Windfall 2014

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The Team Behind Windfall!

Katelyn ParkinsonChief Editor I am a sophomore studying English Education. I have been a part of Windfall for two years now.

Olivia HarbertTreasurerI am a sophomore studying general business. I have been involved in Windfall for two years.

Juliana DeMicco. Secretary I am a freshman and a finance major. I joined Windfall Magazine this year.

Kristina MaxwellSecretaryI am a freshman and a human resource management major. This is my first year in Windfall and I’m excited for more to come!

Julia ZawackiVice PresidentI am a sophomore studying Math Education. I have been a part of Windfall for 1 year.

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Table of Contents

Poetry Pages 2 - 22

Short Stories Pages 23 - 48

Photo Contest Winner Page 50

Book Review Page 52

Photography Throughout!

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Poetry

Photo Credit:Paul Marckini 2016

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Seven Deadly SinsBy: Olivia Harbert 2017

Behold my importance, behest my beauty,Luxury that you many never posses because of your lacking ability,I will be a person you can never dream to super-sede,Cherished in voluptuous purple prideDecorated in diamonds and rings,Wealthy little miss has everything I have to slave and work tiredly unappreciated every dayCautiously it grows my state of green envy Hatred, boiling and burning furiously in my blood,Uncontrollable rage an emotional floodImpudent emotions blooming like an amaranthExist my crimson wrath Energy waster by pitiful beings each extensive dayRushing and panicking wasting their life’s awayGive yourself over to narcolepsy lazy stealthHazy smoke slumber blue slothI want it, I need it, it must be mineBribery, theft, hoarding it’s a fate that cannot be confined Give it all to me, everything that I needMy bright burning, orange greedHunger, rapturous starving cravings,Drinking and eating my emptiness is never satingThe only thing that I need to accompany, Is the rosy pink gluttonyTouch, caress, savor my sensitive skinEmbrace the craving desire you have withinDevouring the concubine body that you trust,Lost, drown in the coquettish red power of lust.

The Never Ending HoleBy: Robert Orell 2017

AlcoholHow you fill his hole

Fourteen years of sobrietyNow he has no sense of reality

Vodka cant fill it allNow drugs are on call

Not sure how someone can treat me so bad

But still want to be called dad.

In an Instant

In an instant,

What really happens...

Someone

Falls in love

Lose someone they love

Lose themselves

...The world loses them

Her eyes meet his

His laugh resonates inside her

Her wall breaks down

The sun shines in

The butterflies escape their cage

And she just knows that it is love.

The phone rings

There is static on the other end

Then, the voice is clear

It echoes in her ears

It shakes her as if to wake her from a dream

Breaking everything within her

The tears fall without permission

Horror is stuck on her face

And she realizes that he is really gone.

The truth hurts

Reliving every memory in her mind

The final one is always the hardest

Everything forever broken within her heart

Moving around as a zombie

Her eyes lost their sparkle

Her face no longer smiles

And she is lost within herself.

Driving she reaches her destination

The wind whips her hair

Nothing reaches her stone heart

She closes her eyes

Letting herself fall

She relives her life in flashes

The impact took her breath away

Her lungs burn

She sinks to the bottom

And she is gone forever

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Katelyn Parkinson 2017

F I R E O N C E B U R N E DBy: Tyler C. Hussey 2018

The land black and charred.

Happiness is scarce.

A fire once burned.

A fire that belittled.

A fire that left scars.

A fire that said it can’t grow, it won’t grow.

A fire that ruined dreams and created nightmares.

Now, that fire is nonexistent.

Now, that fire is extinguished.

Time has passed and the forest has grown.

It is now filled with happiness and goals.

That fire can not say no.

That fire can no longer hold it back.

A fire once burned in this marvelous forest.

A fire once burned, but it couldn’t stop it.

The forest will continue to grow and show that fire it’s success.

A fire once burned.

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Pierce Elliot James{Untitled}

I'm paralyzed with these planets in my hands. It's like a pair of lies I command it for I planned it, or was that just planted in my mind’s eyes. Only because three wasn't enough to just be. To just be wasn't enough for me I no longer can say I am for I am not anything you can put into words. Of course I seem to stream like everyone else amongst these zeros and ones like waves of infor-mation. But the thing is ... You either clash against or you crash together and I see a lot of dividing people in these days. It would be better to be inviting, but people don't like to share their power. Because they do not like to see themselves on the level of others which inevitably brings them lower and the people together con-tinue to get higher.

{Untitled}

I see the light at the end of the tunnel now, but do I chase after it or should I head back where I came from. Standing in middle of this tunnel one of many I may pass through in my life I look to the left and right seeing each light yet stand-ing in the darkness, why do we move through tunnels. I lose my direction in the re-flection of symmetry. Wizardry as I carve my own path through the sides of the tunnel. As I exit the tunnel collapses. I stand on this track that never ends. Do I go around the track or this track holding me down and spinning me around it beyond my control. Who knows. Who cares. Lost in puddle this deep all I can do is count the drops and wonder how far I can go. The earth is molten at its core. It cycles the rock sediment via hot and cold rising and falling like the tides and the waves crashing. The breeze of this beach scrapes my face away slowly As the world lives and dies so do I.

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Photo Credit: Julia Zawacki

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1. Photo Credit: Olivia Harbert

Photo Credit:Laura Bilodeau-Duclau

Ian Sotoloff 2016

If soldiers become warrior poets with liquid swords

ISIS would take over fields to save our florist

Lumber Companies could replant seeds for our forests

Tribal Chiefs would lead our tourist,

Have those who board jets experience

Life when your wife isn't gorgeous.

Put them in the shoes of someone who couldn't afford this.

Working overtime just to make some tips

Someone who only dreams of owning four whips

Our CEO's collect Porsche's and rides high horses

Their workers are worthless after continuous divorces

Whose considered uneducated based on their courses

What happened to admiring our old folks

Who consider Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan Old Folk

Now people are too cool to laugh at old jokes

And consider their journal entries as old notes

Not gold quotes.

Everyone has a story to tell but are too worried about their titles

Unaware that the chapters in our lives

leave us eating at the table of Content

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Ian Sotoloff 2016

Birds sing messages we wish we could tell each other

Even though we see the same moon

Doesn’t mean we see the same stars.

They say opposites attract then explain

Why we have everything in common.

You’re an angel with halos made of gemstones

And a goddess with powers Athena and Cleopatra

Only wished of possessing .

You’re a tropical flower blossoming beautifully

Overlooking mountains and waterfalls.

You’re the pearl that waits anxiously,

Like a princess hidden in castles.

Waiting for prince charming to dis-cover your beauty

You’re the diamond that sparkles

And the tanzanite stone only few peo-ple have seen.

A true hidden treasure.

You’ve got an ex but

You let me mark the spot,

Where you’ve never showed anyone,

You reveal what you’ve hidden in your box

And I promise ill never expose it.

You tell me secrets the law of attrac-tion only knew.

1000 pictures couldn’t describe the hundred thousand words

I could use to tell you what you mean to me.

Your love had KC and JoJo feelin all my life.

And now its more than love at first sight

Its more than a kiss under the mistle-toe

You’re the present every kid wants for Christmas

So when Christmas morning comes and

The birds sing a melody that wakes me up.

I know that our dreams will come true

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You’re the butterfly that burst from my cocoon

Wondering why butterflies wont stop flying around my ribcage

The journey you’ve sent me on

Is more than a feeling. You take me on adventures Louis & Clarke couldn’t discover.

