JEJOHBUXPXIFFMFSPOZPVSPXOGPSUIFSTUUJNF r)JUUJOHZPVSSTUIPNFSVO r:PVSSTUSJEFPOBXPPEFOSPMMFSDPBTUFS rFSTUEBZPGTVNNFSWBDBUJPO

r:PVSSTULJTT rFSTUUJNFZPVESJWFUIFDBSTPMP r(SBEVBUJOHGSPNIJHITDIPPM r"DDFQUBODFJOUPDPMMFHF r'JOEJOHZPVSUSVFMPWF r4FFJOHZPVSDIJMECFJOHCPSO r(JWJOHZPVSDIJMEwUIFJSSTUJDFDSFBNDPOF

r4FFJOHZPVSDIJMEwNBLFUIFJSSTUTOPXBOHFM r5BLJOHZPVSDIJMEwUPUIFPDFBOGPSUIFSTUUJNF r)FMQJOHZPVSDIJMEwSJEFBUXPXIFFMFS r4FFJOHZPVSDIJMEwIJUUIFJSSTUIPNFSVO r5BLJOHZPVSDIJMEwPOUIFJSSTUXPPEFOSPMMFSDPBTUFSSJEF

Odd One Out

Amanda Westerlund


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A Conversation with Nonna

Glenn J. Beech


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Glenuto, che te fai?

ere is only one person who ever called me Glenuto, and it was Nonna Mazzucco.

Again, I hear, Fior, a che te fai? Child, what are you doing?I am separating the seeds from the dried heads of the zinnias, just like you taught me years

ago.en Ill store them and plant them next spring.But why? You can aord to buy new seeds next year.Yes, but this is how you taught me. I know, I am not as precise or as neat as you were but

basically it is how you taught me.But, when I showed you and you helped we were poor and couldnt aord to buy fresh

packaged seeds. You have a job, youre making money and can aord to buy fresh seeds next spring.Yes, but when I do this I think of you and the times we spent sitting at the backdoor stoop,

separating seeds. Actually, I enjoy cutting the dried heads and taking time to do this, it seems to slowtime. Each year I plant the zinnias in a special owerbed in remembrance of you! I remember thepatch you grew directly under the kitchen window and how you particularly liked the red blossoms.

Si, the zinnias reminded me of the owers we grew in Pelos, when I was a young girl. ered blossoms always reminded me of the geraniums my mother would grow in the ower boxes onour balcony, which overlooked the valley.

So in some way I am continuing memories we both have, even though I never knew whyyou planted them?

Anche con la distante, tu ancora si la ambasciatore della famiglia! You are still the familyambassador, even over the distance.

Nonna, I now have an additional reason for planting these owers. Your great-grandson,whom you never met, likes the orange owers! In fact, did I ever tell you he got his name because ofyou? Remember when you would talk favorably about someone who had a good heart you wouldsay, lui un buon cristian? Well, that saying always stayed with me. When we were considering aname, for some reason that saying continually ran through my head. I selected the name Christian,because not only did I hope he would grow to be a man who would be a kind person and have a

good heart but I also hoped, each time I would call his name maybe you could hear it, and knowin some small way you were still with us. Moreover, remember when you would see a baby girl youwould say, che una bella piccianina? Well, guess how your great granddaughters name, Nina, cameabout? What better way could I demonstrate the profound inuence you had on me than to connectyou with my children?

Glenn, its time for dinner.

Im a bit startled!I come out of the little daze I was in.I look around and I am alone.I answer my wife, Ill be up shortly.


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I feel the warmth of the late September sun.I sense as if I am being embraced.I look down into the galvanized washtub and see there are no more ower heads.I didnt think I would be able to separate all those seeds in one evening.

Untitled

Steven William Dangel

Street Shadows at Night

Matthew Very


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Dirty Habits

Jenna Tyzinski


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J y

Escalier

Alex LaFleur


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Conversations in Haiku

Dr. Mildred R. Mickle

for StaAppreciation Day on February 4, 2010


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pp y y ,

Chrysanthemums,I hear, depict cheerWhen the way is rough.

||

Tell me of new pets

Negotiatinge space of love.

||

We talk of tendingLawns and mastering grassMowers laugh.

||

We relate while ink fumesCats and kids imprintAnd marry sentiments.

||

Librarians searchFor an absent-minded professorsNot misplaced books.

||

A bizarre bus tripOut of gas in the cold

Campus police take us back.||

Although there is snow,You are there at your desksErasing the unrelenting cold.

