TOUCHSTONE2012

STAFF

Terri WiTek FACULTY ADVISOR

EDITOR Mariash Duga

aManDa DorseTT ASSISTANT EDITOR

& WEB DESIGN ian CaMpbellGRAPHIC DESIGN

Noise COVER ART angeliCa Millan

CONSULTANTS

ChrisTine FiTzpaTriCkFINE ART

briTT MarCzakPHOTOGRAPHY

philip MeisnerDIGITAL ART & SOUND

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Arlington Road Savannah Kater

Beatrice, Out of Paradise Amanda Dorsett

When You Wander Jennifer Schmitt

VII Luciana Ramos

October 31, 2011 B1 Lindsay Marsh

Tare Chelsea LeNoble

Nomad Jean Juliano

Run Away Dream Demi Nicks

Kabul Stephan Saunders

Steadfast Thread Erin Carney

Search and Rescue Brittany Marcak

8

9

10

19

20

21

24

35

36

37

55

un court Alexis Rowe

Memories of an Immortal Jeff Brooks

A Slave to Time Britt Marczak

cage size Mariash Duga

La Pascua Florida Rebecca Renner

Driving Home Meghan Moist

Maths Miracle: Problem #1 Kayla Gomme

Childish Algorithms Angelica Millan

Insomnia M.T. Magno

eyes like lotus petals Sakina Manji

Hornblower Kristina Collins

57

59

69

74

75

76

89

91

92

93

94

Heavy Hearted Brittany Mann

Bakersfield Adam Balaban

Mother Sakina Manji

Wonderland Elizabeth Curry

Casey Anthony Sakina Manji

Dychotomy M.T. Magno

Maura Dear Maura Martin

Winter Bonsai Will Seward

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96

97

98

99

100

101

102

DVD CONTENTS

Run Away Dream Demi Nicks

A Word For Wendy Robert Allen

Sonnet 97 Alexis Rowe

your chance Will Seward

8Arlington Road

Gusts of wind, rain collects the smell of oak,where splintered pieces dont seem to fit.

Scraps of maybe four people form a winter solacealong the forked dirt lawn in morning.

Heres the floor, children first walked on,first slid across, on sock-covered heels.

Where mum fed the weeds, dad spilled his flaskand you snuck cigarettes.

Smokey dreams sunk in lumber.

Now, planes of plywood overlap like former friends,intertwine fragments and lay on spines,

with knowledge of a time like when and how we stood.

Savannah Kater

9Beatrice, Out of Paradise

In the back aisle, the pew

wobbles, brown as a tooth.

The translation is wrong.

Even so, the stained-glass window

fragments the yard outside

where church ladies pilfer lemon bars.

One dressed in pale eels picks

at a scab: My God cured Bessie Gilmans

cancer. Shes in remission.

The others nod, fragile-necked.

Somewhere, a raw woman absently tucks

a mechanical rose behind her ear.

Under her desert-red scarf, celestial

freckles scatter. She palms a river rock

over and over and over. amanda dorSett

10

When You WanderErin watched the edges of the snow-capped moun-

tain turn from blue to gold. Wrapped with heavy pockets of fog, black trees peppered the white slopes. The locals said that a child wandered through that forest, looking for some-one to feed his starving mother. Sometimes, when loons trembling calls settled on the lake or coyotes wails echoed against the mountain, you could still hear the childs cries for help.

It wouldnt be the last time the mountain swallowed a lost soul.

Standing on her parents porch, Erin propped her mug of hot chocolate against her chin, letting the steam warm her nose. Often she had wandered through those woods; the mountain must be filled with the memories of footprints taken and not taken. It was time for her to finally walk the footsteps that should have happened years ago. She set the mug on the wooden railing, zipped up her green parka, and jumped off the porch onto snow-patched grass. On the driveway, her red Volkswagen and her parents rusty Ford pickup sat, lightly dusted.

No driving this time. She needed to walk. Luckily, Hungry Mother State Park wasnt far away. Up ahead, a strip of sand ran along the edge of the lake. Tourists gathered here in the summertime, but now the beach was desolate. Across the water the mountain rose, pink in the early light. Old, darkened acorns and pine needles mingled underfoot, her boots splashed emptily on slushy pavement, and sharp scent of charcoal drifted through the damp cold.

Erin turned the corner at the five-bedroom log cabin with an oak stump in the yard. It was one of the markers on a path she had walked many times before with her brother.

Jennifer Schmitt

11

After a moment, she moved to the wide stump and sat down.

Her family had moved from Florida to Virginia when she was six and he was nine; their parents worked full-time in the ARC Entrepreneurship Initiative, which helped start small businesses in impoverished Appalachian towns. When her mother and father werent working with the locals, they were at home in front of their computers, planning manage-ment strategies. Timothy learned quickly how to quietly navigate the living room, but Erin was always too loud, too energetic, too needy.

New to the idea of snow and bored within a too-quiet home, Erin and Timothy retreated to the strange white world. They spent as much time as they were allowed out-side. The day of their first snowfall, Erin had stood on the stump, her pink tongue trying to catch the white powder falling from a blank sky. Her long hair had waved back and forth as she danced after the flakes.

Dont fall, Timothy said, Momll kill us if she finds out you were climbing on things.

Mommy never cares, Erin replied, kneeling to back off the stump.

Ill tell her.

No, you wont. She stuck her tongue out again, this time at him.

He threw a snowball at her. She shrieked and bent down to grab a handful, and another volley of icy cold hit her purple pants. Returning fire, she managed to get some snow up his nose. Soon, they were kicking snow at each other, pushing and pulling each other onto the soggy ground.

Jennifer Schmitt

12

Propping herself up, Erin giggled at the snow caught in Timothys dark hair. He looked past his knees at her, then started laughing. They helped each other up, and Erin grabbed Timothys knit hat from the ground and handed it to him.

Thanks, he said, dusting off the snow.

She noticed her breath came out in tiny clouds. Look, Timmy. Im a choo-choo train! She craned her neck back, giving short puffs.

Timothy watched her prance in a circle. No you arent, silly. He pulled out an invisible cigarette and took a smooth draw. Steam curled toward an incubating sky.

Erin stopped, staring at his elegant motion. Whatcha doing?

Cant tell you. Youre just a baby.

You look like those guys who sit outside the library back home.

He rubbed his stub into the street. This is home now. Hands in plastic coat pockets, he strolled away.

Erin ran to catch up. Forever?

Forever.

A blackbird flew overhead, cawing. The sun glinted past gray clouds, sparking the snow and drawing the bark of trees in sharp relief. Emaciated limbs formed a wooden tunnel ahead, the wind whistling over the shadowed street.