Looking into your eyes I see sunsets setting

The colors of your irises are vibrant and beautiful

And your voice sings sweet melodies melting my heart.

Sending waves of energies that could

keep a continent at peace.

Keep the birds singing every morning

Keep the world in harmony

And Keep me loving you.

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Photo Credit: Naisha Adorno

Edward Marquice JacksonOrigins

I don't know how long I've been writing but I've been reading since 4

Teachers over since 6

Making stories since 10 

Shoulda sold them wish I could hold them

When worlds collide the pages I rolled them

By 16 in backwoods with rhymes

Fine wines missing the cheese

Getting top on rooftop from serenades with ease 

Fireworks genocide indigestion

Indecisive at 17 first real love 

Kicked out of school cause pride and Boston drinks puke and lame lady snitches.

Back then hoped I could rewrite history with lame lady wishes

I hadn't known the secret yet 

Learned it freshman year 

The people history Plato and civil disobedience fueled my seriousness

A mission was manifesting

The pen got stronger

No longer animated stories rather integrated flurries of wisdom he's  ahead of his time

In rhyme sometime

 He watches the beat bounce like moons

His doom manifested thru pen too soon 

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2016

Our Poetry Club

Our poetry club is more than a club

It's more than an organization 

It's a mini amalgam of the aesthetics of our nation

On one side

But the are many sides 

Who needs arts in the business world?

That's like asking why do I have a right side of my brain?

The inspiration the love the right the vivid the sweet and silky

Provides shape to the skeletal left the direct and purposeful servant in fear

We must survive therefore the fear of death is prevalent above the love of life 

But

This is not set in stone 

Buddhists monks authors pharos martyrs artists

Serve as models of love above fear

Some assassinated sacrificed imprisoned because of the fear of a few

Our organization is a mixture of generations

Generation X meets MILLENNIALS 

We outnumber these baby boomer fearful iron giants.

Our club shows why the Zuckerbergs of the world can become

Billionaires

How we can create apps the connect the world

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How we can bring all cultures together in one room to satisfy all physiological needs

Free food

Free shelter

And a state of mind that promotes love above fear

Our club

Our organization is the medium through which the left can glow and the right can grow

Out club serves as the Johnny Apple seeds of the 21st century

We plant Johnny Apples Seeds of need through the campus

We like to spread spirituality meditation

Awareness pride and love 

Love above everything else, our club 

Our organization vibrates at a different frequency than your usual classrooms 

We embrace the essence, the air the words the eye sight the scent 

It's love above all in our organization

Don't be fearful for fear breeds jealousy and greed and hate and our club lucid dreams in love

We move to the beat and the word the ancient aesthetics that came before this infernal iron infrastructure 

Never forget the love

Our club loves the love 

Read between our lives to learn to love 

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Jessica Frank 2016

Some locks are meant to remain as they areSecure in their closure  But you Your mission is to force each one open To see if one might hide something you likeYou have your tools Your trinkets Your weapons to use  You jab and poke and prod Prop this up, stick that thereSweet gestures and honeyed words Smiles, winks, and pleasant address Persuasive coaxing, another skilled shiftThe bolt bends a little  Slips back into placeThe lock creaks, groans, protests your intrusion But you pay it no mindYou break the bolt with your deft fin-gers Open it up, see what's insideAnd decide you don't like after allWhat secrets this lock hides Too much of this, too little of thatThe lock and its contents are useless now

Like a stripped screw  A rusty wrench A snapped bladeIf only you'd let me beAnd now I lay useless Broken Some locks are meant to remain as they are

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The Picklock

Photo Credit: Anne Laughlin

Emily Pepitone 2018

Strong Warrior

Such a beautiful hybrid of chaos and grace, a magnetic angel with a golden face

A thrill for danger and a volatile mind, such a hypnotic being separate from mankind

Shrouded in devotion, him as my guide

I'll always be his Bonnie, he'll always be my Clyde

Betrayal runs deep, coursing through my soul,

clouds all judgement, beats at my thoughts, scratches at my brain,

leaks, pours from my eyes in tears that stain the sky

Burdened blood is tainted, anger turned it blue-iced-cold

Racing back, pushed by the forceful "bum-bum-bum", to my chest, desperate to be cleansed

Rebirth, this thumping red host of all my being screams, dont let it end,

And into my veins, my heart breathes forgiveness,

Feather light hope begging me to find you, free you

And out of my arteries, pours the anger and the hatred and the sorrow so deep that

I

bleed

out

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Olivia HarbertBison Give Back

You show up, the very moment we need you most,

You look for opportunities to expand our learning coast,

You are listening when soft words are being spoken

You understand and work to keep our hearts from being broken,

Never is a word you remove from your mouth,

Let’s take this to another level

Everything is possible you help us to believe

Even despite all odds our talented students will highly achieve

You rise to the occasion that is without a doubt

We can never do without volunteers

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Photo Credit: Jeffrey Halprin

OrdinarilyThese days I seek the quiet nights

Noise only heightens what my mind seems to think is important 

Dorm rooms swallow whatever secrets you had left

That's why closed doors excite me

An empty dark rooms is no longer frightening

On days it rains I hope for lightning 

Just a little something out of the ordinary 

Parties don't excite much

Because the people there are ordinary 

Nothing ever changes 

I look for new avenues but the street signs never change up

This year I feel that I kept to myself more

It's funny how this year outside people seemed to know more about me then they ever did before 

And that upsets me

Because in my head those closest 

Did a poor job of protecting me

They let my success heighten what we use to be

Because freshman year we said that's what we'd never be

Nowadays we break code and don't notice it 

I guess our own insecurities are because of it

Even though I always saw that as some sucka shit

I know my own actions are partly because of it

And I guess that's why I let silence cover it

Just felt portrayed by those who know me by my government 

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Irving Eggleston 2016

Lucifer’s Love

He comes out only when

the darkness of night comes creep-ing’

And takes the illuminating sun cap-tive.

His piercing blue eyes demonically deceiving

Deep in them-

The devil’s fiery irises

Produce heart stopping flickering flames

They burn through one’s spirit.

He crawls out of its deadly dun-geon

In search of pretty prey

He craves a bite of sweet heart

Or a fool’s trembling touch.

Once he seizes his meaty meal for the night

The victim is trapped in his cage

Decorated with heavenly wonders,

False graces- walls surrounded with lies-

False propaganda.

Crawl back inside your lethal lair-

Your lair that reeks of the rotting souls of suckers past.

Go frolic in the pits of night’s shad-ows.

Try eating something more attain-able

More within reach.

It’s at your sulking service-

Eat your hollow heart out.

Killer.

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Hannah Mobilia 2015

Each night

Every night

I walk down the path

Mind right

Thoughts wrong

An endless wrath

I walk up the attic stairs 

I Search for a light

The end of my sorrows is burning so bright but in the night I lose sight and my might isn't quite 

What I need to succeed in retrieving the seed

The plant cannot grow in the snow

It needs light shining bright from the sun when it shows

But I'm taking it slow and I know I must go

To the place that embraces ideas from below

Where the roots have a route to the glorious show

Darkness in my attic is drowned by the glow

The Sun fires rays like arrows from a bow

Click,

Lightbulb

I finally know

Ideas take shape turning work into dough

A problem arises quite suddenly though

For although such a flow has brought me the know

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Cody Rodgers 2018

I'm bestowed, in the light, such a terrible woe 

That what's next is the test I have pondered much less

This peculiar conception is the circle of stress

For my best is much less than I require to rest

Still,

For this I am blessed

And Onward I progress 

No time to entertain the rewards of success

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Photo Credit: Darien Parmenter

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Faculty

Photo Credit:Juliana Cecera

Wayne-Daniel Berard

The Island of Pause

so this was where the great ship was taking me the one that loomed over my every horizon unmiraged and many times life-size. one commute, I drove my smart car right up the gangplank and off we setnot to just another golden possibility but to here the island of pause. I disembarked found my room with wide tall windows facing the opposite sea and up the forest hill an observatory I knew I would climb to but not now now I am obtaining citizenship

learning to speak pause (no word for how or long and no question mark)to understand pause tobe pauseI sense the shipis still anchored a little distance from shore

I must not be

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Lisa Taylor

 

Nothing remains rooted for long

a shaft of sun, percussive rain,

thrum of loss, the moving sea

in the widening where tide touched sand.

