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iii Spring 2017

 Paige Bremner: Lexi Scherzinger:
WRITER ARTIST
Amanda Brennan: Lucy Harper:
WRITER ARTIST
Marissa Lane: Angela Day:
WRITER ARTIST
Meg Matthias: Ethan Retcher:
WRITER WRITER
Elizabeth Kenagy: Marin Thurmer:
WRITER WRITER
Megan Caldwell: Tschetan Esser:
WRITER WRITER
Nora Molinaro: Annie Lazarski:
WRITER WRITER
Alicia Di Scipio: Cassidy Sattler:
WRITER WRITER
Abby Pickus: Tschetan Esser:
WRITER WRITER
Andrew Rivera: Jack Renfree:
WRITER WRITER
Amanda Parel: Maria Moore:
WRITER WRITER
David Farley: Bill Abbot:
WRITER WRITER
Bridget Farahay: Mayu Nakano:
WRITER WRITER
Delaney Sherman: Katie Kehres:
ARTIST WRITER
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Happy Captive Magazine 22
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Editorial..........................................................................8

Literary Art :
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19 Balsa | Prose...............................................................................................9
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The Garden | Prose...................................................................................11
22 The Idea | Poetry.......................................................................................17
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Hydrotherapy | Poetry..............................................................................18
25 Running | Prose.......................................................................................19
26 How to be an Adventurer | Prose............................................................20
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28 Consequences 243 | Poetry....................................................................22
29 On my Floor | Poetry................................................................................23
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31 Statistics | Prose........................................................................................24
32 Metaphor for a Panic Attack | Poetry.......................................................28
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34 An Ode to Free Time | Poetry...................................................................30
35 The Girl in the Car Behind Me | Prose....................................................33
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37 I Cannot Explain my Frustration | Prose.................................................37
38 Out of Reach | Poetry...............................................................................39
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Hands | Poetry..........................................................................................40
41 Progress* | Poetry....................................................................................48
42 Intro | Prose..............................................................................................49
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Procedure at World Office Processing Headquarters | Prose................50 4
Summation of a Life Never Met Whose Ghost Haunts a Conference 5
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Room | Poetry...........................................................................................57 7
Lessons for a Fourth Grader | Prose........................................................58 8
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How to Live | Poetry.................................................................................59 10
The Ache of Expanding | Prose...............................................................61 11
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One for the Books | Prose........................................................................62
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Dry Hump | Poetry...................................................................................64 14
STANDING ROCK & WEALTHY MAN | Poetry..........................................69 15
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Smile | Prose............................................................................................71 17
I Would Not be the Empire I am Today if You had Stayed | Poetry......75 18
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Window, Still | Poetry...............................................................................77 20
A New Genesis | Poetry............................................................................78 21
Tell Me When You Decide | Prose...........................................................80 22
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Cold Shoulder | Digital Painting.............................................................42 31
Her | Digital Painting...............................................................................43 32
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Anxious | Drawing....................................................................................44 34
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Aqua Soulmaster with a Rain Date | Photography................................45 36
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I don’t Know, But it all Comes Around | Photography...........................46 38
flower in the crannied wall, you’ve grown into a monster | 39
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18 Audrey Fanshaw
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21 Fiction and Poetry Editors
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24 Sam Keeling
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26 Shannon Dolley
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29 Cover and Layout Designer
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32 Annie Aumiller
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38 Patrick Schneider Ashley Campbell
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Anna Maltbie Paige Strigel
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editorial
Dear Reader (yes, you!),
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Happy Captive Magazine is still, by all means, an infant. In your hands is the 9
third volume of the magazine, and the staff who had the pleasure of selecting these 10
pieces is the first to have not had any of the original members present during our 11
submissions period. Throughout the past year, there have been many events that may 12
discourage the use of art, or the usefulness of art to tell real stories; we’ve made it a 13
priority to publish narratives about real human experiences, things that can’t be lost 14
no matter who you are or where you are. 15
This year, HCM has expanded our outreach to include flash fiction and unique 16
poetry pieces into our narrative-driven approach; we have sought more involvement 17
with the Miami community through our undergraduate reading nights and other 18
events with the English Department; we have connected ourselves to the diversity 19
that exists across the various disciplines of this university through our student-driven 20
submissions calls and undergraduate events. But, as with everything, there’s always 21
more to be done, and HCM intends on being a strong cultural force in this little patch 22
of Ohio for semesters to come. 23
And in the coming years, we’re going to need a lot of truth, a lot of real, 24
insightful experiences to understand others. Real stories for us modern folk are in 25
“STANDING ROCK & WEALTHY MAN,” “On My Floor,” and “Consequences 234,” and 26
we can talk about fiction stories like “The Garden,” “Smile,” and “Running,” and not 27
to mention wonderful creative nonfiction like “Tell Me When You Decide.” Our stories 28
extend to visual art like Her and flower in the crannied wall, you’ve grown into a 29
monster, the visual experience of real stories being as important as the written. But 30
we’re not going to point you to any piece to look for, specifically, for these “stories;” 31
you should look at every piece, and be with every story, and find your own value in 32
these stories, and how they connect to your real stories. Without stories, there is no 33
HCM. Without stories, what else in art is there in which to find meaning? 34
So we’re going to end it here because, after you read these words, we don’t 35
matter anymore. All that matters is the words that follow. This is a quote you can 36
parlay with some significance, if you wish (something about the power of the story, 37
something about the need to express one’s existence in the story, who knows, it’s 38
been a long letter) said by the writer Sylvia Plath: “Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back 39
home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, 40
beauty out of sorrow.” 41
The Staff of Happy Captive Magazine 42
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Balsa
10 Meg Matthias | Prose
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12 Jane says she doesn’t want a lot of things. She’s very into minimalism at the
13 moment. She holds each of her earthly possessions to her chest and closes her eyes
14 and takes a deep breath and decides if they bring her joy or not. If not, she puts them
15 in the back of her 1996 Jeep Wrangler (joy) and drives them to the Salvation Army.
16 Our apartment is almost empty now, especially since almost everything we owned
17 belonged to her. Last week I had to fight her over throwing away a set of hand-painted
18 Anthropologie measuring spoons.
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I’ve never been afraid to admit it—the wanting. When I was nine, Jane and I
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21 were neighbors instead of roommates. I had a few toy trucks and a toy Mercedes that
22 bumped over the carpet and a few Barbie dolls that Auntie L had found in her attic and
23 handed over to me with spiderwebs still intact. Jane had dozens of toys; cars that really
24 vroomed, you know, and dolls with real hair, and tea sets that were replicas of the ones
25 at Buckingham Palace. And she had this old set that she called “the dollhouse,” but
26 it wasn’t really—it was a miniature treehouse, with a perfect oak tree as the base and
27 perfect haphazard boards and little carved nails, and a rope ladder that you could crank
28 up with a lever once your dolls or cars got to the top. It was made of shiny balsa wood
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and Jane kept it on the top shelf of her closet so that every time I said we should play
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31 with it, she could say, “Oh, it’s too dusty to get down.”
32 She probably doesn’t remember it now.
33 Last night, Jane was perched on the kitchen counter, swirling wine from a crystal
34 glass that brought her joy because it once belonged to her great-great-grandmother.
35 “You know, Laura,” she said. She always said it like it was a full sentence, like I knew
36 what she would say before it came out of her mouth. “No one ever really deserves what
37 they have, do they?”
38 One morning, when Jane was at Mass, I’d used the spare key in front of the flowerpot
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and crept into her family’s house. I took a broom into Jane’s closet and hit at the shelf
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41 until the replica treehouse fell off and splintered on the ground.
42 When I went over the next day and asked about it, she shrugged.
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I like to think that Jane is a good person who somehow managed to grow into 10
adulthood without developing any sort of conscience. When we were kids, she always 11
made me stop my bike when she spotted roadkill so she could poke at it. Once we 12
started driving, every time I saw a flattened opossum, I’d wonder if it was her who’d hit 13
it. 14
I’m sitting in an airplane now. Somehow, I still see Jane swirling wine in her 15
ancestor’s glass. “You know, Laura,” she says. “No one ever really deserves to die.” 16
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I’m not drinking, but I clink my water cup with hers. It’s a toast. When I talk, I’m
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talking to Jane, and not her plastic-wrapped body settling on our kitchen floor.
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“You know, Jane,” I tell her. The feeling of wanting is deep within me now. 20
Buried. This might be the first time in her life anyone has even tried to prove her wrong. 21
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The Garden
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10 Amanda Brennan | Prose
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13 We had been on our knees for an hour, our backs to the sun. We were quiet
14 except for our breathing and sometimes the movement of adjusting our legs, so we
15 would be sitting more in the grass or more in the soil. We were, at our mother’s request,
16 weeding the patch of dirt our stepdad had declared fertile at the back of the house. No
17 one had ever paid any attention to it, and even though there was a garden up front with
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plenty of flowers, he had said this spot of dirt was to be prepared for planting, so we had
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to stop what we were doing and go outside.
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21 We were sisters and we liked each other, but both of us were acting sour and
22 silent, sweating together and yanking things from the ground. We didn’t care about
23 doing a good job. We wanted to be finished so we could go back inside.
24 “Can you hand me that?” I asked. I sat up straighter on my legs, my arms,
25 crusted in dirt, resting on my thighs. My hair was down, and I was wearing my glasses
26 because I hadn’t realized this was going to take so long. That’s always how these things
27 went. He would tell us to come downstairs, and usually with no warning at all, we’d
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have a project for the afternoon and no time to waste. My little sister didn’t say anything
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but passed over the metal tool I needed. In silent thanks I plunged it into the ground.
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31 The dirt was dry even though it had been raining the past few days. It was
32 about to be summer, and the air still had the softness that was characteristic of spring.
33 We were red from the heat.
34 “This won’t budge,” she said, her hands gripping and twisting around an
35 unidentifiable and alien-looking plant that was coming, almost sideways, out of the
36 ground. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
37 I rubbed my brow with the back of my hand and, looking over, squinted hard.
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“I have no clue.”
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“Me neither,” she said, adjusting which knee she was using for leverage. After
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41 another tug she sat back down on the grass, looking exhausted.
42 “I can’t believe they’re making us do this,” she said.
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“I know. I have a ton of homework.” 10
We were silent. 11
“It’s better than chopping wood for a fireplace we don’t have,” she offered. 12
“You really think so?” 13
She sighed. 14
“No. Not really.” 15
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We both looked at the dirt.
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I took off my glasses to clean them.
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“You know, mom said she had a garden out here once. She said it was when we 19
were kids and Dad was still around.” 20
She didn’t look bothered. 21
“She’s always talking about things like that,” she said. 22
I was silent for a moment, deciding whether or not I should say it. 23
“Where do we stand on the bet?” 24
She half-laughed. I smiled too, even though the joke and everything about it 25
made me sick. 26
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“I hope it’s soon. I don’t know how much more I can weed.”
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Almost by instinctive agreement, we both leaned forward and started to weed 29
again. 30
“The thing,” I said, “is that they’ll always grow back.” 31
I didn’t even mind weeding that much. I liked being outside, and I liked the 32
feeling of bare plants between my fingers. I liked the sound the birds made and the 33
sweet smell of sunshine that got into my hair and made my sweat smell good in a 34
way. But I hated being hunched over for him, I hated how upstairs on my desk I had an 35
essay to write that would just have to wait because he had superimposed his needs over 36
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everybody else’s. Every time I heard a door slam in the house or the boom of his voice,
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always half-yelling, my insides clenched like a fist and I felt a wave of irrational anger. 39
“I really hope it’s soon,” I said almost without thinking. 40
She didn’t even look up. 41
“They fought last night.” 42
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The G ar d en
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10 I stopped weeding and sat up.
11 “Did they?”
12 “Yeah.” She continued to weed.
13 “About what?” I heard how hopeful my own voice sounded and winced.
14 “I don’t know,” she said. “Chores. Us? I don’t know.”
15 I felt a wave of heat apart from the sun. I tried to keep the metallic edge out of
16 my voice.
17 “What did we do now?”
18 She sighed again, her t-shirt that was damp with sweat slipping off her
19 shoulder.
20 “The same thing as always. Maybe we accidentally moved the remote or
21 something.”
22 I tried to think of anything I had done wrong in the past few days, but I couldn’t
23 really concentrate because of how badly my heart was racing.
24 “I wish she would stand up to him.”
25 “Me too.”
26 “She can’t be happy. Who could be happy like this?”
27 “I don’t know,” she said. The ground she was digging into was coming out in
28 large, gray, ugly clumps. “She thinks she can make it work.”
29 “You can’t force yourself to be happy,” I said. For a while we were silent.
30 “She doesn’t think she’s forcing it. She just thinks there are some things you
31 have to work for.”
32 “Maybe.”
33 We were quiet.
34 “How can we get this out?” she said, nodding to the strange plant that had
35 proven unmovable for the better part of an hour. It was tan and knobby and looked old
36 and broken. He definitely would want it removed.
37 “We could cut it.”
38 “It wouldn’t really be gone, though.”
39 She pursed her lips, concentrating.
40 “I guess we could grab it, try and take it up from the roots?”