Do you think trolls live here? She asked.

His eyebrows lifted. Maybe.

Lets go find them.

Jennifer Schmitt

13

Naw. Mom says they eat bad children, and youve been bad.

Have not.

Have too. You climbed that tree stump.

And you smoked. Cmon, Timmy. I wanna hunt trolls! She grabbed his thin hand, and they had run togeth-er down the road.

Erin smiled and stood up, watching her memories vanish around the corner. The old stump looked lonely as she strolled back to the road.

The further she walked, the more cracks veined the pavement with dead weeds. The wind ruffled the ends her chin-length hair, and she pulled her knit hat over her ears. All around her, thick oaks and bare camping sites heralded the end of human territory in the park. Beyond, a few hik-ing trails wandered, but even those dusty roads didnt know what the mountain truly contained. A sign leaned to one side, its faded wood proclaiming Scenic Overlook Ahead.

Erin paused at the railing. Clouds had gathered with-out her noticing above the tall pines. An aloof sky, the color of soapy water, leaned over a patchwork world of sunken houses and unsteady trees. Far away, hazy mountains bulged up from languid valleys, hiding secrets and sorrows under their rocky skins. Sometimes the mountains re-minded her of her parents: distant, immovable. They were rocky husks, and contained in them were ghosts of another time. Now her brother was one of those ghosts, wandering the deepened wrinkles of her parents faces and the rut-ted paths of the mountain. When Timothy had disappeared three winters ago this very day, her parents tried to con-nect with the child who wasat leastalive. But even their phone calls while Erin was at college were listless, like their words were too hard to form.

Jennifer Schmitt

14

This place felt too much like him. He had fit in so well here; the neighbors always greeted him when he was outside, he went to every single bluegrass concert, he boasted about the fact that Mountain Dew had been invent-ed just a few miles away in Marion. He was lucky.

Not her. Not the one who had lived. She scuffed her fur-lined boot against the edge of frozen pavement. The locals had deemed her incompatible with small town life: too energetic for the church choir, too clumsy for the July Fourth float, too self-confident for the monthly socials. She had also dated too many of their sons. Unlike the celebrity high school sweethearts of the town, Erin found herself hop-ping from boy to boy. The only one that could have lasted was Ned Sanders. He was the only one she had taken on this walk, and he had carved a heart somewhere along the trail.

A large birch tree guarded the entrance to the out-look. Erin hesitated, looking closer. On the trunk, a dark outline of a heart encased E.J. + N.S. She ran her finger along the indentation, letting the rough edges catch her skin.

Ned had carved this back when they were sopho-mores in high school. Before the black dust of the mines melted him away, Ned had been gangly, young, and foolish; but then again, so was sheespecially the day hed carved that lopsided heart.

His shock of blond hair had bounced over his eyes as hed grabbed her hand.

Erin, youre one hell of a gal.

Even through the wool of her gloves, she could feel his warmth. She took a deep breath, and drank in the feel-ing of being wanted.

Jennifer Schmitt

15

Set in a crisp blue, the sun shone bright and strong, and the high, delicate clouds promised a good day. Piles of snow glinted on the railings of the overlook and on the scarred limbs of birch. Light mist curled in the valley below, where the few houses looked almost clean.

Did I say something wrong?

She turned back to his worried face and smiled. Not at all. His cheeks were red, and she couldnt decide if it was from the cold or from her. Something in her heart sang.

Chapped fingers fumbled for his keys. Here, he said, pulling out his Swiss Army Knife. As small strips of white bark fell from his blade, a crude heart slowly formed. Eventually he stepped back, appraising his simple work of art. He gave a nod of satisfaction, smiled at her, and envel-oped her hand in his large fist again. Cmon. You wanted to show me that secret spot of yours.

Timothy stood in the entrance to the outlook, thin in his oversized sweatshirt and loose blue jeans.

All warmth left her smile. Tim.

His shoulders hunched. Sorry, Ill leave. I didnt know you two would be here.

No, its fine. You can walk with us, if you like. She tried to smile again.

Neds grip loosened a little. He glanced back and forth between the brother and sister. I dont want to be a problem or anything

No, its fine. Her brother turned, heading back home. Eventually, a bend in the road had swallowed her brothers figure, defeated and discarded.

Jennifer Schmitt

16

Erins hand fell from the engraving entrenched in birch bark. They were all idiots. Tim should have stayed, and Ned should have chosen a pine tree with needles that could last a winter. She should have said something. Sigh-ing, she turned to continue on the snow-lined path.

Just a mile ahead, the bridge waited for her return. She hadnt been back since she had left her brother there, since he had disappeared three years ago. Every anniver-sary she had tried to walk this path, but she couldnt bring herself to face the memories. But she wouldnt go any fur-ther today. Ghosts wandered beyond this bridge, looking for a way to find more food for their ever hungry mother, and Erin had no reason to tempt them.

The bridge looked exactly as she remembered. Stained with age, burdened with snow, it curved over a quick stream to join with a footpath that scaled the moun-tain. Somewhere, chunks of snow fell thundering into a gorge, as if the mountain had shaken herself awake.

Erin had needed to leave. Timothy had never been able to understand that. He always wanted to stay close to home, if a house without real parents could be called home. He had begged her to pick a college closer to Ap-palachia. But she was eighteen, and wanted to see the world.

Dont leave me alone, he had said.

What are you talking about? You have friends at the community college and your job.

But youre my only sister.

She could hear him think, and my only family. Her heart sank a little. Maybe Mom and Dad will actually care, once I leave

Jennifer Schmitt

17

Maybe.

Icicles hung off the spine of the bridge, and water rumbled below. On the other bank, a cardinal cast a splash of red.

You grow to love the place. His voice sounded choked.

She snorted. Youre joking.

Its peaceful here. Orlando was full of people too busy to care about everyone else.

But Mom and Dad werent too busy to care about us.

Timothy leaned his arms on the wide wooden railing; even maturity had failed to soften his gangly wrists. Slowly, snow gathered in his short beard.

The brother and sister watched their lungs cast steam into the frozen, dripping world. Tim cleared his throat. Learned something in class the other day. Did you know that cold isnt something you feel? Its the sensation of heat leaving your body.

Timothy She straightened and turned to walk away.

Do you want to go hunt for trolls?

She didnt look at him. Were not kids any more. I have to start packing, now, or Ill never be ready for the flight. I cant afford to miss another semester of college.

Erin, dont leave me.

Ill see you at dinner, Timothy. She strolled back down the path, her eyes on the ground.