Loyalhannah Lake

Jessica Joschak


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Acceptance of Loss

Sarah Fiore


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Vivid remembrances absorb my dreamsAnd delay this pain inside

I know it is my self-protectionAnd for now, in denial I stay

For in the night I see you

As if everything is unchanged

But in the morning I wake to ndReality in my face

I nd myself confusing

e now and the then

e presence of what is and what will be,What used to be, and what wont be

Leaving myself baedFor the rest of the world to see

Each day seems strangely dierent,No harder or easier than the rest

Hoping to nd something, somewhere,Always looking for a sign to sayIts going to be okay,I will see you again someday.

Mirror Image on Silent Pond

Arlene Fath


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A Promise of Cider


Bonnieibodeau


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God knows what beauty stems from fresh-picked heartsWho plant seeds of love in foreign minds and fertile soilWe do not mean to fallIn love, but still we tempt and danglePrecious feelings and cherished eshFrom the edges of leaves and branches, and reason.

Like Frost, we store ten thousand thousand memories in our aged oak barrels.We get carried awayWith each other and a crisp breeze on its wandering pathOn an autumn day that glows under a tired sunAnd reminds me how glad I am to have the redWoolen mittens my mother made me.We sink our teeth into the warmth of ripe romance and a peach pie,

Baring our intimate expressions and organic rootsTo gather fruits of our labor and share blossoms of love.

Blushing, I whisper,Indulging my urges may turn me rotten and spoil me,But come taste my so kisses and tender heart.Swallow me whole from outside in and meet me at my coreDiscover my juicy soul.

Inching closer, you answer, Apple of my eyeYour nature is sweet, your heart is honey,Not rotten, but even if you turn bad and fall from grace,I will stay with you, no matter howFar you have gone from the treeUntil knowledge and dirt consume us both.

Our love is unlikely, an apple and a worm But there is always a promise of romance and ciderWhen we explore the depths of open eyes and distant orchards,Harvesting lust and lasting sentiment.

Final Moments

Sarah Getkin


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Rattle, bang. Another jolt of uneasiness jarred me against the hospital bed and knockedover the table. Any moment, the nurse attendant would arrive to oer me a nal breakfast. Iwas still alive. Sometimes, when it happened, I thought I was on the roller coaster with Dad andBobby and I laughed until a poke followed by a cool uid ran through my arm.

Black and blue dots covered all visible sagg y skin. Reaching to itch, gray hair came loosein my hand, and I let it fall to the oor like confetti on New Years.e smiles of acquaintances

surrounded me, with thoughts of promotion, vacation and rst kiss. Faintly satised, I rolledover to the familiar cracking of brittle bones. And just like that, there She was. Upright in thedusty visitors chair, She blinked with urgency and smiled at my pathetic remains. e crosswalk switched signs, She began walking. I could hear the sirens, I couldntsee them. Rattle, bang. Flash, ka-pow, and the ambulance whizzed by. Rattle, bang.e crowdthickened in the street around the dismantled body. I winced; Her jacket had been within my

reach. Rattle, bang. Rattle, bang. ere were shouts from the hallway as doctors and nurses rushed into the room. Shestood up from the chair and turned away briskly. My body turned to ice in an instant.

Were losing him! they yelled uselessly as electric shocks pulsed through my body. Shepierced my eyes with hers from the doorway, and in aash, She was gone. e doctors and nurses backed away wistfully, the curtain closed, and the interminabledrone of the heart monitor gave way to a vacant room.

Amur StareMara the Amur Tiger

Amanda Westerlund


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Safeguard

Christopher ONeal


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Fly Pink Elephant Fly

Jamilah Lahijuddin

So Hara, I saw youve nally gotten a friend. e nurse gives me a paper gown. I notice she has


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repainted her nails to a bright yellow. I pull the curtain shut so I can undress.Yep, her name is Kiko. I feel like I can trust her. She isnt fake at all. She says what she thinks.

Nothings ltered. I hear her tinkering with some metal. I nished putting the gown on and pulled thecurtain back, walking over to the bed like chair and sitting down. Tall as I am, my feet still dangle otheedges.e nurse walks over to me and starts to take my pulse. I watch her, feeling the cold cloth on myarm.