41 We stood up and tried with all our strength to loosen the misshapen growth
42 from the solid ground. After a few minutes it seemed pointless.
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We fell back to sit in the grass and stared at what we had done and what 10
we had not been able to do. The sun was starting to set and it made the yard look 11
hyperreal. Everything was ridiculously beautiful in the thick coating of sunlight, but 12
we had nothing to do with it. All we saw was the patch of dirt and how there were still 13
patches of green that seemed to always disappear when we were on our hands and 14
knees, crawling and plucking things up from the ground. Our necks were sticky with 15
sweat and our hands and knees were imprinted with the shape of rocks and debris, yet 16
we had plenty of work to do. And there stood the massive plant, the thing unidentified. 17
We looked at it resentfully. 18
She broke the silence. 19
“I told Grandma about what happened Friday.” 20
I whipped my head to stare at her. 21
“You shouldn’t have done that!” 22
My little sister turned to coolly look at me. For a confused second I felt younger 23
than I was. 24
“What? It came up naturally,” she said, settling into her spot on the ground. 25
“Besides, if you’re secretive about something, that makes it worse.” 26
For a panicked moment, I felt very alone. When I remembered I wasn’t, I 27
relaxed and started to pull tiny, unwanted plants up by the tips of my fingers. 28
“I guess. But I don’t think it changes anything.” 29
“I don’t know,” she said, playing with a blade of grass and sounding worried. “I 30
just feel like it would be wrong somehow if only we knew.” 31
I said nothing but rocked back onto my heels and held my face up to the sky. 32
For a moment I could feel the slight breeze, and I could appreciate how nighttime 33
was coming softly and good, like a curtain lowered. I felt held and comfortable for a 34
moment, but then I remembered myself and anxiety prickled against my skin. 35
“We’ve been out here for two hours,” she said. 36
I opened my eyes. 37
“We should finish,” I said, a little embarrassed. I could feel her looking at me 38
again, trying to read something on my face. When I caught her eye, she looked away 39
and nodded her head in agreement. 40
“There has to be a way to get this thing out.” 41
We tried for a few minutes longer, then we decided it was impossible. The 42
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10 thing wouldn’t budge. And anyway, it was starting to look like it belonged there.
11 I was the one who decided it was time to give up and go inside. I stood up, dusted
12 myself off, and offered my hand.
13 “Do you think they’ll be able to get it out tomorrow?” she asked me, brushing the dirt
14 off her knees.
15 I shook my head.
16 “No,” I said, keeping my eyes to the ground. “I’m pretty sure the flowers will just have
17 to grow around it.”
18 We went back inside. The house was cold and the lights were off. I guessed that they
19 had left to go to dinner somewhere. I took off my shoes, which were now covered in dirt,
20 and left them by the door. I walked to the kitchen without turning any of the lights on.
21 My little sister was upstairs, washing herself in the bathroom we shared. I opened the
22 refrigerator to make something for the two of us.
23 I stood there in the small pool of artificial light, not thinking at all. The chill of the empty
24 fridge made the sweat on the back of my neck feel like ice.
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29 I was under the covers in the bottom bunk when they got home later that night. My hair
30 was wet from the shower, and I had just finished my essay. I was wearing a matching
31 pajama set that my dad bought me two Christmases before. I liked them because they
32 made me feel like I was still a kid.
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34 I heard the garage door open and the car idle. He always idled and his car was always
35 too loud. It made my blood spike. I heard my sister turn over in her sleep, her comforter
36 rustling. My heart was starting to race as I heard voices coming from downstairs. I
37 wondered if he would go outside with a flashlight to judge our work. I wondered what
38 he would think when he saw the terrible thing we couldn’t remove. I thought about
39 how he must have known from the beginning that we never stood a chance.
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41 After a while the noises quieted down. I scrunched my eyes and, lying there, listened to
42 my sister breathe above me. Eventually her breaths became louder than the blood in
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Hydrotherapy 6
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Paige Bremner | Poetry 10
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days that won’t 17
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end, but I close my
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eyes and it is summer
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in Albany. You and I soar 21
through narrow passes flanked 22
by rocky cliffs and the tallest trees 23
I’ve ever seen, sixteen feet above the 24
waves where only the warmest rays of 25
the sun can reach us, safe in our place 26
at the helm. To soothe the cruel sting 27
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Running
10 Marissa Lane | Prose
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13 Sangria stains blossom on his fresh white shirt—rose petals, stab wounds.
14 Individual cobblestones push against the soles of his feet through his sneakers. He
15 dabs his forehead with the red bandana wrapped around his wrist.
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17 Men—nearly only men, what does that say about us—give each other one-
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armed hugs, slap one another on the back. The Spanish sun beats down on the walled-
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20 off street, on the sea of white and red. Some of the men laugh, but the sound is hollow.
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22 His father would have been furious.
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24 He snakes his way between bodies, gets as close to the wall as he can. His eyes
25 are tired.
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27 The yelling begins, and there are wings on the backs of his shoes.
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Adventurer 6
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Elizabeth Kenagy | Prose 10
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Conqueror. Adventurer. Explorer. I am each and every one of these and so 13
much more. Traveling through these treacherous lands, one can never be too careful. I 14
am on a quest to be the first one to climb the impenetrable Mount Joongl-Gim (joon- 15
gull jim). The journey will be long and there are unknown threats to face. But fear not! 16
It’s nothing a great adventurer such as myself can’t handle. And, if you follow all my 17
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instructions, you too can be a great adventurer.
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First I have to pass through the Plu Ground Prairie. It’s no ordinary prairie; the 20
sands have turned to stones over time, and the ground is weak with the weight. At any 21
given moment, you could step in the wrong place and be pulled down into the rocks. 22
Despite these dangers, the prairie has inhabitants that guard their homes. Pooches are 23
four-legged creatures that like to play with their prey by pinning them down and licking 24
their faces before eating them. But, I have no fear of Pooches. Because I am such an 25
excellent adventurer, I know their only weakness. All you need is the Orb of Tens. Once 26
you have this orb, Pooches will be hypnotized and do your bidding. No, Pooches are no 27
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match for a great adventurer such as myself.
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But there is a threat to my journey. This terrible and deadly creature is called an 30
Aid-Ult. They grow up to three times your size and have piercing eyes that watch your 31
every move from the shadows. You must hide from the Aid-Ults or they will capture you 32
and you will never complete the mission. 33
Now that I’ve crossed the Plu Ground Prairie and evaded all of the Aid-Ults, 34
I am ready for my real purpose: climbing Mount Joongl-Gim. The most treacherous 35
mountain to climb, Mount Joongl-Gim is made of flat, smooth stones that climb up to 36
the sky at a steep incline. The stones are stained a bright red from the blood of those 37
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foolish enough to try climbing Mount Joongl-Gim. But today, I will be that fool.
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I find a foothold along the wall of red stone next to me. Using that, I manage to 40
lift my body up along the face of Mount Joongl-Gim. The rocks are easy to grip, and with 41
my adventurer strength I manage to pull myself higher and higher! Up into the clouds, 42
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How to be an
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10 up into the heavens! I have achieved what no adventurer before me has done! I’m the
11 greatest! I am--
12 The stone slipped and my ankle rolled underneath my weight. Time stopped
13 and I could feel the clouds slipping from my reach. I was weightless; I was flying. And
14 then there was pain. But I can take pain. I am the truest adventurer. The bravest, the
15 strongest, the--
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“Moooommmyyy!! I hurt my face!!!”
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20 Parents and children looked up in surprise at the suddenly screaming little girl
21 lying face down in the pebbles that covered the neighborhood’s playground. When she
22 sat up, her face and hands were covered in blood. Rocks and pebbles fell from injuries
23 while tears streamed down her face. Before anyone could help her, she pushed
24 herself off the ground and ran away, covering her face to hide the failures of the truest
25 adventurer.
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Consequences 4
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Megan Caldwell | Poetry 10
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Everything stops: she 13
knows something awful is there, 14
and without brakes. 15
Straight, maybe, maybe not— 16
some minor injuries are not minor. 17
She thought everything 18
19
of her, both in wait.
20
Hand in hand, hands in hair. 21
“His” into “hers” shifts different 22
over a tongue in the mirror. 23
Pining and fixing, hands 24
on her in fullness. 25
It is fortunate she never went in, 26
never swallowed her lips entirely. 27
And now she understands 28
29
that whole again,
30
but not quite. 31
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On my Floor
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10 Nora Molinaro | Poetry
11
12
13 Sort of kind of feeling like I have a lot of things and dreams, emotions, thoughts, things
14 to say that aren’t always a dance party and I’m all heavy eyelids from people thinking
15 that they know me but shut me down when I try to be honest about anything other than
16 a fucking good tune or a drawing that I drew because it usually comes from the mellow
17 lump that people refuse to tip toes into while I’m so far knee deep by myself.
18
19
20 I think they are all painted in all of them but I’m saying people are so quick to be like
21 WOW claps!!!!!!! But I’m like Yes, this is what I was trying to explain to you through
22 words but you didn’t think it was pretty enough but then it’s only worth paying attention
23 to once I make it pretty
24
25 which. i don’t claim to be fair.
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Statistics 5
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Alicia Di Scipio | Prose 10
11
You have never been interested in being a statistic. One in five women will be 12
13
sexually assaulted during their college career, approximately six people die of alcohol
14
poisoning per day, one third of couples married in the last decade will get divorced.
15
You have never liked statistics, nor did you picture your life being defined by one. You 16
think of all the statistics in the world, and how many people they would affect. You 17
wonder if that’s a statistic: “How many people’s lives will be changed when affected by 18
a statistic?” 19
20
*** 21
22
23
It’s October 25, 2010, a brisk fall night in Boulder. You walk into the small
24
concert venue, stoked out of your mind, thankful that your parents let you go out on
25
a school night. More thankful your grandparents didn’t try to put up a fight. Parents 26
are out of town: Spain. It was your Mom’s birthday present from last May. The only 27
available weekend they had was this fall. You miss them, but you’re also happy because 28
this was the first year they didn’t miss your birthday considering it falls two days after 29
Mom’s. Grandma and Papa are babysitting. It’s good to see them, and it’s been a while. 30
You wonder if they will stay up the whole night, just to make sure you get home safe. 31
Two hours through the show your phone turns black. Dead. That’s what you get for the 32
33
countless amount of pictures and videos you saved on your camera roll. It was all worth
34
it to capture the talent that is Ingrid Michaelson. You were the happiest you’d ever been,
35
it’s the high you get from being surrounded by music. 36
The concert ends and you slowly shuffle out the crowded building, grabbing 37
the arms of your older sister in front of you and her best friend behind you. The three of 38
you stand outside on the packed street for a couple minutes. They check their phones, 39
and you all smile at the fact that it’s 3am on a Monday night. It’s chilly, not yet winter, 40
but summer seems far away. Your phone’s dead so you notice the streetlights flickering 41
more than usual. Then your sister gasps. 42
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St at is ti cs
7
8
9
10 ***
11
12 You come from a family of normally protective parents; with one side of
13 adventurous grandparents who spent their whole lives traveling. Your mom grew up
14 in London, spent summers in France, and wasn’t punished the first time she got drunk
15 because your grandfather felt a flight to Africa on New Year’s Day was punishment
16
enough. Your dad’s parents love to worry and didn’t let you cross the street alone until
17
18 probably last year. You’re fifteen. You live in a generally safe neighborhood. Even though
19 your parents never forget to lock the door at night, it often stays open during the day.
20 Your mom is usually home when you walk in for lunch, the perks of attending high
21 school less than a half mile away. You live what people would describe as a charmed
22 life, you’ve had some hard times but you know friends who have had worse. In your
23 second year of high school, you know friends who are already statistics.
24
25 ***
26
27
28 Your sister stands on the pavement frozen. You can see she’s about to cry
29 because her face tightens.
30 “What is it?” you mutter while turning your head as if to read her text messages.
31 “Joanne and Brian were shot?” Aunt Joanne. Uncle Brian. In Atlanta. Her voice
32 is shaking, she’s unsure. You’re unsure, because this doesn’t make sense.
33 Your cousin really knows how to break the news. A short text saying hello, how
34 are you, don’t freak out but. Their house was broken into. The guy was armed. There is
35 more to the text, but you and your sister feel too uncomfortable crying in the middle
36
of downtown Boulder and want to get away before a stranger asks if they can help. In
37
38 this situation, no one can help. You speed walk to the car, hoping that by the time you
39 get into the passenger seat, put your seatbelt on, and become settled, this will all be
40 false. Your sister pauses in the driver’s seat, the keys fall into her lap while she dials her
41 phone.