Jennifer Schmitt

18

But she wouldnt see him at dinner. Instead, a bliz-zard would sweep in, rattling the windows and pounding the walls. A search team wouldnt find anything the next daynot even his teal hat.

Erin wanted to scream at the memory of herself. She wanted to tell her that she needed to turn back, that she needed to give her brother a hug and take him home with her. But her past self kept walking until snow-laden branch-es blocked her from view. Erin stood, staring at the memory of her brother, whose hands covered a shaking face. She took a step forward.

Its okay, Tim. Im here now.

He looked up at her, his hands still raised. His beard was longer than she remembered. I tried, Erin. I tried and tried, but I couldnt make you stay. When he moved his hand to wipe moisture off his face, she could see red lining his eyes. White dusted his slumped shoulders.

A few short steps, and she was hugging him. De-spite the bulk of his jacket, he felt the same: the security of his arms around her, the sharp smell of that ridiculous Old Spice, the too-bright teal of his knit cap. It was the same-ness that made her cry.

Jennifer Schmitt

19

VII.

This is a double/life: what rendersme immobile with grass stained knees and hands lodged

in the swamp-sand that passes for soil is the sameGod that ties me to the stagnant ink & chair

the kid-act of schoolparade of pushed up framesand scrunched up faces. Self-contained. Awakened.

In Monday daylight I stand proud with the dust of one hundred books. Then the slope of a crow

perched on the shoulder twists and distorts. Low/life. The life of ex-cons. A lowering of brows.

Have you dealt? And thrust your hands intoJunes algae covered water? Down by the lake

we are measured side by sideand like linesin the sand, drawn from the same shifting ground.

Lucianna ramoS

20

October 31, 2011 B1

She stayed.

Married him at 18 despite doubtsFrom friends who insisted sheCut herself off from him.

Youre going to have to not call.She changed.

Tiny, she spoke on the edge of tears.Nothing I can do.

*Taken from the New York Times Business section

LindSay marSh

21

Tare His affections sit on a kitchen scale. I measure

them wide-eyed, take note of the weight. Something

like eight or ten ounces. I dumped them onto my

empty scale today, harvested from a Good morning,

beautiful, text message. It feels like a fresh start, like

I could be weighing raspberries or cornmeal instead of

words. I mix an ounce or two into my self-esteem. Ill

save the rest for the hungry space between us, the few

days before we talk again. Theres a chance I could ra-

tion it for the rest of the week, if I have to.

But I wont have to. Sometime that evening, Ill

sow another ten ounces, placing them delicately, in-

credulously, on the scale. Im swollen, bloated with

attention. I inhale and exhale his affections as if they

were the only oxygen Ive ever known, and Ill say,

I feel like weve known each other for a while

now.

Its only been a couple of weeks. But Im running

out, I need to extract something I can inject into my

vulnerability. He can be my carbohydrates, he can be

my steroid, he can be my adrenaline. As long as hes

giving me what I need to get a taste of myself.

Maybe a month passes this way. And soon,

cheLSea LenobLe

22

without ever meaning to, Ill tare the weight. Ive got

a pound of affection, spilling over the edges. But the

little black number blinks, 0.00, on the gray digital

screen.

I stop harvesting the good mornings or good

nights. My metabolism scorns their simplicity. Ive

been introduced to soda, the bubbly sweet things, the,

I missed you today, the I cant wait to see you. A fat

fifty ounces each. Certain things wont fit on the scale

anymore. Complimenting my smile, the sparkle in an

eyethey fall through the colander in search of actual

treasures. And the holes keep getting bigger.

But Im weary for attention. I cast doubt like

chicken bones, each one assaulting him, greasy little

fingers on vending machine buttons. By this time, I

know which words fit the slot, which will buy me a L3,

Ive never felt this way about anyone before, or a B4,

I care about you more and more every day, dropped

by the coils of his heart into the black, steel receptacle

belly of my insatiable vulnerability. Its evidence, you

realize. If he can love me, maybe I can, too.

Sometimes, my self-image stomach catches me

off guard, and I have to reach back to the scale to

remember words that used to get me nourishment. In

less than an hour, I degenerate to the desperation of

an, Im thinking about you. I miss you.

cheLSea LenobLe

23 cheLSea LenobLe

The, Ditto, sweetie, response does nothing for

the rumbling. Its too expected, not ambitious. Im

used to the ballsy stuff by now, the, I dont know what

Id do without you, that weighs a kilo and feeds my

army of insecurities for the weekend. Ill craft a few

short replies, an uh-huh, a cool, and an I guess, to

finally leech out the,

Whats wrong?

The anxiety builds after he asks it. I dont text

back for over an hour, contemplating how best to

harvest a hefty serving of attention. I dont remember

what I say to deserve the Is it too early to say that I

love you? in a text. Like hot bacon drooling itself onto

a spatula.

If hed said it in person, Id go into anaphylactic

shock. The text itself reset the scale. A tare. But some-

thing resists when the button is pressed on, I love

you. The flashing 0.00 announces the weight of hope

minus my uncontrollable emotional ambition. Imme-

diately, caring and missing and thinking about

weigh nothing.

Something voraciously consumes an, I love

you, weighing exactly one Me, each day; and the scale

shrinks back again, because nothing I place on it car-

ries any weight.

24

Nomad When it was over Hal sat among the stunned

and watched time unhinge itself from the moment of

the collision where it had been temporarily snagged.

People began to merge towards the wreckage, rushing.

The inevitable crowd was forming, Hal thought, and

the news trucks would come eventually, almost defi-

nitely. Wails of some distant ambulance began to usher

the seconds back into line. Hal was vaguely aware that

the moment of the wreck was leaving; the crowd was

assembling, watching the last threads tear off from the

metal and move along forever.

The brown windows of suburban market shops

and cafs betrayed the breaths of children, noses

pressed to glass and hands cupped around eyes, trem-

bling on knees, on high chairs, straining, eventually

tugged down by their parents. The gym emptied into

the crowd of helpers and screamers and onlookers. Hal

trained on the forehead of a boy, a student, leaning

towards the debris from inside the bookstore, focus-

ing on the tragedy only in peripheral. That was his way.

A cloud reflected in the bookstore window, imposed

itself just over the boys face, and Hal was able to stop

thinking. He sat still in the outdoor seating of Madi-

sons Coffee & Cake, shaded by a white and red um-

brella, trying to focus on the cloud and not on the car

Jean JuLiano

25 Jean JuLiano

wreck.