So Im going to die soon, huh? e nurse stops at the question.

Why would you ask that? I pointed to my chest.Because it is my body. She smiles, shaking her head as if to say no.Hara, youre not going to die! Stop asking me every time you come here. As the doctor has said

it still lies dormant in your lung so you still have a long life ahead of you. Youre going to grow as fat andold as a mother hen. She went back to taking my pulse, but I couldnt help notice that she wasnt smilingas she did it.

Fly pink elephant,y.Soar to the jewel in the sky

Find the light to break the nightFly pink elephant,y.

I quickly read the words and scan the cute half colored pink elephant with wings picture, beforeHara tries to snatch the notebook from my hands.

No way. You drew this Hara? She reaches for it but I move it in the air out of her reach. Eventhough she has long arms, and is tall, she misses.Dont look! Dont look! Its so embarrassing! She squeals next to me as we lean against the

brick wall of the school yard. Haras so shy.So what? I think its cute.

Hara is my true Friend. She doesnt judge me. She loves me.

She relaxes and we sit closer to each other, and I lean my head on her shoulder as I ip throughthe rest of the notebook, seeking the rest of the unnished book.

Haras dream is to become a childrens book illustrator and that is a secret only Im privy to.

When Im nished drawing it all Ill give it to you, Kiko. I smile and touch the wings of theelephant, and reply, Okay.

Wonderful, Hara. I know just about everything about her. I love her. I know what it is to love, butHara doesnt even know half of the real me. Im sure shed probably break if she found out. ats notall because I have a sleeping beauty for a mom.

Im lonely. So lonely. So I ring up someone to love me.

k h h l l l h b d h l h h


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Hey Kiko? Is there anything you want? I lay sleepily in the bed with only this mans shirt overme. I dont reply. He gets up and pulls on his pants. How about a purse or something? I sit up.Yes ... a purse would be nice. He wraps his arms around me into a hug and kisses my lips ever

so slightly.Alright then, lets go.

e memory in my phone is lled with so many names I dont need, but I remain unable to erasethem.

I see Hara at school every time I go, but Hara is moving soon. Hara is the only person who keepsme soaring. Hey, Kiko! Look! Look! is outt is so cute. I bet it would look great on you. I sit face toface with her as I sit on someone elses desk in front of hers.

I think it would look better on you, Hara. Youre more beautiful. She smiles faintly.Youre beautiful, too, Kiko. Besides, youre more glamorous.is outt suits someone glamor-

ous and youre the glamorous type. So, Im sure it would look good on you. Is that how I seem to Hara?

Glamorous?

Aer school I call up another useless number in my phone so I can be loved because I dont knowany other way of assuaging this feeling of not being loved. I know Hara loves me, but I know she

wouldnt love me if she knew what I do to be loved.

A few weeks later, Hara and I were walking home.

Ko. Kiko! I come out of my daze and look at her.Yeah, Im sorry. I didnt hear you. She points to my bag.Your phone is ringing, Silly. I look down at my bag.Oh, its ok.Its no one special. She laughs.Hey, Kiko, maybe we should go to the park? Go play on the playground. I laugh. She says the

most juvenile stuso casually.Hara, were not in elementary school anymore! I cant wipe the smile omy face. Were

almost 18. She bounces along with a skip in her step.So? Lets go on the swings so we can feel like were ying.Hara you always seem so happy do

you ever feel sad? Are you even sad that youre leaving me behind?at we may never see each other again?Hara I jump, not being able to nish my sentence. Someone placed their hand on my shoul-

der. Hara stops walking and looks at the person behind me. He starts to talk as I turn around to see whoit is.

Your name ... Kiko was it? is man is middle-aged, somewhere between 30 and 35. Who isthis?I cant help but stare at him blankly.

Its me. Dont you remember? Maybe youve have forgotten. I bought you a watch. My heart isracing. No No! No! No!! Go away! Go away Hara looks at him, then me.

Whos this, Kiko?is man looks at her.

Oh i hi f i d? Y f i d i ki d f H il l d i h hi lf S


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Oh, is this your friend? Your friend is kind of cute too. He smiles, pleased with himself. Stop.Stop it! Dont touch her! Dont you touch her! Haras my treasure. Dont dirty her. He reaches out to shakeher hand. My heart is a hummingbird in my throat.