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St ati sti cs 5
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8
The morning after it takes you a minute or so to realize that this is not a 9
dream. You shower quickly, knowing your sister and her friend need to get in there, 10
too. You toast an English muffin as your grandparents come in from church. “We are 11
12
so sorry to hear about your aunt,” they say. Totally sincere, but annoying at the same
13
time. “That’s very scary, we talked to your parents,” cool, so did I, you think. You wish
14
you could accept their care, but they’re on the other side. It wasn’t their daughter who 15
was attacked. It wasn’t their child whose life was altered in one moment. You try to 16
understand their position, but you’re fifteen, the last thing you try to do is understand 17
other people. You become quiet for the rest of the time your grandparents visit, you 18
pray they don’t bring it up in front of your baby brother, who in the seventh grade 19
isn’t really a baby anymore. 20
*** 21
22
23
Weeks pass and your parents have returned from Europe. Your mom is not
24
around, though. She’s been spending time in Atlanta, helping her sister and brother- 25
in-law recover. The rest of the text from your cousin said they’re in surgery and should 26
be okay. Luckily, a shattered hip and kneecap and femur can be fixed in today’s world. 27
Your aunt and uncle now have foreign objects in their bodies. Screws, nails, rods, 28
plates. You even think your aunt might have an artificial joint made of ceramic or 29
plastic. You learn a lot of details your younger brother will never hear. You learn that 30
those weird relatives that never come to family reunions told their kids JoJo and 31
32
Brian tripped in a rabbit hole and had to spend some time in the hospital. Rabbits
33
don’t live in holes, and you will want to tell them that every time you see them. You
34
can’t decide if the attack made JoJo more sensitive or more uptight, you can’t decide 35
which it would make you. You know your mother was crushed. You can tell she has 36
changed. They never really got along, her big sister and her. But the idea of losing 37
her, or getting hurt, it crushed her. 38
Your aunt and uncle will recover, your family will recover, and for a while, you will 39
forget about statistics. Until your friend gets in a car accident senior year, and you 40
learn what rape culture is your first year of college, and you learn how alcohol can 41
42
take someone’s life. You will straddle the line of being cautious and worrisome.
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S t a ti sti cs
7
8
9 You will reject being anything like your worrisome grandparents.
10 You will hear about students being kidnapped while studying abroad, and for a second
11
you will change your plans to stay in America, as if kidnappings don’t happen here, too.
12
You will know friends who were in the movie theater where a psychopath opened fire
13
14 at the premiere of the new Batman movie, yet you will not let that stop your love of film
15 and cinema.
16 You will spend the next years interested and shocked by statistics, hoping one day you
17 won’t fall victim to them. And you will teach your children that the world is a beautiful
18 place, full of some people who have simply forgotten how amazing it is. You will spend
19 time collecting statistics about things like happiness and see how they apply to your
20 life.
21
She starts cursing when your parents don’t pick up the phone. Not because it’s an
22
ungodly hour in Spain at this point, but because an estimated 3.7 million burglaries
23
24 occur each year. A rough estimate of one million burglaries include a household
25 member falling victim to violent crimes. The highest percentage of burglaries occurs
26 during the summer months. But it wasn’t even summer. Home intrusion is committed
27 every thirteen seconds. An estimated $4.6 billion are lost in stolen property. There’s no
28 statistic for what piece of normality is lost when you witness an armed burglary.
29 Finally, the phone clicks. Your mother is on the other side, exhausted and
30 concerned as to why she’s been rung seven times at this time in the morning. The next
31
part breaks your heart. Your sister, two years older than you, tells your mother the news
32
of her big sister being shot by an armed burglar. Your mom must’ve asked, “What?” a
33
34 million times, because your sister has to repeat herself. She says she’s in the hospital.
35 Your mom tries to hold back tears on the phone as she questions the attack just like you
36 were twenty minutes ago. Your sister explains the short text from your cousin, who lives
37 ten minutes away from them in Atlanta.
38 You’re still in the passenger seat with your seatbelt on as your sister mentions
39 that your other two siblings don’t know. One of them is a freshman in college, away
40 from family, in the first few months of moving in. And the other in seventh grade. Your
41
mother says not to tell either of them, Mom and Dad will when it’s the right time, and
42
that will be soon, considering your grandparents are going to be curious as to why
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St a ti sti cs 5
6
7
8
you’re so distraught. The worrisome grandparents are from the other side of the family. 9
Most kids enjoy when their parents leave and the grandparents get to babysit, it’s a free 10
for all. This is not one of those times. 11
12
You don’t remember if your grandparents are awake when you get home.
13
Maybe there was a note, saying goodnight and we love you. Or maybe you just tried 14
to be as quiet as possible. You notice your brother’s door is open, as always, but in fear 15
of waking him up on a school night you shut the door quietly. It’s decided you will 16
sleep in your parent’s big bed with your older sister and her friend. There’s something 17
about staying close together that makes this less terrifying. You won’t learn this until 18
the morning after, but your sister went through the whole house to make sure every 19
door and window were locked: a big deal, considering she’s terrified of the dark. 20
The morning after it takes you a minute or so to realize that this is not a dream. 21
22
You shower quickly, knowing your sister and her friend need to get in there, too. You
23
toast an English muffin as your grandparents come in from church. “We are so sorry to 24
hear about your aunt,” they say. Totally sincere, but annoying at the same time. “That’s 25
very scary, we talked to your parents,” cool, so did I, you think. You wish you could accept 26
their care, but they’re on the other side. It wasn’t their daughter who was attacked. It 27
wasn’t their child whose life was altered in one moment. You try to understand their 28
position, but you’re fifteen, the last thing you try to do is understand other people. You 29
become quiet for the rest of the time your grandparents visit, you pray they don’t bring 30
it up in front of your baby brother, who in the seventh grade isn’t really a baby anymore. 31
32
33
*** 34
35
Weeks pass and your parents have returned from Europe. Your mom is not 36
around, though. She’s been spending time in Atlanta, helping her sister and brother- 37
in-law recover. The rest of the text from your cousin said they’re in surgery and should 38
be okay. Luckily, a shattered hip and kneecap and femur can be fixed in today’s world. 39
Your aunt and uncle now have foreign objects in their bodies. Screws, nails, rods, plates. 40
You even think your aunt might have an artificial joint made of ceramic or plastic. You 41
42
learn a lot of details your younger brother will never hear. You learn that those weird
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3
4
5
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St ati sti cs
7
8
9
10 relatives that never come to family reunions told their kids JoJo and Brian tripped in a
11 rabbit hole and had to spend some time in the hospital. Rabbits don’t live in holes, and
12 you will want to tell them that every time you see them. You can’t decide if the attack
13 made JoJo more sensitive or more uptight, you can’t decide which it would make you.
14 You know your mother was crushed. You can tell she has changed. They never really got
15
along, her big sister and her. But the idea of losing her, or getting hurt, it crushed her.
16
Your aunt and uncle will recover, your family will recover, and for a while, you will forget
17
18 about statistics. Until your friend gets in a car accident senior year, and you learn what
19 rape culture is your first year of college, and you learn how alcohol can take someone’s
20 life. You will straddle the line of being cautious and worrisome. You will reject being
21 anything like your worrisome grandparents. You will hear about students being
22 kidnapped while studying abroad, and for a second you will change your plans to stay
23 in America, as if kidnappings don’t happen here, too. You will know friends who were in
24 the movie theater where a psychopath opened fire at the premiere of the new Batman
25
movie, yet you will not let that stop your love of film and cinema.
26
You will spend the next years interested and shocked by statistics, hoping one
27
28 day you won’t fall victim to them. And you will teach your children that the world is a
29 beautiful place, full of some people who have simply forgotten how amazing it is. You
30 will spend time collecting statistics about things like happiness and see how they apply
31 to your life.
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Metaphor for a 5
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Panic Attack 7
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Meg Matthias | Poetry 10
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12
In the movies, it happens slowly. 13
Big Money Action Hero hasn’t yet got the girl, 14
still in peril, in danger, in red-sniper-dots on his back— 15
and the edges of the screen fade out 16
as the camera zeroes in. 17
18
The zooming in part is what I mean.
19
The part where everything else in the shot 20
is suddenly vanished into thin air, 21
or blurry on the sidelines, 22
or just missing by comparison— 23
in the movies, Big Money Action Hero 24
is at his breaking point. 25
26
In the movies, it’s a long lens. 27
28
It’s setting up the scene for snipers on rooftops,
29
“Let’s raise the stakes!” says the director, 30
lining up an actor in black behind every window pane. 31
The shot starts with the hero’s face— 32
two drops of sweat slide down his temple— 33
then we go back, back, back, 34
to the snipers on the roof (sometimes 35
they’re talking to each other through hidden wires). 36
There are too many to count. 37
38
The image becomes hazy—maybe it’s
39
heat exhaustion. Probably heat exhaustion. 40
Actions movies are big into the desert these days. 41
But the part I mean is the zooming out. 42
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Metapho r f or a P ani c
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Att ack
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10 That split-second scared part when Big Money Action Hero
11 can’t see that he’s the only one who could do this job.
12
13 In my bedroom, it’s a madcap mad dash.
14 Sometimes there’s sweat on my face, too,
15 but I’m not getting paid for it. No one’s
16 volunteering to spritz me with a spray bottle
17
(sweat, tears, I make them myself,
18
19 thank you very much).
20 I’m stuck in stagnant blurry motion—
21 my head is a funnel, my head is a horse’s blinders,
22 my head is a long-picture lens.
23 I am Big Money Action Hero, but only in the sense that
24 I am the only one in the frame
25 (Only in the sense that
26 I am the only one
27
in my head)
28
29 Only in the sense that it is a split-second breaking point
30 and I am not allowed to believe I am the one for this job.
31
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An Ode...
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Abby Pickus | Poetry 10
11
12
I think I don’t have you. 13
Sometimes I feel like you’re lost to me forever. 14
15
But then I realize 16
You are always there for me. 17
18
But I use you
19
And abuse you
20
And waste you. 21
22
I’m sorry. 23
24
I try so hard to keep you close 25
And treat you right. 26
Next time, 27
28
I promise.
29
30
Next time. 31
Next time. 32
33
It’s always next time. 34
35
But I should be doing something with you. 36
Cleaning. 37
38
Schoolwork.
39
Reading.
40
Writing. 41
Cooking. 42
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An Od e...
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10 Seriously, cleaning. I should be cleaning.
11 When I have you, though . . .
12 I sit in stasis.
13 I fuck around on my phone.
14 I watch mindless television.
15 I watch mindful television.
16
I fuck around on the Internet.
17
And then,
18
19
20 When you’re gone,
21 I wonder where you went.
22 Where did you go?
23 And were you ever here?
24
25 I’m sorry.
26
27
You drift.
28
29 You float.
30 You slip away.
31
32 Sand in an hourglass.
33 Dust in the wind.
34 Water down a drain.
35
36
I’m sorry.
37
38
39 I’m sorry.
40
41 I’ll be better.
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An O d e... 5
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I’ll try. 10
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~ 12
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An Ode to Free Time 14
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The Girl in the
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Car Behind Me
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10 Andrew Rivera | Prose
11
12
It was 3:14. Class was let out early, and now Clive had the privilege of easing
13
14 his way off to work. It seemed appropriate, considering the season’s own slow lean into
15 death. The transition into winter was like lying on an inflatable mattress as it is gradually
16 drained of air: satisfactory, yet one could not escape the reality of the forthcoming floor.
17 Clive made towards his car as a shower of reds and yellows came overhead, the leaves
18 littering the pavement. He recognized another figure crossing the street; it was his
19 ex-girlfriend’s stepbrother— somehow gaunt and stocky at the same time, with that
20 unmistakable orange hair. They made brief eye contact and Clive wondered if the
21 recognition was reciprocated. It had certainly been some time. Starting his car, Clive
22
turned the knob on the radio. Some man was talking about his writing career. His voice
23
24 was decidedly deep and had a sort of goofy uniqueness to it. As he drove off, he noticed
25 the orange-haired stepbrother getting into his car. Clive smiled. It was the same flashy
26 yet trashy two-seater that lived in his memory.
27 He diverted his attention back to the radio; now the deep-voiced man was
28 talking about his previous career as a dishwasher. Clive had been a dishwasher for
29 some time, developing an intimate connection with the profession. It was hard not to
30 after growing accustomed to the grit and grime that the work demanded. The voice
31 continued, talking about the comfort that came from sliding the dishes into the dish
32
tank and watching them come out clean every time. In Clive’s experience, this wasn’t
33
34 necessarily true. He made a paradoxically prideful judgement about the deep-voiced
35 man that he certainly must have worked in a much nicer restaurant than Clive ever had.
36 The tank that Clive had worked with always seemed to give him grief, at worst forcing
37 him to run the same set of wares through three or four times.
38 Clive checked his mirror as he switched lanes. Midway in his glance, he noticed
39 that the station wagon behind him was driven by an exceptionally pretty girl, or at least
40 what appeared to be an exceptionally pretty girl. Clive had to remind himself to be wary
41 about the amount of distance involved when delegating beauty—one had to be most
42 aware of this in making appropriate judgements. Regardless, he gradually straightened
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Behi nd M e 6
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his posture as if she was returning the review. Trying to make out her features more 10
clearly, he noticed that he had begun to veer to the left. He slowly returned parallel to 11
the lines, as if the drift were nothing but natural. Yes, concentration first and foremost. 12
Don’t want to die over a false hope, now do we? 13
The radio chimed back in now, bringing the conversation once more to the 14
man’s writing career. Apparently, before his success had been realized, the man had 15
still worked his day job. That made sense. Clive respected people who had worked 16
17
in the dirt as he had. He was biased with disdain toward those who had somehow
18
bypassed this pivotal part of life. If one was to develop humility, a crummy job seemed
19
an irreplaceable ingredient. 20
Clive sped up to catch the stoplight that always got the best of him only to be 21
forced, once again, to come to a sudden stop. However, the awful victory of the light 22
did provide a much better opportunity to return to his analysis of this mystery girl. He 23
lifted his rear off the seat, trying to make his inquisition seem natural. She had golden 24
blonde hair, and behind her glasses she wore big eyes— or were they just slightly 25
overrepresented by her lenses? He couldn’t tell. Nonetheless, she had an enchantingly 26
27
clumsy look about her, the kind that Clive always found himself drawn to. The typical
28
just didn’t do it for him, but then again, not much did.