He felt vaguely aware that there was a certain

poison in looking directly at the mangled mass of

steel. He perceived the devastation only by the tinted

windows of the downtown shops, reflecting and re-

reflecting all down the plaza. Shadows of the crash

loomed in the corners of every mirror-window of every

shop, of every windshield, of every pane of glass. The

smaller car, whatever it had been (it might have been

red), puckered violently on its right side. The other

fell slack, exhausted, the joints relaxing their hold on

doors and belts and plates. The hood tore skywards,

rippling against the ether, its engines and entrails ex-

posed.

Oh God, Elise said, emerging. Hal hadnt im-

mediately thought of her. He was nearly surprised.

What in the hell had he been thinking about in the past

seconds to shadow his family like that? He thought for

lost time: my wife, my kid, my son. Then: my wife

and child. Revised: my beautiful wife and child. He

was coming back now. Elise sat across from him, her

back to the window of the caf, gripping their wailing

kid and rocking him in circles on her leg, like maybe he

had gas.

Oh God, she said again. Their babys screech-

26

ing increased and the pitch grabbed her: she began

to bounce him. Oh baby, oh god, she cooed, leaning

towards his face, puckering her lips. Oh my baby boy,

oh honey, how did that even happen?

I dont know, Hal said. The current was slow-

ing but it wasnt done. Hal sat on the aisle, his space

rubbing shoulders with the walkway. He thought about

dipping his fingers into the stream and grabbing some-

one. The thought was terrifying. I didnt even really

see it, he said. I didnt know until the noise.

I didnt see either, Elise was quick. She wiggled

her head at the baby. Did you see it, honey? Did the

noise scare you? Oh honey, oh baby, oh god.

Oh not him, the noise didnt scare him, Hal

tried. He strummed his fingers around the diamond-

holes in the table, experimenting with grins. My boy

wants a piece of those sirens. The cops. Hes gonna tell

those noisesyou know, what for.

They werent the only still ones. The other stag-

nants were easy to spot in the rush, especially now

that the surge was over and people were beginning to

only dribble into the pool. They settled in the crowd,

only occasionally coughing or shifting, moving hands

over mouths, holding other shoulders. And Hal thought

there really wasnt much difference at all between them

Jean JuLiano

27 Jean JuLiano

at the caf and them in the throng. They had all seen.

The cars had just sort of slid.

It looked so easy, a man said. He was one of

the slow ones, trailing the tail end of the near-obligato-

ry migration. He passed by their table, saying things to

an older woman beside him. It looked so easy.

Hes right, began Elise once the man was a

good ten feet beyond them, momentarily transfixed.

Now eleven feet. She turned back to their son, sway-

ing him. Oooh but the noise was so hardHal, do you

have the bag over there? He wont stop crying. Oh, my

poor little guy.

The bag was set quietly on the ground, just

about half-way between them. Hal reached down and

pulled it up with much dramatic fanfare, making faces

and huffs, playing the strain against gravity. I learned

this from my body-building days, he panted, and stuck

out his tongue, and pulled a face, and shook his head

like a dog or madman.

Oh, sweetie, look at your daddy the clown.

Hal heaved the bag onto the table with a grunt,

collapsing in a manner that he must have learned from

his thespian days. His arms splayed across the table-

top and his head played dead with exhaustion while

Elise tried out a giggle. Eyes-closed, he could still hear

28

his sons cries bouncing off mothers knee and sirens

swerving into rescuing position. Ambulance lights

throbbed through his lids, and the bawling went right

on. He made sure he was facing the windows again

before he allowed himself to look. Flashes as far as the

eye could see.

He could see the firemen. Silhouettes that moved

window-to-window as only rescue workers could. The

crowd was shuffling again, obeying commands to get

back. They watched indecisively for a body or a mira-

cle.

And their son wouldnt stop wailing.

Maybe hes hungry, Hal suggested, pulling out

a bottle. You should try feeding him. When was the

last time?

Not long, Elise said, but took it anyway. Prob-

ably. Thats it. Youre probably right, Hal.

Theyre going to have to cut em out, someone

said. Hal looked around. It was a boy, just some teen-

age kid with his mom. He was leaning against a car

that had pulled up to the curb while his mother shifted

endlessly from street to sidewalk, up and down. She

scratched just below her lip and pretended that she

was trying to see.

Jean JuLiano

29 Jean JuLiano

I saw this in school, the boy explained. They

recreated a bad crash and brought wrecked-up cars to

the football field and shit. Then they kinda simulated

the rescue? And the firemen cut the actress out of the

car.

Hal turned away and tried to focus on his son.

He was crying hard still and wouldnt take the bottle.

Well, maybe just his binky then, Hal suggested.

Anyway, we should probably get moving. He might be

tired. We should get him to his crib. Hes probably just

sleepy. Thats always the ticket.

But baby, Elise began, frowning. She shook her

head and grabbed a pacifier from the bag, trying to

aim it into their childs mouth. But honey, she cooed.

If its really that bad, if they really have to cut the per-

son out of that carwhat if they need a witness?

I didnt see anything, Hal was quick.

Oh sweetie, I didnt either. Ah, well, no, no. I

guess I did. Oooh but not well. I know it. I must have

seen some kind of reflection. Or, Hal, maybe I saw the

real thing. I dont know. I saw them hit, Hal. Maybe I

looked just in time. It looked so easy at first, but Hal, it

sounded awful. You heard, it sounded so terrible.

Did you try putting sugar on that thing? Hal

30

asked. He snatched the pacifier from her hand and

reached for the center of condiments, ruffling through

the sweet-n-lows for something a little more original.

I mean I know its probably bad for him and stuff, he

laughed. But every once and a while the sugar trick

has got to be OK. I mean this kids got to stop crying

right? Hal popped the pacifier into his own mouth and

grinned, holding out his arms for some applause at his

silly faces. He wiggled his eyebrows at Elise.

Right. Right, sweetie, look at your daddy.

Hal ripped open the sugar packet and carefully

dabbed with the rubber end. Yeah, try that. Hell like

that.

The infant sucked it silent for a moment before

a drilling noise punctured the air, and the boy behind

them said thats it, thats the sound, mom, theyre

cutting the car. Their baby belted out another howl

and Elise caught the pacifier when it rolled from his

mouth. Drool and sugar smeared down his cheek. She

slammed the toy on the table, massaging her temples.

Hell never take it, Hal. Hes just not going to

take it.

Goddamn, its just that noise. If they hadnt

started on that noise hed be fine. Its just the god-

Jean JuLiano

31 Jean JuLiano

damn noise, Elise. Relax sweetheart. Hell forget what

hes crying about, you know. Thats what babies do.