 

A shaft of sun, percussive rain,

then brindled clouds, a strand of blue

above the widening where tide touched sand,

a memory of dusk fringed the sky.

 

The brindled clouds, a strand of clear,

striations of bindweed rimmed a path,

a memory of dusk fringed the sky.

The ferry muffled in its mooring.

 

Striations of bindweed rimmed a path,

a dialect of growing things.

The ferry muffled in its mooring,

blue notes and a gospel refrain.

 

The dialect of growing things

A ferry crossing, the harbor’s tongue

blue notes and a gospel refrain,

the graphite glide of bank and salt.

 

A ferry crossing, the harbor’s tongue,

thrum of loss, the moving sea

graphite glide of bank and salt

nothing remains rooted for long.

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Ferry Crossing at Inishmore

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Photo Credit:Jennifer Lemarier

Photo Credit:Lauren Candia

Photo Credit:Julia Zawaki

Photo Credit:Breanna Wilkinson

Photo Credit:Joseph Quintana

Photo Credit:Julie Montesdeoca

Photo Credit:Deandra Flynn

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1. Daniella Saldarriaga2. Joseph Quintana

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3.Daniella Saldarriaga4. Anne Laughlin

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Photo Credit:Arielys Rosario

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Type to enter text

Short Stories

Photo Credit: Arielys Rosario

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It was a warm summer day in the for-est. Red Riding Hood was walking to her grandmother’s house to bring her cake and wine, just as she did every Sun-day. Ever since that fateful encounter with the evil wolf, Riding Hood’s bond with her grandmother had been strengthened, and she promised to visit her weekly for as long as she should live. Although that event occurred ten years ago, Riding Hood never went back on her word, and the whole forest thought her to be the most genuine and pure hearted young woman in the land.

Now that she was older, Riding Hood ceased wearing her classic velvet cloak; when it became too snug her grandmother had modified it to be a knee length skirt and gave her stockings to wear along with it. So, she no longer had a hood at all, but the nickname still stuck. Although of age, she hadn’t mar-ried yet, unable to find a young man that she deemed suitable. No matter, she’d rather spend an afternoon with her grandmother any day.

She was almost to her grand-mother’s cottage when she noticed something odd in the distance. Nor-mally, a dormant old castle sat there idly; no one had entered or left it for

hundreds of years. But today, an enor-mous line of people streamed from the castle’s entrance, obviously waiting for something. Riding Hood admittedly was curious, but refused to miss her ap-pointment with her Grandmother in or-der to find out what was going on. Be-sides, leaving her path that first time ten years ago had only gotten her into a world of trouble.

Once settled at her grandmother’s, Riding Hood brought fourth her curios-ity. “Granny, how come the empty cas-tle is bustling with activity today?”

Granny’s bright eyes twinkled. Even in her advanced age she had all her wits about her. She was aware of every bit of gossip going around the forest. “Oh, yes! It’s very exciting, actually. Turns out, inside that very castle a princess has been asleep the entire time. Who would’ve guessed? All the gentlemen in the land are trying to coax her out of her slumber to make her their bride.”

“How odd, and no one has been suc-cessful?”

The old woman shook her head. “Not yet. Speaking of which, have you found a suitor yet, my dear?”

Little Red Riding Hood: Part 2By: Erica Milosh 2016

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Riding Hood blushed. “Granny, I’m beginning to think there isn’t a man in the world who I’d like to marry.”

“Don’t give up, my Little Red, just follow your heart.” Her grandmother assured her. “Why don’t you go check out the excitement down at the castle before it gets too late? I’m sure you want too.”

“Only if it’s okay with you, Granny.”

“Of course, who knows, maybe your Prince Charming is down there right now.”

Riding Hood smiled and bid her grandmother goodbye. Granny watched her leave from the window feel-ing confident.

Riding Hood set out for the castle with high hopes, and grateful for a break in her monotonous life. When she drew closer, she saw at least two dozen men still waiting in line. All of them were dressed lavishly and boasted about how he’d be the one to win the princess’s heart. The tallest man wore a grand violet cloak made from dyed furs. The shortest price had a crown filled with gold and diamonds. The man who stood closest to the castle sported fine aquamarine silks. Comparatively, the

young woman felt unsure of her attire for dressing so simply. Nonetheless Rid-ing Hood walked up to the castle door anyways, only to be stopped by the silk-wearing man.

“Hey girl! You can’t just merely en-ter the castle, you must wait your turn!” He scolded.

Riding Hood was taken aback by his discourtesy, “I only wish to see her, no event such as this has ever happened in the forest. It’s quite exciting.”

He laughed condescendingly, “Such naiveté, even to simply view the prin-cess, you must wait, so please find your way to the back of the line.”

Although insulted, Riding Hood took her spot in line instead of making a ruckus. She waited behind a middle aged man, who admitted to her that he already was married, but had grown bored of his first wife. She was as-tounded; none of these suitors were gentlemen at all! They were scoundrels and cheaters. Riding Hood wished that there was a nice and honest man here for the princess. Still, she waited behind the cheater until sunset when his turn finally came.

“Sir, may I accompany you inside? I only wish to look at the princess, and I

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must return home soon,” She asked him.

The man thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s fine, let us go in.”

Riding Hood could hardly contain her eagerness. They entered the enor-mous stone castle; it was dark and di-lapidated from all its vacant years. Dirt and twigs littered the floor, and the dreary paintings and stonework were covered in dust. The day’s last sunlight shimmered through a high window. Rid-ing Hood and the suitor followed the beam to the tallest staircase. They climbed up to the chamber where the maiden lay. Engraved above the door-frame were the words “Sleeping Beauty”. Riding Hood seemed to be the only one to notice the title. Inside, a gorgeous young woman lay on a raised bed surrounded by blush roses and gar-lands of scarlet wildflowers. The golden rays of sunset glittered upon her face. Her hair was long and golden, and her dress was as pink as the roses. Riding Hood walked over to her slowly and read the inscription carved onto the princess’s bed frame. “Only one who is pure of heart shall waken the princess with a kiss.”

Riding Hood gasped. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think you’ll be able to wake this maiden.”

He frowned. “And why not?”

“You are not one who is pure of heart; a married man seeking another woman is not worthy,” She explained.

The man was infuriated, “I beg your pardon?!” He walked over and read the inscription for himself. “Well, if you’re as good as everyone says, then why don’t you kiss her!” Then, he stormed out.

Riding Hood was shocked at the cheater’s statement. Was it really such an absurd notion, though? She turned to the princess. Indeed, she was beauti-ful; Riding Hood was sure it must be dreadful slumbering for all these years. Maybe she could wake her, after all what did it matter that she was a woman? She remembered earlier that her grandmother told her to follow her heart, and since she had followed her heart this far, she might as well try.