29
He looked back to the road, scanning for amusing pedestrians that always 30
seemed drawn to this particular intersection. There were none today, but that didn’t 31
prevent him from imagining them. His favorite was always the man who rode the 32
Harley Davidson shaped bicycle with high-rise handlebars—not at all practical and one 33
would think the appeal would strictly be to children—but that was apparently not the 34
case. The man on the radio was beginning to talk about his travels overseas now. Clive 35
wondered how his life might be different if he had a nice, deep voice like this man’s. It 36
37
seemed like even one especially good quality could make a person famous nowadays.
38
The girl was still behind him, having followed him at least a couple miles at
39
this point. Was she doing it intentionally? He wasn’t so foolish. Was she the one? Don’t 40
be absurd. He pictured the two of them meeting for the first time. She laughed at his 41
awkward confidence; it was his charm. She wore jeans and a hoodie, and her hair, 42
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5 The G i rl i n the C ar
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7 Be hi nd M e
8
9
10 thrown lazily into a bun, more than maintained its allure while her glasses sat not quite
11 perpendicular to her nose. In a flash Clive saw their first kiss, wedding, and first child
12 before he caught himself drifting into that familiar abyss of fantasized intimacy. He
13 smiled, but the grin quickly turned to a grimace at full absorption of the unreality.
14 He almost wished for the mystery girl, whose face was but a blur, to follow
15 him home. As if wishes could galvanize, as if the wind could phase steel. Memories
16 of previous relations revisited him like the ghosts of immaturity’s past: of one-sided,
17 vulnerable conversations turned cynical, narcissistic tirades; of mental pushes for the
18 revelation of meaning in enduring silence; and of the fights that followed. Wishful
19 dating. He would not subject himself to self-induced insanity again.
20 Yet once more he glanced into the mirror, ignoring the grim-faced ghost at
21 his side. He put his blinker on, veering into the turn lane to his neighborhood. She
22 neglected to follow suit, innocently ignorant of the decision she had made. Clive turned
23 to catch a glance of her profile, finding only a glare on her window. The aura of the past
24 was gone now, leaving him back in his car, alone with the deep-voiced man on the
25 radio.
26 He was still speaking of his travels, of a time in Vietnam when he had gotten
27 drunk with a group of old veteran Viet Cong, and asked one of them how he had rid
28 himself of bitterness to America over the war. Through a smile the vet simply charged
29 him not to take himself so seriously--the Americans were only one of many foes in
30 the country’s history. Clive gave what under normal circumstances would have been
31 considered a pity laugh. The sincerity of the statement almost had an innocence
32 to it, which seemed uncharacteristic of a drunken old war vet. Americans do tend to
33 take themselves rather seriously, he thought, yet what else would one expect with a
34 confidence raised in isolation?
35 Clive thought back to the girl behind him who must still be driving as he pulled
36 in his driveway. Did she live close by? What would she do when she got home herself?
37 The deep-voiced man on the radio was once again talking of his travels, now in another
38 land. Clive wondered why he was so interested in this man, why he envied his coat of
39 many colors; and once more the girl came to mind. Whatever the answer, it must have
40 had to do with his projection of false persona onto the glare that sheathed her face. In
41 his mind she danced as if he’d known her since childhood. Her smile seemed to carry
42 sincerity to him like an old friend. Her goodwill pushed him to be a better man. Yet he
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The Girl i n the C a r 4
5
Beh in d M e 6
7
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9
did not know her. Clive walked into his home feeling restless, and no amount of mere 10
thinking, no amount of imagination, would give him the rest he needed. 11
12
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I Cannot Explain
7
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my Frustration
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10 Amanda Parel | Prose
11
12
13 Frustrated with birds that scream at the sunrise while I’m still trying to sleep.
14 When you tell someone a secret in confidence and the next day you are confident
15 that everyone knows. The staccato beat of pens rapidly tapping in the silence. Once in
16 fifth grade when Brad Hoefflin wouldn’t stop tapping his pen, Mr. Rao came over and
17 confiscated it. I felt so satisfied.
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Frustrated when I hear people sing off-key. When my favorite song gets cut off.
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20 When my boyfriend took me to Norris Lake, and the people on a neighboring boat
21 wanted to take us wake surfing. I had never been on a lake before, much less a boat
22 on a lake, much less a board being pulled by a boat on a lake. I was frustrated that I
23 couldn’t even figure out how to get up on the board. I was frustrated with my boyfriend
24 for making it look so easy.
25 Not being able to do things right the first time. Getting made fun of for failing.
26 Failing in front of others. Trying over and over again but still getting the same disastrous
27 result each time. Slipping off the wake board for the fifth time and choking as clear lake
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water filled my lungs. “Hey, maybe you should try closing your mouth next time,” as
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30 if I didn’t already know that. Hearing the guys on the boat talking about my failure in
31 hushed voices.
32 How easily other people can tell I’m upset when I’m trying to hide it. How the
33 blood rushes to my face and my fists clench and tremble in self-hatred and humiliation.
34 How my cheeks flame red and hot tears well in my eyes, threatening to run down my
35 face.
36 When people describe crying as a waterfall when it’s not. A waterfall is at least
37 beautiful to look at, an ever-flowing miracle of nature. Crying is more like an avalanche:
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disastrous, unwanted, and uncontrollable.
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40 Frustrated by customers who take forever to order. Customers who don’t
41 tip their servers. Customers who never leave and complain too much. I almost lost it
42 when this kid chugged a bottle of hot sauce because his friends dared him to, and he
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sanitizer bucket with a bleach, soap, and water mixture and handed me a rag. I almost 11
wished there was more bleach in the mix so it could block out the foul smell wafting 12
from the table. I was still making minimum wage at the time, not enough to clean up 13
other people’s vomit. 14
People who expect others to clean up their messes. 15
The question, “What are you going to do with an English major? You’re smart; 16
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why don’t you want to be a doctor or an engineer?”
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Group chats. Loading signs. Traffic. Bad Wi-Fi. Low battery. Math. Racism. 19
Stereotypes. 20
People. 21
Yet while I expect other people to stop doing things that they should know 22
are frustrating me, I know I do things that frustrate others as well. But I don’t feel like 23
changing any time soon. 24
Double standards. 25
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10 David Farley | Poetry
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13 Brought death
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15 To test
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The mettle
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22 To yearn for water
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24 Fruit
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Hands 5
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Bridget Farahay | Poetry 10
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It starts with a fist 13
swing it horizontally and you throw a punch 14
a clock to the noggin 15
encompassing a focused moment of 16
rage, anger, frustration 17
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inflicting pain to your opponent, yet
19
reflecting pain to you.
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Take that same fist and 22
raise it towards the heavens 23
what do you have now? 24
A call to arms. 25
The battle cry of warriors. 26
From that same fist sparks 27
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a brilliant beacon of hope
29
guiding generations of
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fighters, dreamers, and believers. 31
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But pull your fist down now, 33
closer to your chest 34
raise one finger; yeah, the middle one. 35
you feel more powerful 36
but only vulnerability emits from this dim beacon 37
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watch, from behind the lines, as your sinews and tendons
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curl forward, four fingers bowing to your palm
40
a verbal “fuck you” might’ve sufficed, but instead 41
you choose to watch your body physically oppress itself 42
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H and s
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10 while you intend to suppress another.
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12 let your hand break free
13 complete the quintet
14 show the world your open hand
15 unlocked, unrestrained, unprejudiced
16 that, when met with another
17
rebounds with friendship, accomplishment
18
and comradery.
19
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21 We have the power to choose
22 what we do and how we do it
23 let’s try opening
24 our hands, our arms, and our bodies
25 to compassion and love,
26 the world could use more high-fives.
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An xiou s
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Lexi Scherzinger | Drawing 55
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50 Aqua Soulmaster
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with a Rain Date
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Lucy Harper | Photography
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flower in the crannied
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wall, you’ve grown
52 into a monster
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Angela Day | Photography
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Progress* 51
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Ethan Retcher | Poetry 55
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Once it was a birch tree 58
And lamb’s wool. 59
Now underneath concrete canopies, 60
We’re all fools. 61
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Intro
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Nora Molinaro | Prose
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58 This one time when I was in grade 10, the pediatrician told me that she thought it
59 would behoove of me to inquire about ADHD prescription medication. I stared at her.
60 This was also the time that my parents were knee-deep in a marital divorce. This was
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when my eyes were more of a flat grey colour. Not so much the wide green that people
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like to compliment. That along with my name. As if I had any say in this matter. You
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64 could also compliment my birthmark, now hidden under feminine tissue lining above
65 my ribs. You wouldn’t be the first. But it’s always a good surprise, when people find it.
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67 Like I said, I stared at her.
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69 Six years later I took ADHD prescription medication, not my name on the bottle. I
70 spent my whole day on Adderall and accidentally did really fun things such as: walked
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through an art gallery, FaceTimed my friend on the grass, went on a date with a boy
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who also likes cappuccinos, looked up articles about keyboard synths, watched a TEDx
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74 on colour, looked into a ceramics class, drank three bottles of water, listened to a really
75 good song that I adore, etc., etc.
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77 This one time on that day, somebody told me that my grey eyes are kind.
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Procedure at World Office 50
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Processing Headquarters 52
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Marin Thurmer | Prose 55
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57
“I’m not supposed to have all the answers for you. That’s not my job.” 58
59
The manager sat in a comfortable-looking leather chair behind a very tidy and 60
synthetic desk; everything from his slightly gelled hair to what one assumed would be 61
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perfectly polished shoes underneath the desk were all well-kept by the manager. There
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was a calmness and preciseness about his person that could hardly be betrayed by a
64
trained eye. His response to the employee was accompanied by a conservative nod of 65
the head and a steady gaze into the employee’s irritated visage. 66
67
“What am I even doing here then? You were the last resort. You were supposed 68
to be my final resource if everything else failed. And it’s not your job to have answers for 69
me? What goes on in this department?” 70
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The nervous man sitting across from the manager was anything but organized.
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His disheveled hair hung in limp strings around his thin face, and the sharp bridge of
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his nose stood out harshly in the office light. His eyes were wide saucers of a deep blue, 75
which mirrored the bruises starting to form under them. As far as the manager could 76
see he hadn’t changed his clothing in a few days because the collar of his shirt was 77
wrinkled and twisted about his neck from the constant fiddling that the man did with 78
his stained tie. The Manager’s slow intake of breath was an infecting calm that took hold 79
of the employee as he listened to the man speak. 80
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“Look, you need to take a step back and assess the situation. My job is to be . .
83
. a retention wall of sorts, or damage control. I can see how you could be confused as to
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what I’m supposed to do for you, because honestly it’s partly your job to try and avoid 85
seeing me at all costs, but I can’t answer your questions. I’m not concerned with your 86
particular infraction, and I know there’s no way that you can personally fix the situation. 87
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49 Pro ce dure at World O ffi ce
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51 Proc essi ng Headquarters
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55 I’m only here to offer you certain options to move forward so that you can keep
56 your integrity within the company.”
57 The employee nodded, looking down at a hole in the knee of his pants, and then to the
58 manila file that lay open and neatly distributed across the face of the desk.
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60 “So you’re saying you got nothing for me . . . Every time I glanced this office in
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my peripheral on the way to work I thought that it meant something . . . Retention wall,
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63 yeah, I’ll give you that. I’m certainly retained. And you’re basically telling me it’s going
64 to be hell to get out of this unscathed.”
65 “We want you to do well, we really do. There’s lots of services that we offer that can make
66 this mess a whole lot easier for you. If you wanted, we could write this off to another
67 employee and have them take the brunt of it for you.”
68
69 “Seriously?”
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“Or course, but then you also have to realize that it’s just going to be put in a
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73 pile among countless other write-offs, and it might never be dealt with. You would still
74 be initially associated with it on records, obviously.”
75 “Yeah I don’t think that’s the best route for me . . .”
76 “Well, if that doesn’t sound appealing then you’re not going to like the other
77 options very much either.”
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79 “Try me.”
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“Ok, so there’s a different write-off procedure where we can declare you ‘unfit
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83 to hold responsibility.’ Mind, we only reserve this procedure for instances where the
84 evidence is practically blinding and the employee really doesn’t have a choice, but in
85 your case we might be able to pull a few strings.”