They just sort of forget like that. Let him cry it out, itll

be good for him. It builds character, Elise.

Hell never stop crying, Elise sighed.

Cheer up for mommy, sport.

Can you just hold him for a second, Hal? I hate

this.

A horn blared behind them and the police pulled

up in back of the crowd. The throng parted slowly as

the cops poured out and pushed a middle-aged woman

through to the wreck and where they were cutting. Hal

decided she was crazy to ever go toward it. She looked

disheveled. She was crying too, almost in time with

their kid.

Oh god, that was Connie, Elise said, hugging

their boy.

You havent seen her in a while, right? You

should call her.

That was Connie, and the car. I saw the car

that was Katies car. I didnt recognize it at first, but

that was Katies car. And that truck just plowed into it.

It looked so easy. And Connie, god Connie must be a

wreck.

32

Hal turned his chair and bent his head down

toward his crying son. Elise was looking straight at the

crash now. Hey, hey, come on, buddy. Look at daddy.

Look at your old man. Stop crying, bud. Bud, youre

making mommy sad. Come on, buddy. Itll be over.

God, thats her daughter, Hal, Elise choked. She

looked down at her wailing kid and squeezed his mid-

dle like she could squeeze out the last of the moment.

The threads of the tragedy clung only to that pitch. It

needed to go. The boy hiccupped and sobbed.

Sweetheart, Elise, baby. Goddamn, Elise, thats

not helping. Talk to him.

You talk to him.

Well he doesnt want to hear it from me, sweet-

ie.

Well I dont want to hear it from you, Hal.

Well damnit, Elise, I dont want to hear it from

him. Just shut your damn kid up already.

She pushed her chair back and the metal against

the concrete only made the crying louder. She threw

everything back in the bag and tried to sling it over

her other shoulder. I have to go see, she apologized.

I have to make sure. Connie must be a wreck. She

Jean JuLiano

33 Jean JuLiano

bounced the infant on her hip while she tried to bal-

ance the bag and cooed oh honey, were just going

to see. Baby, were going to make sure no one is hurt.

Stop it. Stop it now.

Sweetie, sweetie, Hal hushed, rising. You go

over there hes only going to get worse. The noise is

fucking terrible. God, Elise, fuck, you heard it. Baby,

you go over there and hell never stop. Baby, sweetie.

Oh god, hon. Jesus Christ. Hell cry forever.

She backed towards the throng. I have to see.

Imagine, Hal.

What do you plan to do about it? He hissed.

What are you going to do? Think, Elise. What are you

going to say to her? Theres nothing for that. Or hell,

why dont you take up his way, huh? He motioned to

their son. I mean, damn, Elise, you wont be able to do

anything.

She was gone by then though. She began to dis-

appear into the crowd with their mouths agape, hands

on shoulders, heads tucked into necks, making the mo-

tions. The teenage boy behind him told his mother that

the girl in the car was going to be taken to the high

school football field and air-lifted to the hospital. Hal

eased back into his chair and watched the crowd go

through the phases of weeping. In great numbers, Hal

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thought, it was just indistinguishable. Still, he almost

thought he saw Elise and his boy swaying with them;

he thought to call out sweetheart.

Or honey. Or hey buddy, hey baby, daddy will

meet you back at home. But he was vaguely aware that

the moment was leaving.

Jean JuLiano

35 demi nicKS

Run Away Dream

Program notes located on page 103

36

Kabul

Not to be confused with the invisible,empty waves filling your tv head.Close your eyes now and see,children bathed in tradition that drownsa mother scrubbing for answers.The men in the mosques crying, for the people,have you seen them? Change the channel.Two million blood stained cries to commercialand sell public opinion in the next ten minutes.And then theres the boy, attached to a kite,at last loosened, another rerun for yourair conditioned cerebellum.What do you really know?

Stephan SaunderS

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The Steadfast Thread~ * ~

I had another dream, Dad. Its the same one Ive been having for a while now. I woke up an hour ago I think, but its so late, and Im so tired, I cant keep track of time. I do know that Im not in the house anymore. Im with a man I dont know in his pickup truck, sitting in the passenger seat with slouched shoulders and my hands tucked between my legs. My lips are smeared with Moms lipstick, my cheeks pink with her Maybelline blush. Im sorry that a smudge of it got on your favorite hunting jacket.

I stare out the window as this man drives me farther away from home, and all I can see are the streetlights as they flash by like neon comets. Im tired now, a little scared, and I hold back a sigh as I rest my head against the seat. The road continues to quiver beneath me.

That girl was in my dream again. I think she gets more beautiful each time I see her. Although whats beautiful about her, Im not quite sure. Her looks I guess, but there has to be more to it than that. Ive tried mentioning it before at the dinner table, but thats completely useless. Brad just laughs and says Im not supposed to be into girls at my age, but what does he know? Hes into women like Mom, not girls like Lindsay from summer camp or Kelly who used to sell us Girl Scout cookies. He doesnt know anything about them or anything about me. Even if he did, hes still, as you would say, a few French fries short of a Happy Meal, so really, what the heck does he know?

This girl is different. She doesnt bug me like the other girls I know, the ones who write my name in their

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notebooks a hundred and four times with those stupid, curly hearts everywhere. She invites herself into my dreams where I have nowhere to run or hide. Not that Id want to though, not from her. Not even if she too wanted to write my name in her notebook a hundred and four times with those stupid, curly hearts. Her company is actually enjoyable, and its been nice to have on those cold nights whenever I feel alone. But I dont think Im ever alone anymore.

~ * ~

I met her once before she died.

I found her a good mile out in a gathering of knotted oaks, orange and yellow with hints of brown for the season. A simple, battery-powered stereo was nestled at the base of a large girthed tree, and out of the speakers came unfamiliar lyrics, rhythmic in its melody yet interrupted by purrs of static. The song playing I would later come to know as Don McLeans American Pieapparently the only version worth listening to according to people Ive asked.

And there she was: dancing in circles before the stereo and hopping along on her tanned bare feet, arms spread out as if she wanted to fly. In out-of-style cutoff jeans and a two-sizes-too-big winter coat, she sang along to the lyrics in sharp, short-winded breaths. Her long, red hair wrapped about her like a large ribbon, and I swear it could have burnt the low hanging branches the way the sun lit it like fire.

It wasnt me who made the sound but some critter that snapped a twig causing her to look up. Her feet stopped moving, as did her hair that barely moved a strand minus a few that heaved along with her panting. She stared long and hard at me; I stared long and hard at her. Well,

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probably as long as two kids can before getting tired and wanting to sit down. I wouldnt call her a kid though. She was probably about twelve or thirteen judging by the braces on the top row of her teeth. Her face was smitten with rosacea, a dark blush covering each of her barely visible freckles. When she finally movedfirst between the two of us I might addshe sat down on a log by the stereo, shut it off, and motioned for me to come over.