“Sleeping Beauty, it’s time to awaken.” She gently brushed a hand along the princess’s cheek, then leaned in and kissed her.

Riding Hood pulled back from her warm lips and waited. After a few mo-

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ments she saw Sleeping Beauty’s eyes flutter. She could not believe what she was witnessing. Much to her surprise the princess was actually waking up!

The princess raised her hands to rub her eyes and stretched out her arms. She lifted herself upright to sit, her blonde locks falling gracefully to her waist. She looked around her room un-til her eyes met Riding Hood’s.

“Sleeping Beauty?” She tried.

“Aurora.” She answered strongly.

“What?”

“My name is Aurora. Oh my, how long has it been?”

“You must have been asleep for at least a hundred years, Aurora.” Riding Hood blushed.

“Goodness! So, you must be my sav-ior? The one who is pure of heart?”

“Why, yes. I’m sorry, but how did you know? Aren’t you at all discour-aged that I am not a man?” Riding Hood asked.

Aurora smiled, “Not at all. You see, it was foretold my dream. I dreamt that many men had failed to wake me, but for some reason the only one who could was a young woman donned in red.”

Riding Hood was stunned by the princess’s reaction. Aurora was quick to leave her bed and lead Riding Hood by the hand from her room. The princess danced down the stairs to her castle’s atrium. A grand fireplace lit the whole room and Riding Hood was awe-struck by the transformation. The formerly grey stone walls were now white and bright and glowing. Red and pink flow-ers sat brilliantly in intricate vases around the doorways. The floor was now covered in plush embellished rugs. In the center of the foyer an elegant throne of carved wood stood complete with a silky magenta cushion.

Aurora took a seat on the throne and Riding Hood stood before her. “Now you can rule your castle,” she smiled and added, “my Queen.”

“Yes, but not without your help.”

From that day forward Aurora re-sumed her rightful position as queen of the castle, insisting that Riding Hood rule by her side. All the gentlemen who had wanted Aurora were dumbfounded that they had been bested by a woman, but also found a new respect for the kind-hearted Riding Hood. Thus, the kingdom of two queens began and they lived happily ever after.

Stars, Stripes, and the SparkleBy: Hannah Mobilia

I am not what everyone sees me to be. I am not a careless guy, nor am I scummy. I am not an illiterate human being whose only option was a gnarly path down Military Road. I could have done anything: college, business, auto body. You name it, I could have done it. My desire to join came from an overly powerful voice that resided within my mind. I could often hear it coo-ing, like the damn pesky bird that sits on top of the tree branch right outside my bedroom window everyone morning in the rising sunshine. Its persistence for me to join was undeni-able and I could no longer fight it. My mind won, and I enlisted in the United States Marine Corps that summer. It was not until that fall that the fire within my heart gave the voice within my mind a run for its money. It was not until that fall that she, Jenna, had me questioning my every decision I had made, and drove me into a lost city, needing to fill the pit in my heart that formed when I left.

I worked with her at the after-school program in our hometown. I remember watching the children swarm to her like bees to honey for she had that nurturing personality that draws in each person she encounters. I looked forward to work every single day and seeing her glistening self there was the highlight of my day. I should just curse work for bringing us together. After all, that heavenly-seeming to-getherness blew up right in our faces causing a significant amount of sleepless nights, endless alcohol consumption to illuminate the pinching pain from within our wild hearts.

The truth is, I would not have fallen in love with her outside of work. We came from two different social worlds. I was the no good, barely graduating high school thug piece fathers were mortified to see next to their daughters. Then there was Jenna. She was known and loved by all and attained the attention of anyone from the blacked out gothics to the preppy cheerleaders. Her appearance matched her personality, rare and unique, indescribably charming and addictive, and mesmeriz-ing to the eyes, mind, and most of all to one’s heart. It was at work that I realized

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how badly I wanted something with her. It was there I realized each and every passing day I needed her.

I knew I had to pursue this passion outside of work, so I started walking her home. The little gestures, like giving her my jacket as the fall days became crisp had her falling at rapid speeds. I could feel the breeze her body gave off as she be-gan the free fall into my life. My next move would be the first event in a series that resembled a puke-inducing roller coaster.

We hopped aboard for a twisting, skyrocketing, plunging ride one early Novem-ber evening when we had our first “hang-out date” at her house. She showed me downstairs where there were couches and a television set up. She plopped herself on the love seat and I took a comfy seat on the full-length couch. Jenna flipped the channel to some stupid wedding show that I pretended to be interested in. As I watched the Bridezillas terrorize those around them I looked to Jenna. She was sprawled out on the couched, her legs covered by a light throw. Her smile did not leave her blissful face, and her white teeth glowed in the television light. I could only imagine how flawless she would look on her wedding day. White lace would be flowing down her curves and her face polished with the slightest bit of neutral make-up. She would be floating down the aisle like an angel flying delicately through a luscious blue sky. I wanted to be the one waiting for her in my dress blues, dying impatiently to take her hand, to make her mine, forever.

“Why are you sitting over there?” I asked her, dying to share the couch with her gracious self. Without hesitation she hopped off of the little love couch and joined me. Her cuddles gave me a feeling of elation and my heart instantly knew this was it. Jenna and I indulged in a love that was more powerful than any soppy, movie, love shit. Though we had not confessed a spark yet, I already had it set in mind that I loved her.

During one of our typical hangout sessions she caught me by surprise when I witnessed the most painful of tears falling from her eyes. “Jenna, what’s wrong?” I held her close and stared into her mourning eyes. I knew the cause of those as-cending tears. I was leaving for boot camp in a matter of weeks and our passion was reaching our climax.

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“I don’t want you to leave.” She answered back in the weakest of voices. I could tell her mind was racing as she was preparing herself for the inevitable.

The truth was, in that moment not a bone in my scrawny body wanted to leave her. I was ready to call my recruiter in that moment and cancel all plans.

“I know I shouldn’t be selfish. I know this is for the best. I can’t say goodbye to you. I keep thinking about the day and you not being with me. And the distance.” Her words were broken up between her heavy, gasping breathes. She was trying to contain her pain and all I could do was wrap her up in me.

“It won’t be forever, Jenna. Goodbyes ‘for now’ are tough, but they’re bear-able.” I reassured her as I traced the outskirts of her porcelain face with my hand. The more I thought about leaving her, the more I thought about her leaving me while I was gone. She was the epitome of perfection and I could see some other meathead sweeping in while I was gone. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t preparing for the worst as our relationship grew to great lengths, as the day of my departure came closer and closer.

One evening, in her basement, the twinkle in her eye took my mind into a vor-tex that centered on that organic blue glow. In them, I could see myself; I could feel the magnetism between the two of us. “Give me your hand.” I asked her. She held out her hand, thinking I wanted to hold it in mine. I turned it over so her palm was facing upwards.

“What are you doing?” she asked me, giggling, her eyes still sparking.

“Reading your palm.”

“What? No way you can you read palms, but…what does it say?” She thought the idea was silly, but she could not resist the urge to discover the truths buried in her palm.

“Well, let’s see. There are some things I already know…” I said in a quirky manner.

“Like what?” She asked me, her eyes looking up at me full of curiosity.

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“You incredibly beautiful. You’re super-humanly intelligent. There is one other thing, though.”

“Okay, well, what is it?” Her curiosity began to pound through her entire be-ing.

“I can’t tell you that right now.”

“ Why not? When can you tell me? When can I know?”