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87 The employee’s eyes scattered around the objects on the desk, focusing on a
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small scratch in the glossy finish of the synthetic desk. 55
56
“What would I have to do?” 57
58
The manager leaned back in the chair, and gave the same pitch that he had 59
given thousands of employees before this particular mess had stumbled into his office. 60
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“Play the part we give you, for a time at least, and go through a rehabilitation
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program that will eventually get you back in the system on strict parole. The whole 64
process actually wastes a lot of money, but it’s one of the most popular routes that 65
people take because of the program itself. Very lax, you can take a siesta for a while 66
and not have to do much work. The downside is the label on your record. Once you get 67
entered into the program, you have to have ‘UNFIT TO HOLD RESPONSIBILITY’ on your 68
files for an indeterminate amount of time.” 69
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“Indeterminate? As in you haven’t figured out a uniform time at which the
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suspension can be taken off?”
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The employee was now intently staring at the scratch in the desk, seemingly 75
waiting for it to suddenly transform into a sign he could decipher. Upon noticing the 76
employee’s focus, the manager quickly shuffled the manila file folder around to cover 77
the spot, shaking the employee from his trance. 78
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“We consider it a progress-based decision. The more effort you put into the 80
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rehabilitation, the more you try and make up for the initial infraction, the easier it will
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be for you to have it removed. It’s hard work though, and even if you get the suspension
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taken off someone can still decide to open up the old files. That’s why people like to stay 84
in the program, because there’s really no going back once you get the suspension, so 85
you might as well have it and live easier within the program.” 86
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49 Pro ce dure at World O ffi ce
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51 Proc essi ng Headquarters
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55 “Is it easy?”
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57 The manager smiled with his mouth. His eyes revealed nothing that the
58 employee could understand.
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60 “Some operate well within their assigned role, but for others it’s somewhat
61 disabling. Depends on what role you’re assigned though, and that’s based on the initial
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infraction. Based on your file I would say you’d get a mildly difficult role, so I would
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64 really consider the option before choosing it.”
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66 “Based on my infraction! You keep saying that, but I don’t quite understand
67 what I did wrong. I followed policy as I saw it, and for some reason that I don’t understand,
68 I get written up? What sort of system is this where I’m not even told where I went wrong,
69 or even given the chance for correction?”
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71 The manager tilted his head, eyes widening. His eyes darted to the file and
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back to the employee.
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76 “I must have misinterpreted this situation entirely . . . I thought--well, honestly
77 I thought you fully understood the infraction. This changes things. I’m sorry, but you’ve
78 been processed through the wrong office.”
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80 “The wrong office? I thought this was the only one?”
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“No, we don’t really bring up the other two unless . . . well, unless someone
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84 like you comes along. I’m going to have to re-title your file with ‘FAILURE TO INTERPRET
85 POLICY,’ and from there you’ll just go into the subordinate department.”
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87 “Wait, like I’m being demoted?”
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“Yes, rather much so. We cannot tolerate infractions of policy interpretation, 55
and unfortunately that means you have to work in the Subordinate Office and be 56
processed accordingly.” 57
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“Can you at least tell me what it was that I did!? I can fix it, I promise! I’ll take 59
full responsibility; I’ll go through the program! Just tell me what it is that I can change!” 60
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“Taking full responsibility! You really don’t understand how this company
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works. I’m sorry, but the infraction already occurred. If you didn’t understand the policy 64
before, there’s a small chance you’ll comprehend it now. There’s no place for you to go 65
but Subordinate Office Processing.” 66
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“But I’ve only heard of that office. I have no idea where it is or what will happen 68
to me when I get there . . . Oh man, what did I even do?” 69
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“I’ve done all I can do for you, really, and I even told you initially that it wasn’t 71
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my job to give you the answers. It didn’t even cross my mind before that that’s what
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you meant when you said that . . . Yes, you have to be processed at Subordinate Office 74
Processing. Don’t worry though, you’ll be in good hands. They’ve got some good 75
programs over there, nice and dumbed down for your level of interpretation. It’s one 76
of the bigger operations, and they know how to get you in and out and back into the 77
workforce in no time.” 78
79
“What am I going to tell my family? Oh God, what am I going to tell my 80
girlfriend?” 81
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“If she’s anything like the others, you’ll have to say goodbye. That’s what they 84
all do in the end.” 85
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“Are you kidding me? You’ve got to be joking with me right now. I can’t handle 87
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55 this.”
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57 The employee’s wide-eyed plea was left unanswered, but the manager did
58 agree with the last statement and replied in stressed syllables:
59 “Yes, that’s quite apparent.”
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There was a pause, in which the manager maintained an uncomfortable silence
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64 for a moment before saying,
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66 “I can give you directions to Subordinate Office, but other than that I don’t have
67 anything else for you.”
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70 The employee wasn’t paying attention, however, and blankly stared at the
71 repetitive grain in the synthetic table; his parched lips formed words that were not
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spoken, until he took a slow breath and said,
73
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75 “It was so simple when we were children. They handled issues so loosely then,
76 and you were always told your mistake.”
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78 The manager impatiently huffed and said,
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80 “You’re not a child anymore. And I don’t have time to deal with this. Now that
81 I’ve determined that it’s really not my job to deal with you, I’ve wasted company time.
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Subordinate Office does a marvelous job with these things, and they’ll talk with you
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84 about whatever it is that you’re hung up on, ok? But I have other employees to process,
85 so if you’d like I can show you how to get to Subordinate Office.”
86 The employee slowly rose from the stiff-backed chair with a dazed look on his
87 face. He turned as his right hand grazed the bristly fabric and hung there for a moment,
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finally dropping as he softly uttered, 55
56
“No, its. It’s alright. I’ll go find it. Have a nice day.” 57
58
The employee took his processing slip from the outstretched hand of the 59
manager out of the room as the manager pushed a button on his desk phone and barked 60
“Next!” into the receiver, quickly collecting the various papers in the untouchable file 61
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and throwing them back into the manila envelope. He paused before reaching into the
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very bottom drawer of his desk and fishing out a rather worn looking stamp. Quickly
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pressing it into vitriolic green ink and onto the folder, he slid the file into a red outbox 65
on his desk careful to not transfer the wet liquid to any surface on his person and was 66
done with the man forever when the office assistant came to collect the processed files 67
for the day. He sat back in his leather chair, and a shadow of concern crossed his face 68
as he looked down at the scuff on the table. Moving the red outbox, he covered it and 69
arranged the other various materials around it so that none were the wiser. 70
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49 Summation of a Life Never
50 Met Whose Ghost Haunts a
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52 Conference Room
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55 Tschetan Esser | Poetry
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58 Early on
59 A little talking cat
60 Told you
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62 Then
63 Your partner is
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Introduced to a vortex
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66 Polarity to the bone
67 Portal to a home
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70 Then
71 Your daughter’s Womb
72 A Bright Blue Swamp
73 Wrapped around your precious grandsons
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Runs off
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77 You become a turtle blanket
78 For them
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81 You die of Cancer in the brain
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86 “Everybody be quiet, carols here”--Just when I felt it.
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Lessons for a 50
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Fourth Grader 52
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Annie Lazarski | Prose 55
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On Monday, she took out her thermos and ate alone. She looked out the 58
window and drew a picture of a pine tree. 59
On Tuesday, she ate in the classroom so she could finish her math homework. 60
On Wednesday, she ate a PB&J at the table and thought about her dog. 61
On Thursday, she read. 62
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And on Thursday night, she thought. She stepped out of her world for an instant
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and saw the people. She saw how they acted and laughed. She saw how they spoke. She
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saw how they dressed and spent their time with each other. On Thursday night, she had 66
a thought. On Thursday night, she laid her outfit on her dresser. On Thursday night, she 67
didn’t read before going to bed. 68
On Friday, she got dressed and looked in the mirror. Her mom drove her to 69
school in the morning, as usual. But at lunch, she sat at the table eating her soup and 70
wearing her outfit, when a girl on the other end said, “I like your shirt.” 71
She finished her soup, her smiling face reflecting on its surface. But the soup wasn’t 72
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good. She wouldn’t notice that until later.  
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On Friday evening at the dinner table, her mom asked her a question over a
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plate of pizza. “What did you learn at school today, honey?” She looked up from the 76
book she had been hiding in her lap. “People like stripes, not me.” 77
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How to Live
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55 Cassidy Sattler | Poetry
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58 Living is leaving
59 Reminders, mementos, garbage.
60 On every space touched by
61 Your shoes, your hands, your eyes.
62  
63 Movie ticket stubs, ripped with blunt edges.
64 Crumpled receipts shoved in coat pockets.
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“Caution: Floor is Wet.”
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67 Cigarette butts, omens of death.
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69 Slamming doors, whooshing revolving ones.
70 Honk, honk, honking car alarms.
71 Drip, drip, dripping faucets.
72 Thumping clothes tumbling in a dryer.
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74 Bright lightbulbs long forgotten.
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Glasses stuck behind a bedframe.
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77 Wrinkled bedsheets, warm mattress.
78 Dog-eared page in a worn book.
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80 Footprints in the sand, snow, dirt.
81 Rearview mirror ornaments.
82 Tumbling wake behind the boat.
83 Bread crumb trail.
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Everyone lives, everyone leaves
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87 Pieces of themselves behind when they
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How to L iv e 50
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Rush, skitter, hurry, jolt, bounce out of 55
Situations, rooms, lives. 56
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Living is leaving 58
Traces, memories, DNA. 59
On every space touched by 60
You, your thoughts, your presence. 61
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The Ache of
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Expanding
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55 Megan Caldwell | Prose
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58 Sometimes I just utterly, blindingly lose myself. I go looking in other people,
59 tearing ribs apart, picking through clavicles, and peering in as if to ask, “Have you seen
60 my other half? Would you mind looking inside of this ribcage? Maybe she’s astray in
61 there and needs a spark to lead her out.” I end up captivated for a while, content to think
62 that they were the one, the one that had a half of this whole stuck in the very back of
63 their mouth or rooted deep within their pelvis.
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But they’re all fakes. They’re great at lying through those yellow, chipped teeth,
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67 and I always manage to be hopeless enough or empty enough to believe someone
68 different, someone new can fill my lungs up. I’m trying to teach myself to breathe, but
69 God, it aches to expand.
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Jack Renfree | Prose 55
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Antagonist sent his strongest minion, Conflict, to the village of Exposition, 58
home of Main Character. Conflict then murdered Love Interest, enraging Main Character. 59
They fought. In a twist of fate, Conflict killed Main Character and stole the Sword of the 60
Protagonist. Conflict left, his task completed. 61
62
Little did Conflict know, Background Character was also in love with Love
63
Interest. Enraged by her death, Background Character sought revenge on Conflict
64
and Antagonist. But Background Character was too weak to fight. So he went to the 65
elder, Narrative, who told him that he must defeat Conflict and take the Sword of 66
the Protagonist as his own in order to defeat Antagonist. Narrative gave Background 67
Character a tool for his quest: Motivation. 68
Background Character traveled through the slopes of Rising Action, where 69
Conflict had fled. On his journey, he encountered Characterization and Obstacle, which 70
gave him the power of Character Development. Armed with these tools, Background 71
72
Character fought and defeated Conflict, recovering the Sword and becoming the
73
Protagonist.
74
All that was left was to defeat Antagonist, but Antagonist was unreachable in 75
his fort on mount Climax. 76
Until Deus Ex Machina stepped in. He took Background Character to the fort on 77
Climax through means unknown. There, holding Motivation, Character Development, 78
and the Sword of the Protagonist, Background Character dueled Antagonist. 79
Their battle was epic, filled with action and Plot Twists. Antagonist seemed too 80
strong to defeat. 81
82
But Background Character was fueled by his love for Love Interest and could
83
not be stopped.
84
Background Character defeated Antagonist once and for all on the peaks of 85
Climax. 86
And so Background Character, his victory achieved, traveled to the land of 87
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51 O ne fo r the Bo ok s
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55 Resolution to spend his remaining days. There he lived, happily ever after.