Its alright, she said with a smile, you dont have to keep staring like that. I dont bite.

My legs moved of their own free will while my mind still questioned if I should join her or not. It was too late for second thoughts when I soon found myself sitting near her on the log. I looked over at her brown eyes that seemed to light up when she noticed the green dinosaurs on my pajamas. A giggle escaped her plump, pink lips, followed by a half-hidden snort. It made me chuckle.

I like your pants, kid, she said.

I like your pants too, I responded.

She patted the spot beside her, and I scooted closer as she eyed me over.

Whats your name? she asked.

Clifford.

Judging by her wider smile, she got a kick out of my name. Clifford? Like the big red dog?

No, like my Dad.

She didnt say anything after that, which was fine with me; I didnt want to say anymore either. Instead, she

40

turned the music back on and continued to dance as if I wasnt there. I felt a bit awkward watching her to be honest. I wondered if I left now, as quiet as I could, would she notice I wasnt around anymore? Home lifes become that since you left, so its where my mind goes the second Im being ignored.

When I stood from the log, she snapped around and stopped her dancing again. Why are you leaving? she said, her voice urgent.

You ignored me. I was frozen mid-stand.

So?

So its rude, and I want to leave.

She returned to shut the music off and push on my shoulders to sit me back down. Youre like me, arent you? You want people to notice when youre not there, so you want to run so far somewhere you dont care where you end up. Thats why youre here right? In the woods by yourself in your PJs?

I guess. What are you doing out here anyway? Just dancing?

Yeah, I had my radio with me at the swing, so I grabbed it up and took it with me. I wanted to run somewhere, and I ended up coming here, she sat beside me before picking up the stereo and settling it in her lap. Im happy I brought it along. Im like the people in that song I was just listening to. Its my favorite. She patted the top and stroked it like a cat.

Whats that mean? I asked. How are you like the people?

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Its because the song means death is going to happen, and even though we know its coming, all we do is live our lives waiting for it to hit us.

What?

Thats not happening to me. She brushed off my question and smiled at me the same way the girls from school did, only she was older and it felt more...appealing. I have a plan to break it, she continued, death that is, and its going to happen soon. I almost feel sorry for the rest of the world Ill leave behind, but its their loss for being stupid.

What are you going to do?

You know what black magic is?

Yeah, Halloweens coming up and

Forget the holiday and listen to me okay? she snapped.

I felt frozen.

You want people to listen to you, right? Well Im the same way, so listen.

I apologized with a slight nod and shut my mouth.

Again, to be honest, I dont remember even half of what she said to me from that point on. I wish I did, so I could tell you word-for-word her idea of eternal salvation, but I thought she was crazy and just running off on tangents at the time. I just nodded and listened while a few words got repeated like black magic, dolls, swings, and death. Im sure if Mom knew I was talking to someone like that, shed kill me, but what she wont know wont hurt

42

her. Kind of like when you and I would light things on fire just for the fun of it, and shed ruin it by sending me to my room and yelling at you for another hour afterward. Wed still do it when she was out, and I always looked forward to breaking the rules that way. Its funny how memory selection works sometimes, seeing which ones your brain thinks are the most important to remember.

And thats what Im going to do, she said louder than before.

The increase in volume took me by surprise, and I shook my head a little to wake up from my daydream. She stood over me, a toothy grin stretching from ear to ear, as she waited for a response on my end. I stammered.

That sounds great. I tried to smile. Youre really smart...eh...

Im Anneliese. She held her hand out for mine and gave it a good shake. Its really nice to have someone listen to me for once. Did you like my plan? Does it sound good? You can tell Ive done my research on it, havent I?

Yeah, yeah, you have. Its great.

You dont think its weird?

No, I think its wonderful. This last thought just came out of nowhere, completely missing a vocal filter somewhere. I might want to do it too its that good.

Her mouth widened in astonishment before she pulled me in for a tight hug.

Oh would you? she squealed. Her embrace was so tight I could barely mutter a response. I knew you and I were just alike.

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I coughed out once and felt instant relief when she let me go. Not for long though, since she pulled me back in afterward to plant a kiss on my lips. I grimaced and tried pushing away, but I tripped over a gopher hole and fell backwards into a pile of leaves. When I finally scrambled to my feet, I only caught a glimpse of her half skipping, half running off in the opposite direction from my house. Then she was gone.

Her body was discovered Thanksgiving Day.

~ * ~

Brad moved the family to our new home outside Albany when the story hit news stations. We were still in the middle of the move in, and I was in the middle of a ham and cheese sandwich myself when the footage came up on CNN. It was hard to hear since the movers were bringing in the last of our things, but I did my best to concentrate on the coverage. I left the last bit of the sandwich abandoned on the plate as I fixed my gaze on her name written in bold white letters. They didnt show her body, but they flashed her school picture beside her name. They also showed the tree on the hill where a man hunting with his daughter found her hanging by a branch in the early morning. The noose was taken in as evidence, as was a smaller noose found hanging beside her, but there was no evidence of another body.

I didnt start having the dreams until the following week. Just like the others, it began with Anneliese and I in the woods dancing and singing around her stereo. All the dreams began that way before we moved on to do other things. Sometimes we had picnics, other times we went sailing, and once we climbed a mountain full of goats. Other people joined us once in a while, like a pair

44

of Chinese twins, a bank accountant, a gray-haired woman on roller skates, and once an erratic blonde Irishman. They were all exciting, and each dream was always something different. I looked forward to them whenever I fell asleep. But everything changed one night in December when things took a turn for the strange.

I can visit you at your new house now, she said to me on the log, a slight echo in the background. The trees around us shifted in a breeze I couldnt feel.

You know where I live?

Yeah. It took me a while to find it, but I did. I went to your house, the one you pointed me to, but it was empty. I went to all the schools in the area, and I finally found you just last week when you were getting on the bus. It was quite a walk to get to where you are now. I waited a day and got underneath the bus to follow you home, and thats how I got here.

You followed me? I smiled. This was like something out of one of Moms romance movies I imagined.

She nodded. Im outside your window now. Wake up and let me in please. Its very cold.

And that was the end of the dream.