“Eight years.” With that being said, I dropped her hand gently to her side and held her in close to me. Before she could reply back, I tenderly placed my puck-ered lips on hers. I knew that she knew exactly what I meant by “I’ll tell you in eight years.” It may seem completely unrealistic, but the mere thought of having her by my side for eight years, through boot camp, through training, through de-ployment, and beyond was extremely comforting, even if I was unsure of what the future would hold. Having her there, even worlds away, would be enough incen-tive to continue through the worst of trials that the military would dish out to me.

The good-bye came at the worst of times. Our hearts were now cemented to each other and the feeling of leaving her was like whipping my heart through a tor-nado. Driving to the airport my body felt detached from my soul. My heart felt as though it were lying on the dashboard, in open and exposed territory. The car stopped almost as abruptly as my emotions did when we arrived at the airport. I had grown too accustomed to having her right by my side, at work, in her base-ment, and the reality of my departure was melting through my bones. I felt the heavy pit in my body grow larger than my being. Then, Jenna stared at me in a look of distress.

“You’re crying. Please, don’t!” exclaimed Jenna, heartbroken and on the verge of tears herself. I sniffled in the mucus running from my nose and traced my eye-lids with my sweatshirt sleeve to erase the tears. I looked up at Jenna. She was standing so helplessly, her arms straight by her side, her eyes still had that sparkle in them, but this time, I think it was because they were filling up with tears. I ran over and held her, so tight, her body engulfed in mine. Her head was rested upon my chest, her black tears dripping down my sweatshirt. Now was the right time. “I love you.” I said softly to her.

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“I love you too.”

“Don’t forget about me while I’m gone.”

“I won’t. How could I? I promise.” Jenna replied back and stepped away from me as I ventured off into what would become my new life. I did not know at the time that we would never be the same.

Basic training was far from basic. The three months I spent there felt like an outer body experience; it wasn’t real life. All I could envision, even through the screaming sergeants and endless brutalities, was Jenna’s glistening eyes. Her letters and photos only made the pain of not having her here with me worse. Though I was strengthening my entire physique, my mental state was deteriorating. Ser-geants would be inches away from my sweating face screaming at me, with spit fly-ing into my eyes, but the ache of Jenna being miles and miles away from me was my greatest battle.

I was at boot camp to become a United States Marine and my hardest trial was what I thought was, the missing token that kept love flowing through my body as I endured the most demeaning of treatments. I began to resent Jenna. I could not move forward and become a Marine if my entire thought process revolved around one girl. My need for her became unreal and unhealthy to the point where I would be laying in bed and staring into nothingness, picturing her smiling face af-ter an eighteen hour day.

One day, I awoke from a dream… a nightmare, rather. Jenna and I were lying on her couch, watching the bride show, sharing laughs, and making life plans. I arose off of my stiff bed and my bare feet hit the cold rotting floor. The sound of whistles rang throughout the barracks and the sun was still resting, the darkness of the night still dominating the sky. I was back in hell. I was lost in the abyss of miss-ing love and life without Jenna. I wanted to quit. I was two months and two weeks into boot camp and I wanted to quit. I wanted to quit for Jenna. I wanted to quit to be with her, to be with a girl. I did not quit. Instead, I rose to the occasion. I rose to Hulk-like measures and pushed myself through boot camp. I cleared my mind of those ocean-blue eyes and soft pecks.

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I came home a Marine. I came home colder, nervous, and scared. I feared opening my heart again and placing it in another’s soul. I spent a couple of nights alongside Jenna. How-ever, our love was not the same. I was not the same. Her love for me was still strong and burning, like a volcano. “I love you, my Marine.” She would say. What was I supposed to say back? I could no longer depend on her to fill

my gypsy heart with love from hun-dreds of thousands of miles away. I, the Marine, was not strong enough to love from oceans away.

“I can’t do this anymore. This is not how it’s supposed to be.” I could not even make eye contact with those dia-mond eyes of hers.

“So, what are you saying?” Her voice was full of nerves.

“I am over this. I’m a Marine now. I just…” I couldn’t get the words out.

“Please don’t.” she said abruptly.

“I don’t love you. Not anymore.”

The military had not only taken my mind captive, but my heart now, too. I thought about what life would have been like if I had listened to my heart and didn’t enlist. I’ll never get to tell her what her hand said or what I was going to tell her in eight years. Rather, another soul has received that fate. Whitney is a Marine too, just like me. Now, we can fill the craters in our hearts with what I think is love. It does not feel like Jenna’s, though. Whitney’s eyes are dark and muddy. I am con-stantly studying them, trying to locate the slightest sparkle in them, but I can never find what I am looking for.

36Photo Credit: Naisha Adorno

37Photo Credit:Daniela Saldarriaga Arbelaez

Photo Credit:Laura Bilodeau-Duclau

Photo Credit:Juliana Cecera

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Photo Credit:Juliana Cecera

Thoughts

If Human Beings exist as the high-est power in Universe then they are the creator of reality in which they exist. That is not to discredit the existence of a God. To the contrary it confirms God exists because Human Beings say God exists. If both these statements are absolute then there is no capacity to the capabilities of Human Beings to create, and destroy. But there also ex-ists an Unknown; shroud in what is per-ceived as darkness. It too exists only be-cause Human Beings say it exists. It is our most feared creation and our most loved. Some dare never to venture into the Unknown creating their reality from the templates of those who came before them. Some courageous step into the darkness bringing with them an inner ember of curiosity, dim and warm. But as they venture deeper into the Unknown that ember, like the cou-rageous Human Beings, grows into a blazing fire bright and hot, casting fear-ful shadows all around because there is no path traveled twice through the Un-known. These individuals have chosen a life of absolutes whereas their reality

depends entirely upon the capacity of their own mind, and they dream. A man wishes to fly he builds a plane, a dream transformed into reality. The limitations of the Courageous Human Beings is the fear of the Unknown, but it is through overcoming that fear that they are able to alter their reality. The courageous Human Being does not ac-cept any answer given as truth, the only truths are those brought to light on the path through the darkness. Therefore until the individual limita-tions of their mind are reached. Every courageous Human Being is of equal potential to create and destroy within their reality. The mind is the lock and key to both imprison and free us from the confines of the comprehension of our own realities. If curiosity is the blazing fire lighting the path through the Unknown then Knowledge is the light emitted from the flames, reflect-ing shadows from what we don’t fully understand and engulfing what we do in clear visibility. To know and to un-derstand is the defining difference be-tween a courageous Human Being and

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Angel McHugh 2018

a Human Being. Those who know have never traveled though the dark-ness; but those who understand, are still somewhere out there. A man who accepts reality for what it is should cut out his eyes for he is already blind; his ember within, cold and dark. What purpose does a creator have if he does not create. Without new creation, de-cay destroys what was already built be-cause Human Beings are only eternal for as long as they say they are. If a man’s reality is foretold then his ac-tions in life are null and void to the

endgame of his demise. He is idle, and has already become a prisoner to the confines of the comprehension of his reality. We are these Human Beings; whether you or I are courageous is yet to be brought to light in the darkness. There is no answer to your life because you have not yet finished creating it; only when you die will you know whether you were out in the darkness fearful and free, or idle and imprisoned in the light of those before you.