NO!! I scream, cringing, covering my ears with my hands.e blood rushes to my ears, andmy eyes are shut tight in fear. Hara looks at me and the man frowns. I hear her worried voice over myhands.

Kiko Her deep so voice ows like velvet.Dont look at me! Hara, dont look! Dont see thispitiful side of me! Ill break if you do Please, Hara

I run away, leaving her there standing with him another one of my useless numbers.

Hara I couldnt look her in the face aer that.

I open the door to my house. I sniback snot and tears as I leave my bag on the oor, makingmy way into the living room. I look over to see my father sleeping on the couch still in his tie. My fatherworks as a translator or something. Until 3 years ago he used to work as a music teacher at my school

with my mother. His wife. His right arm is discolored, a purple hue, and hes unable to control it prop-erly, but thats not all because he also has a sleeping beauty.I hear the kids telling my story as I walk to school one day.Her parents got in this accident and her dad cant play violin anymore.Wow, really? Yeah, and his wife who was sitting right next to him became a vegetable.

Huh!?e listener laughs. Its like a TV drama or something. How sad.

Such a serious heavy story so much that to me it seems unreal.e truth of the matter is that they

hate me for all that has happened. If I had never been born than maybe my parents wouldnt havegone to meet my home room teacher that day. at they wouldnt have got into an accident.

Whenever my fathers phone doesnt connect I know hes at the hospital visiting his wife.

e last time I saw sleeping beauty was a year ago before Hara became my friend. She had many longtube stuck in her body.at long hair and voice that I had always admired were both gone. When ?

Hurry up

Since when did I become like this?

IHurry up and die

e next day I phone my father and it directs me to his mail box. Im lonely So I dial yet an-other useless number. Hey, hows it going?e receiver replies. I take a deep breath.

Can you see me right now ? He laughs heartily, knowing what we will do.Sure! Where are you right now? I look to the sky. Its mid afternoon already?Im at the park. We hang up and I wait on the wire fence. He soon rounds the corner. is

22 t b t I t i htS ll h H f


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young man, 22 to be exact. I straighten up.Sorry to call you out here. He traces my face.No problem. I was just having a couple of drinks with my college buddies.en that voice, like

velvet thunder waking me up in the middle of the night.Kiko? I look over his shoulder to see Hara standing there, smiling that long time no see smile.

I feel ashamed why?Im sorry but you can go back to your friends now, I tell him, and walk towards Hara.Kiko!? He says as I grab Haras hand and walk down to the park. We make our way to the

swings. We sit down and stay quiet for a while, only listening to the creak of the swings. en she bendsover and reaches into her bag and pulls out her notebook. She hands it to me and I take it.

I was going to show it to you at school today but you werent there. I open the book and readthe last missing page:

Youew pink elephant youew.Once you found the jewel you knew.

You found the sun and placed the moon.Youew pink elephant youew.

See, Kiko? She nds it.e jewel in the sky. I traced the colored picture of the pinkelephant hugging the sun and moon with the stars in the background. I smile.

Its cute. I hand it to her.Your jewel, too She takes the book and opens it to the rst page and hands it back to me,

smiling. Youll be okay. Im sure youll nd it.

To the person who knew how to loe. My Kiko

I dont know Hara like I thought I did, but Hara knew more about me then I thought and was morebeautiful then I had imagined. As for my, jewel in the sky . . . . Bit by bit, Im going to delete thenames I dont need from my cell phone.

Hara looks up to the sky and I do the same. Hara smiles, swinging slightly by kicking her feetand tells me, e clouds theyre moving fast now.

I think tomorrow, the day before Hara leaves, Ill take her with me ... so I can nally see my sleepingbeauty.

Brother to Sister

Brandon SimpsonMy sister, I only call you what I seeMy sister, you are my sister

Look at your color youre as dark as meI b h hild I h i f h


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Look at your color you re as dark as meI am your brother, to our children I am their fatherExcuse my choice of words, I have degraded you as a black womanAs I continue to call you names like, bitch, hoe, and whore

We cried and marched for justice and equalityOver the years we still fall behind as we sit back

Absence 2010 Magazine

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Transcript of Absence 2010 Magazine