Sure enough, the next morning when I pulled back the curtains in my room, there she was in the window. Not in a body like a normal persons body, but a doll made in her image. It stared up at me with a pair of tiny, black orbs made of plastic with thin, red yarn for her hair. Instead of a jacket and shorts, the doll wore a simple, navy blue dress with a white-laced collar to match a thick, silver thread sewn in for the mouth. A pair of felt arms were pushed up against

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the glass, her face tilted up, askingno, wantingto be let in.

I didnt hesitate to twist open the lock.

I slept with her every night since then. At first the feeling of felt rubbing against my neck frightened me, and I would wake up in shock to find the doll still as a grave beneath my chin. Only when Id close my eyes again would it move. It took a while, but after a few weeks, I got used to it and liked it. I dreamed about her every night. It felt good.

April came. The first night of the month I went to sleep with Annelieses doll coiled in my arms and had my last dream.

You can join me, you know, she said across the tea table. Youd like that wouldnt you? To be somewhere new, somewhere special?

We sat in a garden gazebo drinking afternoon tea when she brought up the idea. I put down my cup and curled up on the chair. I guess I would, but arent you with me now?

She shook her head with a sad expression, tilting her head at me like I was a lost cause. No, Clifford. Were still apart, but I made you something so you can be with me. You want to be with me, dont you?

Yes.

I never noticed before, but dimples form on her cheeks sometimes when she smiles.

Thats great. Whenever youve gone to school, Ive worked on it. Its finally finished and ready for you.

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What is it?

Its a surprise, but you have to promise me something, she leaned in. I leaned in as well. Do exactly what the paper says, and everything will be all right.

I nodded.

The next morning, I sat up in bed and waiting for me at the edge of my footboard was another doll holding a piece of folded paper. Like Annelieses, it wore a navy blue uniform with white lace and had light peach felt for the skin. Two matching eyes stared at me from across the space, but the yarns of red hair were gone, replaced with short, light brown strands. Across his face was a thick black thread, sewed in a twisted smile that made my heart skip upon seeing it, but only for a beat.

The letter that came with it was not written in handwriting but ransom style with cut out letters from magazines and newspapers. They were the instructions from Anneliese.

1. You were born from a male and female, so wear clothing from your mother and something of your fathers over it. Your stepdads can do if you dont have anything of your real dads.

2. Wear make-up for feminine beauty and wear shoes of a grown man for strength. Youll need them where I am. Remember?

3. Go to a sacred place. You dont have to find one; I found one for you. Where I died, thats where you go. Ill explain when were together.

4. You must take your life on this Earth through something you once took joy in. I told you once I liked to swing, so I hung myself. Youre a smart boy; figure something out.

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5. Kill your doll through the same means you kill yourself. I hung my doll beside me. Dont worry about harming it. As long as you die with it, it will be protected from anything. I already laced it with the spell to keep your eternal life. Ive made it easy for you.

That was all she wrote. No explanations, no hint of whats waiting for me, not even suggestions on how I get to that hill from Albany either. I folded the letter and pressed it to my chest, staring out at the morning sun behind the curtains. I could feel her staring me down from my pillow, and I decided I didnt want to keep her waiting.

When night fell, I got out of bed and went into Moms room to take your hunting jacket from her cedar chest. I slipped that on over her favorite cocktail dress still laying on the edge of her bed. She and Brad were watching a movie downstairs while I applied her make-up and put on four extra pairs of socks to fit your boots better. I didnt bother looking down the staircase for them. Instead, I headed straight to the dolls and stuffed them in my backpack along with lighter fluid from the garage, a box of matches, and some loose paper by my desk.

As I walked out onto the deserted highway, her letter got that much harder to read in the dark. Several cars passed me without a look back from their drivers, but I didnt care. One stopped and a woman wearing a cross around her neck asked if I needed a ride home. I told her no, that I was fine and wasnt supposed to take rides from strangers anyway. She drove away with a confused, almost sad expression, but I still didnt care as I came up to an intersection.

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What do I do now? I thought. Was Glenmont to the left, right, or straight ahead? I timidly looked into my backpack for a map I knew I didnt have, but I didnt know what else to do.

A pair of headlights brightened behind me when I stood back up. I turned and held my hand to my eyes as it drew closer, squeaky brakes filling the air as it did. When I heard it stop and park beside me, a man rolled down his window to ask what a girl like me was doing all alone on the road this time of night. I wasnt interested in him at first until I saw the woman on the cover of a magazine on his dashboard. She had the same red hair and speckled face as Anneliese. I looked the man straight in the eye, and he nodded as he clicked open the passenger side door for me.

~ * ~

The comets have stopped shooting now, and the trucks stopped moving too. Its gotten even darker, and I cant see my reflection in the window anymore. The roads gotten bumpier, enough to bounce me a few inches from my seat and toss my hands from their place in my lap. I stare out the windshield not at the road, but a path of uneven dirt. I recognize this area. Were here. The tall trees from my memory surround the truck on all sides, and I can hear the paper map being taken off the dashboard and stuffed up into the visor.

After that the engine shuts off, and the headlights go out with it. Silence. Not even a cricket chirps. Im afraid to break the peace to thank him before going on my way, and it feels like an eternity before something happens.

I feel a rough hand run up my leg, and instantly my thoughts go blank. I look down to see the faint outline of a dirt-caked thumb begin to caress my thigh, and I shiver at

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the touch. I scoot closer to the passenger side door, and his grip tightens beneath my dress. This causes me to let out a squeak I tried hard to keep in. In the silence, it sounds louder than it should, and I feel anxious when I hear him shift on his seat. That too is amplified in the tranquility.

The only thing I can do is concentrate on the crushed beer cans that keep the cigarette buds company on the floorboard, but what can I do? What am I supposed to do? I have an inkling I should know, but nothings coming. I hear the fabric of his seat squeak again as he moves his weight closer to me, and I dont have to watch him to know what hes trying to do. Ive walked in on Mom watching those kinds of movies before.

I cant breathe, and I sniff once, getting hit with a wall of whiskey, tobacco, smoke, and pork.

Hey, he says, a grunt forming somewhere in the innards of his throat. I say, you hear me, girl?

He gets closer, and his hand is moving up. I cant stand it anymore. I forget why Im here. I want to cry for Mom. I want to go back and stay in bed tonight. There are so many things I want that I cant have.

Im brought back when I feel the side of his index finger graze against my private parts. My body freezes, my eyes dart up to attempt a look at his face. Expecting something else, he goes in for another feel, touching my sensitive area again that makes me jump and turn away. Immediately, I whimper and reach for the door handle, shoving my full weight against it to get as far away from him as possible. The truck illuminates with the overhead light as the door swings open and I tumble down into a puddle of frozen mud. I roll onto my back and look up at the man pulling himself into the passenger seat the way an

50

octopus pulls itself out of a holetentacles first.