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Photo Credit:Juliana Cecera

Outside Looking InBy: Brandon Johnson 2016It looks like it all happened so fast. The truck ran the light and completely de-stroyed my car. The ambulance is all a blur. I don’t remember being picked up and being transported at 100 miles per hour to the nearest hospital. Even the hospital bed just seems like heaven with the amount of white my eyes can comprehend. But I think I’m here now and I have no idea how I got here. I think I’m supposed to know peace now. But I just ended up here in this white and gold world with the snap of a finger. I’m only twenty-four and I think I’m dead. Great. This is just what I need. I just appeared in this beautiful world where everyone seems happy, confident, and always helpful. “What am I going to do? What do I tell my daugh-ter? My students? Oh wait…” Thoughts were rushing through my head. My heart-beat kept rising to the point I thought I was going to pass out. I lay on the ground where I saw a gold iPhone. I got up, picked it up, and just started walking. I kept walking until I found a park. Everything just seemed so perfect, calm, and peace-ful. But I felt two painful pinches in my back. But I didn’t think much of it. Proba-bly just some recoil from the fall. I took a seat at a bench and turned on the iPhone and started searching through everything. It turned out to be mine. All of my texts, calls, apps, everything. There was only one video I didn’t recognize. But when I watched it, I just kept playing it and kept replaying it over and over again.

“What are you looking at?” a passing man questioned me as he floated by. I was shocked to see what he was. “Are you an angel?” I asked a little afraid. He nod-ded. His wings were bright white and his halo was solid gold. I was in complete shock. But I took comfort in what I was looking at, a man who was in his early 20’s with a confident smile. “I’m looking at my accident” I responded. Souls of young children that have died from past generations play and interact with each other. They looked very satisfied with how they were now with their large wings flapping around. I sat there looking at my golden iPhone, replaying what happened a few more times. “Wow. What a brutal accident”, the angel said, peeking over my shoul-

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der. “Did you die in the hospital?” “No. I don’t think so. I don’t know. As far as I know from what this video showed me, I’m on life support”. “How did your family feel?” “Sad of course. It looks like my mother can’t even be in the same room as my body. By the way, when did you die?” “Around the great depression. I was one of the stock market suicide jumpers.” “Wow that’s amazing actually” “Yeah it was a crazy time back then”. I went back to watching the children play. “I wish there was a way to tell her that I’m ok and let everyone know that I’m ok.” The angel looked around. “There are certain rules up here that you need to know. Although we’re in heaven, we can still contact the living if we are still alive.” He turned me around and pulled my shirt up. He saw two feathers protruding from my shoulder blades. “It looks like you’re still alive. You can dial this number,” he wrote down the three numbers 655 in the notes section of the phone. I watched his shadow flut-ter away as he took liftoff. “655 huh” I said to myself.

I felt wings starting to form in my back. They were still pretty small. Guess that meant I wasn’t fully alive still. I walked up from the bench to keep searching around heaven for anyone that looked familiar. I walked down streets paved with gold, and white buildings. I got looks from other angels who flew above me. I started to feel inferior. Only several other people were on the ground with me. I guess they haven’t fully died yet either. I ran up to a pretty brunette who looked around my age. “Hi. Excuse me, but do you know what we’re doing up here? I’m not supposed to be dead.” The girl spun around and my heart immediately dropped. “Oh my Lord. Rachel?! What are you…what?” I was speechless. I hugged her hard and started crying. “Oh my God, Brandon! What happened?” “I got hit by a truck. But I think I’m still alive. What about you? I just saw you last week!” “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I got shot. I think I’m ok.” She checked my back to see my wings. “Yours look around the same size of mine. But this is amazing! We’re almost dead.” I gave her a stern look. “I don’t want to be dead! There’s still a lot of things that I need to do. I’m trying to get back to my body.” “How are you going to do that?” “I think I found a way.” I grabbed her hand. “Come on.” We rushed into an alleyway. With the phone in my hand, I typed in the numbers 655. She stopped me. “Wait, are you sure you want to do this? I mean, we could have an amazing time here. Everyone here seems to be per-

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fect.” “I’m sure”. Suddenly there was a bright beam of light that engulfed the both of us. It beamed us back down to Earth.

I awoke in my body with immense pain and the feeling of everything becom-ing heavy. Rachel was in the bed next to me. “Ma….” I moaned. My mother turned around and immediately started crying. “You’re finally awake! Thank the Lord you woke up!” “What happened?” “You got hit by a truck. We aren’t sure how this happened, but you only got away with a few minor injuries. But you fell into a coma. We’re just glad you woke up”. My mothers face was filled with tears. I’m not sure how I made it back. Where was I for the past few days? Too many thoughts were just rushing through my head. I felt good. I want to go back. But first, I need to know that Rachel was ok. I hope she’s ok. But she wasn’t. She didn’t wake up when I tried to call her name. I heard the blank flat line sound and imme-diately broke down. I knew she wanted a better life, but I still didn’t think she actu-ally wanted to die. The shock of watching my best friend die in front of me put a lot of stress on my heart. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground clutching my chest with immense pain. Doctors were rushing all different directions trying to save me and keep me alive. But I didn’t survive. I felt my legs get heavy and arms start to feel like concrete. The doctors put an oxygen mask on me and used the de-fibrillator twice on me before they declared me dead. I heard everything. Even when I was on the table, I could hear them saying every word. I saw my mothers face as she screamed and cried. I felt myself being raised up like ropes backstage. I felt my wings sprout out in an amazing blinding white color and a gold halo ap-peared over my head. I didn’t know weather to cry or to be happy to where I was going.

My therapist wrote everything down as I lay on the couch explaining this de-tailed dream I had a few nights ago. He wrote a few notes down as I checked my phone to see what my wife text me. “Pick up Ella from soccer after you’re finished. I love you!” I smiled and put my phone back in my pocket and stared at the Vans I had on my feet. “So it seems like you have some mixed emotions to being taken from your family” “I believe so. I’m not afraid of dying but I know where I’m go-ing”. He watched me for a little bit and wrote some more things down on the note pad. “We’ll it was good talking to you today. Same time same place next week-

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end?” “Yes sir. You got it.” I shook his hand and grabbed my jacket and headed to my car. Just then my phone buzzed. Rachel’s mother called me crying. She just got killed. Wrong place at the wrong time.

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Photo Credit: Steven Miller

Kristina Maxwell 2018

Mini Memoir

Change for the Better

Going away to college and living alone is a pretty terrifying concept for most high school graduates to grasp, and sometimes the adjustment to col-lege life can be difficult. For me, the hardest part was leaving my job and all of the relationships that came with it. Leaving behind a place that I consid-ered to be a second home to me was a heartbreaking decision, but one that left me with the best memories. A good thing sometimes needs to be left behind in order to keep the good memories associated with it.

I got my first job in July of 2012, and that was the month that changed my entire life. I had never worked be-fore, because I had just turned sixteen earlier in the year in January. I filled out over thirty job applications without a single call back, and I was starting to feel pretty hopeless. One day, my mom came home from work and told me she heard that a local movie theater was hiring, and that I should fill out an ap-plication. Being as desperate as I was, I was willing to work just about any-where, so I filled out the application and, much to my surprise, received a call back immediately asking me to

come in for an interview. The inter-view was simply the manager telling me that the job was mine if I wanted it, because someone had just been fired, and I easily accepted.