56 As for what Theme was doing, they’re still debating that.
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Dry Hump 51
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Tschetan Esser | Poetry 55
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I’ve seen you naked 58
Spread out all over the bed 59
Spread out all over the floor 60
Spread out all over the 61
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blame
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As a little figure / excitable sprout
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(abused and angry) 65
someday || you’re gonna || wake up 66
crying 67
sweating 68
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you’ll never be dry again 70
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I see you now and no
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amount of sunlight
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touches your 75
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Turbulent plane 77
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Torturing your passengers 79
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Ominous Entitled child 81
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nothing to say
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but you’ll go on for days
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(Sinister and Thief) with love letters and… 86
disperse them as atomic bombs 87
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Dry H um p
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55 you little… (we are not throwing you away)
56 you could be big… (but we are watching you)
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Angela Day | Prose 55
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Gum wrapper paper cranes litter the floor like stars against an oriental carpet sky. Tiny 58
birds with creased wings advertising “minty fresh breath” and “long-lasting flavor.” 59
Beaks precisely bent, tails crisp and pointed. Thin waxed paper warped from the exhale 60
of hot breath, whispered prayers against the wings. 61
Tell me who I am. 62
63
One thousand. One thousand carefully folded paper cranes for one wish. It
64
seems easy at first, reasonable, the birds already scattered like constellations across
65
your floor. But the time-consuming, patience-testing, mind-numbing art stretches on, 66
stretches you too thin. By the time one hundred perfect little mint- and cherry-scented 67
birds are aligned on a string, there are enough wishes for each individual crane alone. By 68
the next hundred, the wishes outnumber the birds, the stars, and grow more desperate 69
with every new crease in the paper. 70
Tell me who I am. 71
The cranes tossed carelessly into a box, sworn never to be seen again. The 72
73
oriental carpet sky cloudy, a starless night. The box—simple cardboard with the stains
74
and smells of chocolate—packaged as an afterthought, moving with you to a different
75
place. Shoved in the closet, taking up space in the tiny room in that tiny town you will 76
call home for the next four years. 77
Tell me who I am. 78
Paper cranes from gum wrappers, cough drop wrappers, candy wrappers, tiny 79
chocolate wrappers. Shiny foil birds stuffed into that cardboard box. Failed quizzes, 80
advertisements for events you won’t go to, coffee-stained napkins at 4 a.m. Some days 81
they come in ten or fifteen at a time, wings crinkled and damp from salty tears. Notes 82
83
with hearts dotting the “i,” doodle-covered corners of notebooks, colorful origami paper
84
you bought without hesitating on a summer day. Some hide curses in their folds, some
85
confessions, some kisses and a secret smile. 86
Tell me who I am. 87
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Pape r C ra nes
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55 Paper cranes gathering in your desk drawer, your pencil pouch, spewing out
56 of your overturned purse and fluttering from your wallet towards the cashier’s feet. In
57 the end, they too enter the cardboard box, shut away in the closet. By the time the box
58 is removed, packed up, and headed home for the summer, the lid is kept down by a
59 rubber band.
60 Tell me who I am.
61
There are over one thousand folded paper cranes. You left that tiny room in that
62
63 tiny town years ago but they followed you, the birds, and they wedge themselves back
64 into the folds of your brain. Peeking out of corners next to dusty moments of your life
65 you sometimes wish you didn’t have to think about anymore. Boxes line the shelves
66 of your closet, birds framing your books, smashed behind bottles in the medicine
67 cupboard, balanced on your nightstand, in the inside pocket of your rain jacket, next to
68 your vase of dried flowers, stuffed between notebook pages. Tucked into cards bearing
69 well-wishes or goodbyes, physical manifestations of your heart being mass-produced
70 and handed out with hopes that someone will know the answer and grant your wish.
71
Tell me who I am.
72
73 Addiction. Intricate nervous tick. Muscle memory that doesn’t fade though
74 everything else seems to have—eyesight, strength, wonder, youth. Skin cells have
75 completely remade themselves over and over into a new person. You’re not quite sure
76 you’re the same person on the inside anymore, either. The only thing you’re sure of
77 is—fold, and fold, and fold.
78 Tell me who I am.
79 Like constellations, sometimes you can see the pattern. Sometimes you can
80 trace the answer along the delicate creases of gum wrapper paper cranes, fragile and
81
shy. Sometimes it seems so clear, star beacons forming a picture against an opaque sky.
82
83 There is an answer, a cure to the maddening question that plagues you, has plagued
84 you, will plague you until 1,000 becomes 100,000. Somewhere, in the folds of your
85 less-than-perfect paper cranes, is an answer.
86 Tell me who I am.
87 Sometimes—like constellations—they make no sense at all. Clusters of stars
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Pape r C ra nes 50
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without reason, thrown by some Infinite Giant like dice, a cosmic game of Chance. 55
Sometimes you stare at the you stare at the stupid little birds in your hands and your 56
boxes and your house and your mind and you feel insane. There is no pattern, and there 57
is no answer. You are searching for a method to the stars’ madness in backs of glossy 58
magazines and daily horoscopes, trying to find reason in the meaningless scatter of 59
paper cranes thrown down on the hardwood floor in frustration. Desperately searching 60
for meaning in the strings of 1,000, 12,000, 45,000 birds, asking for an answer and 61
62
hearing nothing.
63
Tell me who I am. 64
Nothing. 65
Tell me who I am. 66
You wonder if that is the answer. 67
Tell me who I am. 68
Fingers too old to press as sharply on the creases, nails frail and worn to the 69
cuticle. Age-spotted hands cramp after three folds, eyes too blurred to focus on the 70
details of that tiny bird resting on swollen knuckles. Mind too weary, body too weary. 71
72
Not enough—not even close to enough—to grant your wish. It’s a big wish, the one that
73
dwarfs and swallows every other. Even with paper cranes numerous enough to carry 74
your body away, drown you, fly you towards the billions and trillions of others in the sky, 75
it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. 76
Tell me who I am. 77
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50 STANDING ROCK
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52 & WEALTHY MAN
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55 Tschetan Esser | Poetry
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58 SOMETIMES THE WATER TURNS BLACK AND YOU’LL ASK WHAT DID THIS?
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60 WHAT’S DOING THIS?
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62 WHAT KEEPS DOING THIS?
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THE RIVER PICKS UP SPEED
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OR IT DOESN’T MOVE AT ALL
66
67 WHEN IT GETS GOING
68 THERE’S NOTHING TO GRAB ONTO
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70 TOO DEEP TOO ROUGH JAGGED OR SLIPPERY
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73 SOMETIMES THE WATER TURNS BLACK AND YOU’LL ASK WHAT DID THIS?
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75
WHAT’S DOING THIS?
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78 WHAT KEEPS DOING THIS?
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83 To me
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He appeared to be an eagle
85
Perched on a rail
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87 Looking out at the Pacific
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WEAL TH Y M AN 51
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That first time in Malibu 55
56
Horrible things happened to an Honorable being 57
58
“If you’re ever in LA, look me up,” He said the last time 59
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Next time I’m in LA, I will look up 61
62
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He had a willow Yellow 64
I only played once 65
He paced back and forth 66
He jumped around excited 67
Only stopping when I did 68
“GO GO KEEP GOIN!” 69
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At times He sang 71
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Called out to nothing
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With the rest of us 74
75
A Horrible thing happened to an Honorable being 76
77
Out over that ocean 78
A water bird moves swift 79
80
I know an eagle 81
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Who flies
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shouting 84
“GO GO KEEP GOIN!” 85
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55 Maria Moore | Prose
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57 The sun was seeping onto Xander’s skin, caressing his cheek and kissing his
58 neck. He ran his tongue over warm, cracked lips and took a gulp of the briny air. He
59 tried to soak up the tranquility of the moment, but a small tinge of guilt kept gnawing
60 at the edge of his mind. His thoughts drifted to the last remaining box sitting atop his
61
pristinely made bed, waiting to be packed. He had been putting it off for a while now.
62
Filling up that box just seemed too final; it made things too real for him.
63
64 Xander sighed and let his palm skim the surface of the water. It was hard for
65 him to imagine himself, in just a few short days, on a college campus hours away from
66 everything he called home. He couldn’t just let all his studying go to waste on the city’s
67 sub-par community college, though. He wanted to make something of his education.
68 At least, that’s what he had told his mother.
69 Speaking of his mother, he was going to be in major trouble with her when he
70 got back. She didn’t like him going out on his own, but he wasn’t about to sit at home
71
all day just because his friends bailed. If he was being honest with himself, he actually
72
was kind of glad he would be on his own today. The water had always given him room to
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74 think and breathe. Besides, in his whole lifetime of experience, there hadn’t been one
75 mishap.
76 The water lapping at his skin raised the hair on his arms as goose bumps began
77 to dot his flesh. He ran a finger over them, trying to send them back to where they came
78 from, but the sun beat him to it, and with a loving embrace, subdued the water’s icy
79 bite.
80 It was midday, and Xander had already had great luck with a southeastern
81
swell. He knew he should go in to get something to eat or drink some water at the very
82
least, but the ocean was treating him too kindly for him to consider leaving it. So, he
83
84 remained atop his battered green surfboard, allowing the waves to take him where they
85 may.
86 Sighing again, he removed his sunglasses and perched them atop his thicket
87 of curly, chestnut hair. His eyes squinted while they tried to adjust to the harsh glare of
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the sunlight dancing on the waves. Once his eyes became accustomed, he looked down 56
at his body. He had been liberal with the sunblock before coming out this morning, but 57
it was probably time to reapply. Xander ran a pruney finger over the remnants of last 58
week’s sunburn. The tiny flakes of dead skin had been floating away from his body like 59
grains of sand in the wind for much of the past few days. 60
61
You’d think spending a good portion of the summer surfing and charring his
62
skin would make him immune to the annoyance of its peeling, but it always remained
63
an inconceivable irritation to Xander. It made him worried that people would mistake 64
it for dandruff or just poor hygiene. They might think his uncleanliness a reflection of 65
being raised by a single mother. Xander’s mom had worked too hard for her reputation 66
to be sullied by something so trivial. Biting his lip, he promised himself that he would 67
start to paddle back in five minutes so he could slather on the sunscreen and grab a 68
quick bite to eat. 69
He closed his eyes and let the sound of the crashing waves on the shore ease 70
71
his mind. After what felt like five minutes, he opened his eyes and made ready to
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return to the beach. He looked down, expecting his legs to appear ghostly pale among
73
the gloomy green of the ocean water, but was surprised to find them tinged red. His 74
thoughts became clouded, and he bent closer to the water for a better look. Dread 75
brewed in the pit of his stomach as the red did not dissipate but deepened into a rich 76
crimson. He jolted back, and he quickly lost his balance, falling off the side of his board 77
and into the water. 78
Xander was momentarily gripped with panic as the bloody waters swirled 79
around his neck. He spluttered, his mouth twisting in disgust at the taste of the salty 80
81
water mixed with the metallic tang of blood. He desperately reached for his surfboard,
82
but his fingers only glanced off the side. He tried again and was able to manage a firm
83
hold. He clambered onto it and clung on with white knuckles. His eyes darted around 84
the water wildly, searching for the source of the blood. 85
Xander’s gaze suddenly locked onto an odd mass floating in the water. His 86
breath faltered, and his heart fought to break free of his ribcage. Lazily drifting by 87
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55 were the mangled remains of a sea turtle carcass. The turtle’s amber shell gave him a
56 toothy grin, blood seeping from each puncture. All but one flipper had seemingly been
57 torn from the sockets. Strands of sinew and tissue still hanging from the body floated
58 carelessly through the water toward him.
59 He tried to look away, but his eyes were frozen on the bloody smile. It was odd;
60 the carcass looked to be at least an hour old, but the puncture marks continued to ooze.
61 Everything he had ever been taught to do in this situation fled from his mind. All that
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remained was instinct and fear, and the fear was threatening to drown him. His eyes
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widened as he realized fear was steadily moving toward him in the form of a dark grey
64
65 shape.
66 Fierce determination to survive overtook his body. He was a marionette
67 manipulated by instinct. Instinct’s strings urged his arms to slice through the waves.
68 Instinct did not allow Xander to look back. Fear was there to tempt him. Don’t look back.
69 He sped closer to the shoreline. He could hear the terrified shouts of the tourists dotting
70 the beach. Sea spray and sweat trickled down his brow. He blinked rapidly to focus his
71 vision. Just keep paddling. It felt like an eternity. Finally, his board’s fins dug into the
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sand of the shallows.
73
Abandoning the surfboard, Xander clawed his way onto dry land. Instinct was
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75 lessening its hold over him, and shock was taking over. A hysterical giggle escaped his
76 lips as he drove his hands into the sand and embraced the earth like a lost lover. Tears
77 spilled over his cheeks, and his body curled in on itself as he hugged his knees to his
78 chest with aching arms. He closed his eyes and saw his mother’s face imprinted on the
79 backs of his eyelids. She was wearing the encouraging, knowing smile she had given
80 him the day he had anxiously spluttered out his plan to go away for college. This was the
81 woman he would be leaving behind after taping up that final box. He knew now that he
82
would leave it unpacked.
83
Gradually, the numbness paralyzing his limbs was overtaken by a prickling
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85 sensation extending under his skin and deep into his muscles. He was vaguely aware
86 that his body was shaking, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the frigid water or the terror.
87 Xander opened his eyes only slightly to keep the sun from blinding him. He bent his
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fingers experimentally and tried to lift his arm, but the limb felt awkward and separate. 55
He inhaled deeply, focusing on how the saltiness in the air tickled his throat while he 56
waited a few moments for the daze to pass. 57
Slowly, he pushed his body into an upright position, noticing how the shouts 58
were continuing. Was there someone else in the water not as lucky as he? An icy stab 59
of dread pierced his chest as he frantically searched the water with his eyes. Try as he 60
61
might, he could not find the source of the chaos. He listened harder.
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Understanding slowly dawned on him as he realized that the shouts were
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not those of fear but of excitement. He scanned the horizon once more and saw. Up 64
and down they went, glittering against the water as the sun lavished warmth upon 65
them. Xander blinked incredulously. He slumped onto his back against the gritty sand, 66
shaking his head in disbelief. Not a shark, but a small pod of dolphins had come to 67
smile and say hello. 68
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50 I Would Not be the Empire I
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52 am Today if You had Stayed
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55 Alicia Di Scipio | Poetry
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58 i am confident i am over you. so much that some mornings i wake up with a smile on
59 my face and my hands pressed together thanking the universe for pulling you out of
60 me. thank god i cry. thank god you left. i would not be the empire i am today if you had
61 stayed. but then. there are some nights i imagine what i might do if you showed up.
62 how if you walked into the room this very second every awful thing you’ve ever done
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would be tossed out the closet window and all the love would rise up again. it would
64
pour through my eyes as if it never really left in the first place. as if it’s been practicing
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66 how to stay silent so long only so it could be this loud on your arrival. can someone
67 explain that. how even when the love leaves. it doesn’t leave. how even when i am so
68 past you. i am so helplessly brought back to you.1
69
70 i read poems by my favorite author before bed. rupi. i feel empowered. i feel like a
71 strong woman. one who has gone through hell and somehow still managed to find
72 herself. and then i come across this poem. again, i feel strong. right up until it reads
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“but then.” and i know it’s coming. i know it’s too good to be true. i am confident i am
74
over you, but. i do wake up with a smile on my face, but. i would not be the empire i am
75
76 today if you stay, but. you broke me. you scarred me. i was badly beaten, it took weeks
77 to stand up on my feet. it took months to wipe the blood off my wounds. i wish i could
78 say it took long to fall out of love with you. but your new girl made that one easy. you
79 see, it’s hard to be in love with someone you hate. and i hated you, someone i had loved
80 so much.
81
82 i was stubborn. i was childish. but all i had was my dignity so i held it so tight i lost
83
feeling in my fingers. your punishment, for breaking my heart and breaking me down,
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you would never hear from me again. you did not deserve the privilege to know what
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86 was happening in my life. you chose not to be a part of it, and you got your wish. i kept
87 my promise. we never spoke a word to each other. and then there was the letter.
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I Would Not be th e E m pi r e I a m 49
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Tod ay if Y ou ha d Sta ye d 52
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i wrote you a letter. it said sorry and how dare you and why did you do it and it was my 55
fault too. it said many things. it was filled with apologies and forgiveness. the only thing 56
that was missing, was an apology from you. i still read rupi before bed. 57
58
sometimes the apology never comes when it is wanted. and when it comes it is neither 59
wanted nor needed.1 60
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rupi writes the words that i am thinking. it’s been four years since we went our separate
63
ways. and sometimes i wake up with a smile on my face and my hands pressed together 64
thanking god for pulling you out of me and for pulling me back to myself. i wake up 65
reminded that i am an empire. and sometimes i wake up, probably from a dream that 66
included you. and in my dreams you always apologize. your mouth is full of sorry and 67
words like i ruined it. your eyes are full of i can’t believe i let you go. and on those 68
mornings i wash my face with extra cold water. i take extra long showers. and it takes 69
some time. but. i remember that i am an empire. 70
71
72
1: Kaur, Rupi. Milk and Honey. Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2015.
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Window, Still
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55 Katie Kehres | Poetry
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57
58 Crossed legs and matted hair,
59 Pressed now
60 Against the glass--
61 As close as I can get
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Is this a bonsai
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65 Potted and perched
66 In front of me--
67 Socked toes nearly touching it?
68
69 Head swivels
70 To face glass
71 Today was a good day
72
73
Across the way
74
75 Branches open wide
76 Cloaked with an arrangement
77 Of red and auburn leaves
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79 I want a tree outside
80 My house, no--
81 Inside my house
82 No--
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I’d like to be a tree
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Genesis 51
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Bill Abbot | Poetry 55
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1. In the beginning was the word. 58
2. And the word was “loneliness” 59
3. It was a very isolated word, one which future generations would puzzle over 60
4. The universe, though, is poetry, so it was a perfectly workable word 61
5. When burned or tattooed into one’s arm, however, it implies a permanence that many 62
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may not want to embrace
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6. Better your arm than your forehead, though, for the first word 65
7. Next time, one hopes the Creator chooses a better word 66
8. Maybe “freedom” or “honeypot” 67
9. Something a little more promising 68
10. Or at least less gloomy 69
11. Instead, we are stuck with “loneliness” 70
12. As if that is what we all have 71
13. In this world of overstimulation and conformity and lack of direction and abundance 72
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of want and greed
74
14. We are stuck with “loneliness,” 75
15. Almost as if a leaf falls 76
16. And someone ate the plums on the table, the ones you were saving, and left you a 77
note saying sorry not sorry 78
17. And the red wheelbarrow by the chickens has rusted 79
18. And a destroyed statue crumbles in the desert like an etherized patient on a table 80
19. Saying “I am loneliness, king of kings.” Despair. 81
20. But what a great place to start being whatever the Creator is, 82
83
21. Recognizing His feelings instead of holding them in
84
22. In hopes of relieving them, or at least noticing what He needs 85
23. To feel happier 86
24. But what a burden to leave on His creation 87
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A ne w G ene si s
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55 25. And what a place to create
56 26. What a lifetime to wander, forsaken, through the long and dry wastes
57 27. In hopes of finding another person
58 28. With which to feel less alone
59 29. And arrive together into some mythical Promised Land
60 30. Of sex and money
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31. Or so our world thinks is the promise
62
32. Though I strongly suspect that neither of those alone
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64 33. Can save us from that first word:
65 34. Loneliness
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Tell Me When You Decide: 50
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Mayu Nakano | Creative Nonfiction 55
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When I opened my Facebook page one day, a couple of months after I’d gotten 58
my American citizenship, I saw that two of my friends had shared a link of a news article 59
from JapanToday: “Court Upholds Deportation Order for Thai Teenager Born and Raised 60
in Japan.” When I clicked on the link, the first thing I saw was a picture of a dark-skinned 61
boy with black hair. 62
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Utinan Won. That was the name of the sixteen-year-old Thai boy. Ask any
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Japanese if they have heard of that name, and they are now bound to say yes; his name
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has become well-known since the Japanese government decided to deport him and 66
his mom because neither of them are Japanese citizens. His mom is from Thailand, and 67
came to Japan on a vacation visa. Apparently, she ended up staying long after her visa 68
expired, which made her illegal. On the other hand, his father—most likely a Japanese 69
man—is unknown. Because the Japanese system refers to people who have Japanese 70
parents who come from a Japanese bloodline and are registered in Japan as citizens, 71
the government considered Won as a non-citizen, and illegal because of his mother’s 72
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background, which resulted in the deportation. Even when he took up a court case, the
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Japanese court upheld their decision for both him and his mom. Or, apparently, he was
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allowed to remain in Japan if a Japanese family took him in. But that would have meant 76
separating him and his mom completely. Stripping his identity away. 77
“How is this court system fair?” I asked my mom, sitting on the floor next to her 78
in our living room. She was scrolling through NHK news, a Japanese news website and 79
broadcasting station, the equivalent of PBS. 80
“It’s what the Japanese government calls for.” She shrugged. “And besides, the 81
mom was staying there illegally.” 82
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“But they’re deporting him.”
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“The government can’t do anything about it. Otherwise, if they let him and his
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mom stay, they’re going to have to give that permission to everyone like that.” 86
“But he’s Japanese,” I said. 87
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54 “He’s Thai.”
55 “He’s like me.”
56 “How?” I felt the air get heavier as she said this single word, as though she
57 thought I was looking for a fight, and that she was most definitely going to prove me
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wrong.
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60 “Because he’s spent all his life in Japan, like I’ve spent my time here,” I replied.
61 “But you’re not illegal,” she stated simply.
62 I took a deep breath to calm myself. This was not a matter of legal or illegal. It
63 was who Utinan was as a person. How did she not get this? “The news article said that
64 he can speak, write, and read Japanese at a high school level, while he can only speak
65 Thai. And yet, the court system is all, ‘We are upholding this decision to deport a kid who
66 has a limited language ability because of a condition that was not his fault, believing
67 that even if he can’t read or write in Thai, he will be able to graduate high school in Thai
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with absolutely no problem, and go to college where he will be required to read highly
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70 advanced texts, and write at a university-level.’ Don’t you see? He relates much more to
71 Japan. He is Japanese.”
72 Mom shook her head, and didn’t reply. But her silence was enough to tell me
73 that in her mind, citizenship to one’s country outweighed any personal affiliation that a
74 person might have.
75 I made a mental note to myself: In Japan, background > affiliation.
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77 Nick and Hiroto straight up tell anyone who asks if they have a dual citizenship
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that they do, even though they were supposed to give up one of their citizenships when
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80 they turned twenty-one. Becky, an actress who is (half Japanese, half American),
81 is also known to have dual citizenship. But another in my Japanese class, who
82 has dual citizenship, was interrogated at Narita International Airport when she went
83 through the Japanese citizen gate and accidentally presented her American passport.
84 In the summer after I’d gotten my American citizenship, my friend, Jen,
85 who came out as transgender the month following, asked me why I didn’t want the
86 technically-non-existent concept of the Japan-America dual citizenship. Despite her
87 argument about being able to have both passports, I ended it by saying that I didn’t
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want to get in trouble and be interrogated when something did happen. 55
The real reason, though, was that I was sick of my Japanese citizenship and 56
having to correct people who assumed from my name and appearance that I had just 57
come from Japan that yes, I was born to Japanese parents and raised in Japan for seven 58
years, and came to America when I was in first grade. So I am a Japanese citizen, who 59
knows English, and actually majors in English creative writing in college. But I’m not an 60
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American because I wasn’t born in the U.S. I’ve just lived in America for over half my life,
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and I relate to American culture much more and know the language. Instead of saying
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all of this in one giant breath, I could just sum up the question of where I am from with a 64
single word: Cincinnati. It’s short. It’s simple. And if I gave up my Japanese citizenship, 65
I would be simply an American. 66
I gave it up altogether. 67
68
It might have been a rash decision. Which is ironic because I tend to overanalyze 69
everything. 70
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I wonder if my dad was this rash with his decision to quit his job in Japan to
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pursue his dream of living in the U.S fifteen years ago. I also wonder if my mom was
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this quick to agree when my dad told her of his decision. Maybe. I never asked them. 74
But I feel like since I had started elementary school in Japan by that point, they thought 75
about the long-lasting implications more. I can’t imagine either of them stopping and 76
standing in the juice aisle at Value Mart that was near our small apartment in Tokyo, 77
thinking about how their lives would change if they brought watered-down orange- 78
flavored juice with a blue cartoon seal on the bottle, or the un-watered-down orange 79
juice with lots of added sugar, which came in a carton with an actual picture of an 80
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orange, as though to advertise, “Hey! We’re much healthier than the seal orange juice,”
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even when it’s really not. My parents weren’t as obsessed with one-hundred- percent-
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zero-sugar-added-never-from-concentrate orange juice as they are now. 84
I don’t think they would spend a whole lot of time thinking about small 85
decisions, and I don’t think I would be concentrated on these decisions either—whether 86
to grab a cup of water or orange juice—if I felt as confident about my decision as I made 87
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55 myself seem.
56 It was summer vacation before senior year college, and I was working on my
57 undergraduate research project that I thought would be a good opportunity to partake
58 in, especially for graduate school. This was another decision I’d made without much
59 thought—another instance of me jumping at an opportunity to change my situation.
60 On the screen of my laptop, Chrome was opened with at least ten tabs. Admissions:
61 Kyushu University. Admissions: Nagoya University. Admissions: Sophia University.
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Miami University Library Database. Miami University email. EasyBib. Facebook. Search:
63
64 Japan graduate programs in English. Search: Ōe Kenzaburō, A Personal Matter. Search:
65 Daniel Keyes, Flowers for Algernon. I reopened the word document, in which I was in
66 the middle of writing a comparative research paper on Japan and America. I scrolled
67 through the document until I reached the end, as though by doing so, the amount that
68 I’d already written would magically increase. I still had five more pages to write.
69 “How is your research project coming?” Dad asked when I went into the kitchen
70 a couple of minutes later. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Mom who was reading
71 a Japanese mystery novel. Our dog Hijiki was lying behind her, pressed against the
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back of the wooden chair. His tongue was stuck out as usual. He breathed in deeply, and
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74 exhaled, as though trying to pass on his carefree life to me.
75 “Eh,” I replied. “I guess it’s coming along. I still have to finish the section on Ōe
76 by the end of the week.”
77 “Sounds like a lot of work,” he said.
78 “I know. But it’s good experience, especially for grad schools,” I answered,
79 opening the cupboard. I contemplated whether I should drink orange juice or just
80 stick to water. Water had less calories and sugar. Orange juice, on the other hand, was
81 nutritious, and I could avoid another instance of Mom making a fuss about how I never
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drank anything healthy. Also, American orange juice wasn’t simply sugar juice, which—I
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84 realized—should be what orange juice that I drank as a child should be called in Japan.
85 Orange-flavored sugar juice. .
86 “So you really are going through with this?” Dad asked, changing the topic
87 without warning.
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I nodded. But as usual, I changed the subject, although I can’t remember what 55
it was that I’d actually said. That is the thing about speaking Japanese. I am able to 56
change the topic suddenly, and say what is on my mind without much thought. I also 57
often find myself forgetting what I said in Japanese. It is as though time speeds by for 58
me in these instances. English, however, is different. I have a difficult time changing the 59
subject. I also remember what I said, and what the other person said to me, a lot more. 60
We were speaking in Japanese. 61
62
Orange juice or water?