I couldn’t believe how quickly I picked everything up. The work was simple, and all you had to do as an em-ployee was perfect the timing in which you got it done. The faster you fin-ished your work, the better you were at your job. The job wasn’t hard for me; it was either scooping popcorn into bags or filling cups of soda, or even just general cleaning (basically household chores), and on top of that the employ-ees were some of the nicest and most genuine people I had ever met. I felt extremely blessed to get such a lucky break. The Bank Street Theater was one of the best things to ever happen to me. I loved being at my job, and more importantly, I loved spending time with my co workers. We all got along so well, to the point where we even started to spend time together out-side of work. Our personalities were all very different, but somehow meshed so well. For example, one of my co workers and best friends, Avery, is a very outgoing and humorous person; he always knew how to make anyone

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laugh, no matter what mood they were in. On the other hand, another one of my co workers, Devon, barely spoke at all, but every time he did, he had an unbelievably detailed story to tell that would go on for hours if you didn’t stop him. There were all kinds of differ-ent people in my generation of the theater. From Ashley, our artistic Chi-nese girl who could make a sculpture out of anything you could imagine, to Darien, whose striking manners and charm made him every retired woman’s dream, everyone had a differ-ent contribution that just made every-thing work.

The first time we all hung out to-gether sealed the deal for us. The “BST Crew”, as we called it, could never be separated from that point on. On that first day, a few of us had got-ten off early, because it was a nice day outside and no one wanted to be in-doors. Since myself and “Asian Ash-ley”, as we called her (there were two girls named Ashley at the theater), were freshly sixteen, neither of us were licensed yet. As we got our jackets and chatted about how terrible it was hav-ing to wait for our parents to come and pick us up, Avery and Darien came up with the idea to go on a group hike.

Everyone quickly agreed, and we tex-ted the others, packed up three cars, and drove the ten minutes to the state park conveniently located right in our town. As we walked the mountain, we laughed about our quirky boss and chatted about our plans for college, which for me, at the time, was very far off in the distance. However it wasn’t until we reached the top of the peak that I knew we were destined to find each other. Once we got to the out-look, we all sat on the rocky terrain and talked. This wasn’t our usual ban-ter, though; this was different. We started to talk about our pasts, and all of the things we had been through in our lives. We went around the circle, each telling a portion of our lives that we hadn’t told many others before, and it just felt right. No one judged, and no one laughed. Everyone just talked. As the stories poured out, I felt like I could see the relief on everyone’s faces and I could definitely feel the comfort that myself and my co workers had al-ways longed for in a group of friends. That’s the day that I just knew. I knew we were going to be more than employ-ees at a small movie theater; we were evolving into a family.

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It never mattered what we were do-ing, as long as we were together. There were times when we would just sit somewhere and talk for hours on end. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been late to things because I lost track of time talking to my friends from the BST. There is an endless number of memories within the walls of that building and they were created by my generation of employees. Prior to us, nobody at the theater dared to spend time together outside of work, and they barely spoke to each other when they were working together. I don’t think it was because they didn’t like each other, but instead it was be-cause they only saw each other as co workers and never bothered to try and get to know each other on a personal level. Our bond not only made the friendships stronger, but it also made the work more efficient and more fun, because it got people to talk to each other and actually learn about their co workers as people, rather than just em-ployees. The open-mindedness that ex-isted in my generation made it so much easier for us to bond than those prior to us.

I quickly developed a close, per-sonal relationship with each staff mem-

ber and although we got along the best with everyone together, I could easily spend time with any one co worker and have just as much fun. There were plenty of times when slow days would leave only two people on shift together for hours, and once all of the work was done, there was nothing but time to do what we loved: talk, talk, and talk some more. The way we saw it, there are only so many hours of small talk that can be made, and once you exceed that, what’s left? Either you could sit in silence, recycle the same shitty small talk you already used earlier that day, or you could open up and talk about deeper things. One day we would argue the existence of God, the next we would fight about the likeli-hood of the zombie apocalypse, and the day after that we would talk about the worst day of our lives. Once, one of our co workers opened up to us that she was pregnant and had gotten an abortion. We all supported her deci-sion, and even though it was a tragedy, it was also one of the best feelings I could’ve gotten. I know that person-ally, the idea that someone would con-fide in me, in this random group of minimum wage earning teenagers, was almost insane, but very real. It warmed my heart that she felt she

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could come to us about something she hadn’t even told her own parents yet. That was always the case at the thea-ter. It was just that kind of a bond; the kind where no topic was off-limits and no matter the conversation, we never felt attacked, judged, or disrespected. The theater, to all of us, became more than just a job; it was a family. I never felt out of place there, and I always knew that no matter what problem I was having, I could go to anyone there and they would have my back one hun-dred percent. I always wondered how we were all so different, but also so similar at the same time, and eventu-ally it came to me: we all could be con-sidered the “black sheep” of our cho-sen friend groups. Whether it be ath-letes, artists, gamers, or anyone in be-tween, we all had felt left out for one reason or another, and that feeling is so awful that it could bring anyone to-gether.

I spent almost every day at the theater during my time there, and I never wanted to leave. I would pick up extra shifts just so that I could spend time with my friends and do what I honestly loved doing. I was getting paid to have fun, and there was noth-ing wrong with that. It became like

my second home, and in the summers I probably spent more time there than I did at my own house. I think the rea-son why I genuinely loved being there was because there was never a dull mo-ment. Some days the lobby would overflow with customers and there would not be a second to rest, and other days there would be barely any customers at all, leaving extended amounts of time to simply talk about anything. Those days were my favor-ite, because those were the days that we as a family could further strengthen our bond and learn more about each other as people, not simply employees.

There are some days in your life that you just never forget, and every day at the theater was one of those. Even on the days where everything else in life seemed to be going wrong, I could go to work knowing that I would get a warm greeting and a good laugh for the four to six hours I would be there. I always felt welcomed and loved there, and that is a feeling that makes you want to remember every-thing that happens to you, but that feel-ing also makes you want to hold on to it forever. As the end of my senior year approached, I became more aware of the fact that I would soon

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have to leave the Bank Street Theater and begin a new chapter in my life. Al-though I was excited for college, I also was heartbroken that I would soon have to end the era that myself and my co workers worked so hard to create. I denied the fact until the day before I left, and that realization was honestly one of the hardest I’ve ever had to come to in my life.

Everyone at the theater wanted to have one last celebration before we all moved on in our lives. Although we weren’t all the same age, we were all be-ginning new chapters in our lives, and moving out of state. We decided to go out to dinner at our favorite Italian res-taurant across the street from the thea-ter, and then it would be time to say goodbye. The reservation was for 6:00, and we didn’t end up leaving un-til 11:00 when the restaurant closed. That five hours was spent reminiscing on all of the memories we shared as a family, and as people came and went through the restaurant, many stopped to tell us that we looked like we were meant to be friends for life. The final moment that I had with those people was the absolute most bittersweet mo-ment I had ever had in my life. I fought back tears that entire night, and

when it came time to say goodbye, my heart melted and I couldn’t hold back anymore. It truly was the end of an era, and leaving all of that behind hurt more than words could explain. I didn’t know how I could possibly move on, and I couldn’t possibly replicate any of the moments I had with that family. I felt lost, as if I could never find another group of people who un-derstood me as well as they had, and although that may be true, I’m a firm believer that all good things must come to an end. Even though my years at the theater were some of the best of my life, I realized that there was no way I could possibly stay there forever. It was time for all of us to move on, and although it hurts to think that it’s over, we’re all in a better place now than we were back in our hometown. I didn’t realize it needed to come to an end until it did, and that is part of the transition into adulthood that I think is one of the most vital. I like to think of a baby with a pacifier. They feel im-mense comfort when they’re sucking on the pacifier, and when it’s first taken away, they cry, but then the child real-izes that the world isn’t ending just be-cause the pacifier is gone. There aren’t many grown adults who still use a paci-fier to calm themselves down or go to

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sleep, and that is for a reason. Just be-cause a good thing is going strong doesn’t mean it shouldn’t end. In fact, if a good thing is to stay a good thing, can’t it be argued that it should be stopped before it can inevitably go bad?