63
64
“Name one trait that is characteristic of Japan that you absolutely cannot stand, 65
and why you have a problem with it.” 66
No one has ever asked me this question, but I wish they did. My complaints 67
would be endless. A series of (complaints about the most trivial things) that 68
would annoy even the most patient people to the point that they start -ing about 69
me. But when the biggest (maybe stereotypical) fault that I see with a lot of Japanese 70
people I’ve come to know is their tendency of (pretending you 71
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didn’t see/hear anything that went against your values when it actually did), how can
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I not complain? At least if I complain, and they complain about me, neither of us is 74
pretending anything. The American value of communicating openly is one aspect I will 75
never get sick of. 76
When I was in seventh grade, people from the Japanese church we went to on 77
a monthly basis (it was only held once a month, on the second Sunday) “encouraged” 78
Dad to become a member of the band that provided the instrumentals for the church. 79
They had one pianist, a violinist, a drummer, and a guitarist. Dad, though he played the 80
guitar, was asked to play the bass guitar part, which just meant that he would be playing 81
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a series of steady beat-like sounds on his guitar rather than the actual main melody.
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When he first began, he didn’t really like taking part in leading the congregation when 84
they sang. In fact, he complained—totally -ed—to me and Mom. But he couldn’t 85
make himself say the words he said to us to the group. Instead, he just accepted it as 86
part of his life. “Don’t drink. It’s a sin. Gay people are sinful. They chose to be gay.” I 87
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55 pastors who the church—not having an actual pastor—called in occasionally. He was an
56 old man—in his eighties when I’d first seen him—with white hair, glasses, and darker
57 skin. He walked with a cane, and when he preached, his voice projected louder, forcing
58 people to listen. He also has repeatedly told the congregation each year that that year
59 was going to be his last time coming to the U.S. because his body was becoming too
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weak for travel. So far, though, he has come back at least every two years to give the
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62 same sermon on the varying types of sins.
63 My dad was driving through the back roads of Kenwood in order to avoid the
64 massive traffic. The roads were narrow, consisting of four-way stop signs instead of lights
65 and a couple of local bars that might appear in movies. In one of the small streets, there
66 was—still is—a tattoo parlor. The area is also not lit so well at night—the overgrown trees
67 continue to block the stars, and there isn’t much streetlight to begin with, either. It looks
68 dark even during the day.
69 Neither he nor my mom seemed to want to partake in my conversation.
70
“ ,” I continued, through gritted teeth. My throat felt tight, and I
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72 forced myself to keep moving my eyes. It was a simple technique I’d learned a long
73 time ago to stop myself from crying in frustration.“
74 ” (I’d
75 said something along the lines of, “I can’t believe he is a Christian of all people when
76 Christianity is all about accepting people.” But my tone came out harsher. My word
77 choices were the purposefully disrespectful ones).
78 My parents still didn’t say anything about the topic, even though I knew that
79 they didn’t agree with him. But they weren’t going to admit it. Their mindset of
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was too strong. They were going to continue to think and pretend that everything
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82 was—and is—going okay until it all fell apart.
83
84 Because I’d never been in the gifted program and my parents didn’t know
85 much about how the honors classes worked at American schools, I wasn’t placed into
86 advanced math during junior high. In fact, until eighth grade, when I wanted to override
87 my teacher’s recommendation to get into honors English, I never took an advanced
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class in any subject. During the time when I was in regular classes, I was always That 55
One Stereotypical Asian Kid Who Got Straight A’s, and the kid that all the other students 56
thought was too smart to be in their class. 57
I didn’t mind being the smart kid, though, and, for the most part, thought that 58
I belonged in the standard classes. I had friends I got along with, and I related to them. 59
60
But the more I spent time with them in classes, the more it became obvious that they
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had expectations of me being in honors classes.
62
One day, in my pre-algebra class, my teacher gave us time to work on our 63
homework. I don’t remember what the assignment was, exactly—something algebra 64
related, with x’s and y’s, and graphing. Annie was trying to get the assignment done on 65
her own in the seat diagonally behind me, while Haley sat in the seat behind, doodling 66
on the corner of her paper. I stared down at the loose-leaf sheet of paper before me, the 67
questions we were supposed to do for homework all done, except for one problem that 68
I just couldn’t solve. 69
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I looked up to the teacher’s desk. Mrs. McArthur was helping a student, and
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another girl—Leah—stood in line. I contemplated whether to line up—wanting to get
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all of my homework finished, but simultaneously not wanting anyone to figure out 73
just how much of the assignment I had done. When someone saw how much work I’d 74
already completed, they’d always draw unnecessary attention to me. I felt like Leah was 75
going to say something if I got in line. But I walked up anyway, and stood behind her. 76
The last thing I wanted was to have to waste more time because I’d been slow and had 77
let another person get in line before me. 78
“Do you know how to do this problem?” Leah asked me. She showed me her 79
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paper, filled with loopy numbers, and equally loopy letters. I took a cursory look, and
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noticed that she was stuck on the same problem that I was. I also noticed that one of her
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answers was wrong. 83
“Not really,” I said, pretending to not have seen the mistake. “Sorry.” 84
“Oh, it’s okay.” She proceeded to talk about other things, mostly about how the 85
class was not as difficult as she’d envisioned it to be. I was about to agree, when she 86
asked me, “So why are you not in advanced math? You’re so smart.” 87
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55 “Um,” I said, not able to come up with a clear response. What was I supposed
56 to say? What was any girl, who’d asked her mom to not make her a traditional Japanese
57 bento box for lunch in elementary school because she didn’t want anyone to question
58 her eating with chopsticks, who wanted to stay out of the shadow of the Asian population,
59 and who’d had to play dumb at times to not draw attention to her Asian-ness, supposed
60 to say at a question with such heavy stereotypes?
61
“Um,” I tried again. “I guess it’s because my test scores weren’t high enough.”
62
“Hm.” She shrugged her shoulders, and gave me a strange look, as if she didn’t
63
64 quite believe what I was saying. “Weird.”
65 I didn’t know whether to take that as a comment for the school system or for
66 me.
67 I can see how it’s a lot easier to rather than to fight back what
68 people think about you.
69
70 Congratulate your connections on their new jobs.
71
Said an email from LinkedIn. The blue on the box where I was supposed to
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click to congratulate my “connections”—the people who could supposedly help me find
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74 a job, and supposedly serve as networking opportunities—looked too bright, as though
75 saying, “Click me! I’m sure that I would serve as invaluable opportunity to help you get
76 to where you want to be. Japan? America? Don’t worry, I’ve totally got your back.”
77 Totally not.
78 I exited out of the email, and clicked the tab I had opened for the JET—Japan
79 Exchange Teaching—program that my Japanese professor recommended I apply
80 to when I got my citizenship. The program is only open to U.S. citizens, and I would
81
not have been eligible for it if I remained a Green Card holder. I’d ran into a lot of
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situations like this in the past, and it was nice to know that I now would be able to
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84 apply for any job, any position, any grad school in Japan through the international
85 program without question once I got my U.S. citizenship. People are not always sure
86 what to do with Green Card holders, especially for study abroad, possible employment,
87 international programs, and internships. Can people who aren’t citizens work here?
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Yes, for international students… Oh, but I’m not an international student. I’m 55
a Green Card holder. Oh, lemme just check… 56
Before studying abroad at Sophia University in Tokyo—a college that is famous 57
for its global program—I had to check and recheck that I was eligible since I was a 58
Japanese citizen. It took a lot more time to figure out the answer than it should have, 59
and a lot of going back and forth with the study abroad office. 60
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No longer any of that. At that point, I would just have a clear-cut identity.
62
“But you want to work for a Japanese company, don’t you?” Mom asked me 63
as we sat down for dinner, one night over the summer. She sat across from me, and 64
reached to the middle of the table to grab the bottle of olive oil. This was usually the 65
time she would bring up topics—questions about my life that I should be thinking 66
about, but never thought too deeply about for fear of the imminent future. It’s always a 67
few minutes after she’d finished cooking and had finally settled down—a few minutes 68
before Dad would get out of the shower and join us for dinner. 69
I nodded. My grandparents still lived in Japan. I wanted to be with them. 70
71
“Yeah.”
72
“In that case, it might actually be better if you don’t give up your Japanese 73
citizenship. And you might have a harder time living in Japan because you do look 74
Japanese and have a Japanese name.” 75
For her second part of the comment, I did initially think about giving myself a 76
new name. But looking at the twenty-something paged official document where I had 77
to write my “alien registration number” on the right-hand corner every time I flipped 78
to a new page, as though to say, “This is the last time you’ll ever be associated with this 79
number,” and the last page asking me to give up loyalty to my home country, I decided 80
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that I couldn’t give up my name. I couldn’t give up the uniqueness associated with the
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kanji— —meaning universal. It was the last part of my Japanese identity. It gave 83
me a root. It grounded me, if not in Japan, then in my family. 84
“But I can’t go to grad school in Japan if I don’t. I also won’t be able to do JET, 85
either. They won’t accept me if I’m not a citizen,” I told her. 86
“Your father and I support whatever you decide to do,” she replied. “Just… 87
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57 remember, though, the world is never as simple and easy as you think.”
58 A part of me was already starting to figure that out. And she knew that I knew it,
59 too. But I wasn’t going to admit it. She wasn’t either. We just needed more time, more
60 , for me to be their (mostly) Japanese daughter, and depend on them the way I
61 always had.
62
63 No matter where you come from, if you have two different backgrounds, you’ll
64 always face an identity crisis. Once again, citizenship =/= a solid sense of identification
65 for one’s country.
66 On the first day of my study abroad classes at Sophia University, I took the
67 subway that went opposite the direction I wanted to go. Panicked, I immediately got off
68 at the next stop, went to one of the offices, and asked in English how I get to Yotsuya.
69 The worker wore glasses, and gave me an uncertain look that made me realize that he
70 wasn’t confident in his English ability. Simultaneously, though, he looked at me as if
71 wondering where in the world I was from. Korea? China? But that only lasted for an
72 instant, as he nodded politely, took out an English version of the map, circled Yotsuya
73 with a pencil, and spoke to me in English, pointing in the direction that I needed to go
74 to get on the correct train. The second time, I was at a different station—Shinjuku—after
75 meeting with my friend, Kenta, who’d graduated from Miami two years before. This
76 time, when I wasn’t sure which way I needed to go, and didn’t have my map with me,
77 I decided to test my Japanese skills. Like before, I walked up to one of the offices, and
78 asked a worker where I should go to get on the train that will take me back to Aoyama.
79 He rolled his eyes, handed me a map, and turned around to continue his conversation
80 with his coworker. He didn’t even bother to write anything, nor explain.
81 The incident at Shinjuku happened when I was still a Japanese citizen.
82
83 I am at McDonald’s with Shinji when he is recounting his struggles writing his
84 paper for his ESL class. He says he envies me for being bilingual. Instead of answering,
85 I ask him whether he has any difficulty understanding what I am trying to say when I
86 speak to him in Japanese.
87 He answers no.
88 “Sometimes I just wonder,” I say.
89 We go back to doing our work, but after a couple of minutes, he asks, “You
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know how Aaron was born here, and he grew up here?” 57
“Yeah.” I mentally recall that our friend, Aaron, is like me—his parents came 58
to America from Taiwan, and raised him with Taiwanese values. But unlike me, he was 59
born in the U.S., and has had an American citizenship. He never had to choose. 60
“Well, I had him look over my paper last week since he’s technically a Native 61
speaker. And then when I showed it to James to look through it after Aaron edited the 62
paper for me, Cory said that I shouldn’t have brought it to Aaron because his English 63
isn’t even that good.” 64
“What?” 65
“Yeah. And then, to make it worse, Dylan actually said that Aaron isn’t a ‘Native’ 66
because he still has that Taiwanese background to begin with.” 67
I couldn’t say anything in reply. 68
Will people think of me that way? Maybe I’m only fooling myself when I try to 69
be “American.” 70
I’ve only recently gotten my American citizenship, and because a lot of the 71
people I’ve come to know in college have only known me as a Green Card holder, and 72
I haven’t gone out of Ohio all that much, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know 73
if I’ll ever fully get rid of my Japanese identity. And, in some cases, maybe a part of me 74
doesn’t want to. 75
Citizenship=/= identity. 76
I’m still floating in and out of both worlds. I’m still in both worlds. Time never 77
stopped when I got my citizenship, and I never felt like I was restarting my life as an 78
American girl. 79
80
It’s as if nothing has changed in my life.
81
I watch as Shinji goes back to gazing at his computer. He’s the one who
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suggested I try iced coffee rather than regular coffee a few weeks ago. I take a small sip, 83
still thinking about me, and where I want to go. In the end, it just feels like I reversed 84
the situation I was in. Nothing really is easier. 85
Utinan Won. Aaron. And me. 86
When will identity become equivalent to citizenship? I only wish I knew. 87
But iced coffee, at times, tastes even better than water and orange juice. 88
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