A few weeks ago, I went back home for a weekend to visit my family and some friends who never left town. When I got back, I decided to stop by the theater and see how things were go-ing, and to my dismay, they were not going well. I walked in and immedi-ately my heart fell to the floor when I saw that the entire inside of the build-ing had been remodeled and there were new uniforms, and worst of all, new employees. I stepped into the fancy new lobby and at the same time everyone looked at me, puzzled, and said “How can I help you?”, and in that moment, I felt heartbroken. No-body even knew who I was anymore. I couldn’t believe that this new staff was questioning me when I had only been gone a month. I decided to chat with them a little bit and see how the busi-ness was doing and if the employee dy-namic was at least the same. I found out that it wasn’t at all. As I men-tioned things like “family dinners”, or

group hikes, or even just talking on shift, every single one of them looked at me as though I was telling them about some kind of made up fairytale. In that moment, I realized that we really did have something incredibly special; a bond that could never be bro-ken. Seeing this new place where eve-ryone sits in silence and just stares off into space hurt me a lot, but it also proved to me that if I didn’t leave, I would have been just like them. That could have been me.

When I went back to the theater, I expected to feel revived and miss every-thing that was still there, but instead I was just hurt and appalled at what I saw. It made me very upset to see that the place I knew really was gone, but at the same time it relieved me of my fear that I would miss out on all of the things I used to love. I understood that our bond could never be broken, no matter how far apart we are, because we all chose to keep the bond strong. Staying in touch in college has been dif-ficult, but it is very doable if you really want it to be. It just feels special when you know you can call somebody and talk to them for hours and never have a silence in the conversation. Al-though we’re farther apart now, my co

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workers and I still talk as if we never left, and that, to me, is more important than the physical structure of the build-ing, or the new employees who don’t even know who we are. Just knowing that we left our mark in our own way is enough. Change is a part of life, and whether we like it or not, understand-ing that change is necessary is a major part of becoming an adult. Some-times we need that extra push to get us to that understanding, and that’s al-right. For me, my push was going away to college, and had I not been given that push, who knows where I would be. As human beings, we are so inclined to dream of perfect worlds where everything is just a never ending fantasy of pure bliss, and the theater was my dream. Prior to getting that job, I always longed for someone who would understand my problems, or even listen to my problems; someone who I could talk to about anything un-der the Sun, whenever I wanted to. With the theater, I got more than just that single “someone”. Instead I had fourteen “someones”. Seeing that come to an end hurt me a lot, but see-ing what the BST had become after the ending hurt me the most. I was thankful that I got to end on a happy note, as opposed to watching the slow

and painful downfall of a place that I loved so much.

I’ve learned that change is a neces-sary part of life, and without it, we lose interest in the things we love. Had I not left the Bank Street Theater when I did, I would probably be miserable, because I wouldn’t have just the fond memories, but the terrible nightmare that is the new building, rules, and peo-ple as well. Coming back to town and feeling completely different about a place that I once considered to be a sec-ond home to me is shocking, but taught me an important lesson that no matter how much you love something, you need to let it go before it goes sour. Everything has an expiration date, and if you try to extend its life past that, you’ll only end up spoiling the good memories by adding bad ones.

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Photo Credit: Juliana Cecera

Delivery Man

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Standing at the top of the stairs, the man straightened his cap and exhaled sharply. He wasn’t a delivery man but no one needed to know that. His palms slicked and his heart raced as he left the little box in front of apartment 4A. As he straightened he closed his eyes and imagined her inviting him in. They would eat steak and drink wine. Laugh. Then drift to her room where his dreams would come true in the glow of candlelight. Below him, Stacey began her climb up the stairs to her apartment in her sky high stilettos. After four years as a news anchor she still could not adjust to the strict dress code, diet, and beauty rou-tine. She wobbled on one of the stairs and winced before continuing up her spi-ral staircase to her tower and the prince who waited for her. She smiled brightly at the delivery man who blushed in re-sponse as he usually did in that sweet, in-nocent way of his. He’d been bringing her presents since she started at the sta-tion, her biggest fan. He thought she didn’t know who the little packages were truly from, but she could just see it in the glint in his eyes. Today was different. He held out a piece of paper and a pen, for an autograph he explained timidly. She signed with a flourish and a heart, pressing her lips to the paper just to watch him glow happily. He raced away and she scooped the package up, opening the unlocked door. On the street, the man read the swirly cursive over and over, his heart threatening to lift out of his chest. He crossed the road quickly and turned to look up at her through her big bay window. She waved to him and lifted the package in thanks. His knee began to jerk anxiously as she toyed with the tape, teasing him with a dimpled smile. He would be the last reason she smiled, the final face she saw. His feet left the ground at the thought.

Jessica Frank 2016

Photo Credit:Darien Parmenter

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Suddenly, as if called, she turned away from him and disappeared. Just when he thought he’d burst from des-peration she returned with scissors and sliced the tape in half cleanly, handing the utensil to the shadow be-side her. His stomach turned to lead and hit his toes painfully, his feet slam-ming back to the cement. There was a man in her house. She smiled and stretched up to press her lips to the stranger’s mouth as she had the paper in his hand. He twitched forward, reaching up as if to take the package from her before it was too late. The box tilted open and in a flash of light the window and its kiss-ing occupants were gone, replaced by splintered wood and fire. Below, a fe-ral scream ripped out of the man in the delivery uniform’s throat, the sound of dreams dying in a tangle of c4 and copper wiring. The police found him there, hoarse from scream-ing up at the burning building, the lip-

stick stained autograph still clutched in his fisted hand.

Photo Credit: Juliana Cecera

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Photo Contest Winner:Daniela Saldarriaga Arbelaez

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Book Review

Photo Credit:Daniela Saldarriaga Arbelaez

Olivia Harbert

The Giver by Lois LowryDon’t be deceived by the small book; it is deep and very thoughtful when you

read it. The first time I read it when I was in high school, when my reading con-sisted of books about different societies and things that you would not think could be real or actually happen. This was a dystopian book about a society that is futur-istic. This was a book that took me down a new path and Jonas’ society and the way he lived bothered me a little.

Being bothered or disturbed by this book, or any other, is a sign of good writ-ing because it means that the person reading the story is motivated to think about it and actually think about it as if it were true. Lowry is careful in creating the uto-pian community and she allows the people reading to think of their own opinions and think of their own conclusions about the issues and outcomes. She leaves the story open ended and in some parts. You have to think about what could happen. The readers are free to interpret the direction of how the story is going to go.

I reread this book not too long ago, and I feel like my opinions did change. It helped me understand the world of The Giver a lot easier and have a different take on it. I know more about government and had more experience regarding choices and I could better analyze why a society and government might choose to live with the same way.

As Jonas and the Giver discuss what is happening in the society Jonas says “We really protect people from wrong choices.” The Giver’s response is clear that the reason the government takes away the ability to choose is because it is safer. Here Lowry gives readers an observation of the community without rendering judg-ment.

The Giver is a powerful book with all the elements of a classic. Tales of oppres-sive governments that stifle freedom and breed lives void of color are tales that re-mind us of the value of human relationships and personal choice. I strongly rec-ommend this award-winning book. The book is very popular in high school, and I think that if people like to wonder about the future and the possibilities that could happen to all of us, this would be a good book to read.

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Photo Credit:Cassandra Rudd

Photo Credit:Naisha Adorno

Photo Credit:Naisha Adorno

Photo Credit: Naisha Adorno

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Windfall 2015