I scramble up and touch the jacket pocket and feel theres something hard inside it. Then I remembered that Mom never cleaned it out; she wanted to preserve it exactly as you had it.

The man opens his mouth to say something, but Im quick to the open the flap and pull out your hunting knife. I hold it firm with both hands and point the blade in his direction. I stand my ground, my eyes fixed on him, as I slowly back away into the dark woods behind me.

The man only stares at me with a blank expression, and when I reach my fifth step back, he spits to the ground and slams the door. The headlights kick in; the engine starts up. I back into a tree and watch as the truck pulls out and drives back down the path we came, bouncing along the terrain. The red taillights vanish from sight, and only when the echoing sounds of the motor are gone do I fall to my knees and gag.

That too is amplified.

~ * ~

The clouds disappear by the time I retrace our past steps and get to the edge of the hill. He dropped me off in the clearing by the end of the creek, so Ive been trekking uphill for a while now. There are a few pieces of yellow police tape still scattered about when I come into the area, but the tree is bare from it. All that remains there are old teddy bears and burnt-out candles. Annelieses name appears on many of the posters in sharpie marker and glitter with messages from strangers who claim to miss her. If only they knew what I did.

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I kneel under the high branch where Anneliese was found, and I try to get a sense of where I am and what Im doing. I stare out over Glenmont nestled in for the night. A bell goes off somewhere below, and it tolls five times. One, two, three, four, five. I imagine Anneliese counting down before stepping off the branch those many months ago.

I try to focus on my work. I unzip the bag and bring out both the dolls. I set mine beside my leg and take the time to stare into the eyes of Annelieses doll. Theyre only pieces of plastic, the size and shape of a little ladybug, but I can sense something moving inside them. I shift the doll back and forth between my hands, and I know its following me with its gaze.

Hey... I whisper. The wind blows and I hear a faint giggle. I smile and position her against the tree like a queen on a throne of roots. Im with you Anneliese, I whisper again. Im with you.

I turn my back to her and begin to pile the collection of posters at the edge of the hill. I throw in the teddy bears too along with the paper I brought from home and some wooden rosary beads I found wrapped around one of the old candles. I pull the match box and lighter fluid from the backpack and begin to light my fire.

Anneliese liked to swing. I liked to play with matches.

When the flames get high enough to cover my body, I sit down beside Annelieses doll with my own doll secure in my lap. I stare into the black eyes of my doll that stare back up at me, and I cant help but pity how they look dead from where Im sitting. I turn to the doll beside me and smile as I brush my thumb against the hairs of red yarn. I am with her.

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Summoning as much strength as I can, I pour the remaining lighter fluid in sprinkles across my body, and hope its enough to catch. Tossing the empty canister to the ground, I hold my doll to my chest and walk over to the fire, ready. I stare into the flickering flames of my coffin, breathing deep to prepare for the final plunge, when

Wait...

What am I doing?

Im going to be with Anneliese, arent I?

Arent I?

The wind stops blowing, and I take the time to look down at myself.

Im in a dress, Moms dress, with make up, hunting boots and your favorite jacket with a creepy doll with a creepy smile pressed to my ribcage, all in the middle of the night.

I whimper and step away from the fire, the doll shaking in my arms.

Im scared.

I dont want to do this anymore.

The wind picks up, howling through the trees, and it causes me to scream and shove my doll into the flames.

Hot tears well up in my eyes as I watch the fire swallow it whole. My throat is clenched as I let out another hoarse cry and begin to furiously wipe away the lipstick and blush, staining the arm of the jacket with it. An ember jumps toward me and engulfs a small patch on the sleeve.

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I rip it off as fast as I can and throw it to the ground while I tear away the black dress and kick off the boots. Im beginning to feel cold with the harsh breeze but still warm with the fire. I take another look back as the felt starts to burn off the doll, the orange light flickering in its beady eyes before they too succumb to the heat.

Then I remember Im being watched.

Anneliese.

I turn around to the tree, but the light of the fire shows she isnt there. She is gone. Not fallen over, but gone. I hear a giggle behind me, and I whip around to see the fire is no longer burning. Its been put out, reduced to nothing but white, chalky ash. My light is gone with only smoke rising from the charred remains. I collapse beside them and try my hardest to soak in any warmth left from the cinder, but Im still cold, half-naked, and terrified beyond all belief.

Thankfully, the sky starts to lighten up as I wrap Moms dress around me like a blanket. Im nervous as I search all sides of me for Annelieses doll but see nothing. I check the backpack where I stored the knife, but theres nothing there. I shuffle back to the lingering warmth of the circle and stare into it, not knowing what I should be focusing on: the fact Anneliese is gone or the wellbeing of my toes and fingertips that are beginning to get numb.

The wind blows something up from the debris while I think this over and lands it right in my lap. It catches my attention, and I pick it up to see what it is: the long, black thread Anneliese used for the mouth of my doll.

The sun peaks over the horizon along with the sounds of engines going off in the town below.

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I close the thread in my hand and lie with it in the dirt. It takes only a short while before the tears show up, and I just curl up tighter and let it out. My eyes burn with the tears and exhaustion, and already I can hear the maniacal fits of giggles around me in all directions. I cry louder as police sirens kick in from Glenmont, but theyre hard to hear over the laughing. It echoes around in my head, even when the source disappears from the scene as something scampers away into the woods. But I dont stop crying. The sirens get louder.

Oh, Dad. Are you proud of me now?

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Search and Rescue

He sulks down shattered hallways, poisonsclotted in syringes. His hand falls,feeling machete that kills against his knees.Hes almost out of the building, with dried tearsin his heart. He screams; he can see the endof his search for her in this private prison.

Growls in the distance. Its their prison,too. He stumbles, grabs a wall, breathes. Time poisonsthe mind. The hospital whiteness causes vertigo at the endof the hallway. The sheath that fallsagainst his thigh itches. Black blood has glued tearsof cotton to the machete. Time to break rotted knees.

Smirk slides into doors. Kneesvibrate, and dust floats in its prison.Silence. He waits, then tearsacross the room. War cry reverberates as he hacks and slashes, the poisonsin their blood stinging his cheeks. Corpse after corpse fallsunder his blade, sending heads flying to their final end.

Walking dead are too stupid. He carries their endon his blade. A nurse with a missing eye and skin flapping at her kneeslunges at him. He goes down, crashing like frothy Niagara Falls.Her teeth gnash; he feels angry saliva trap his body to her prison.Boot meets face, machete meets frontal lobe, and her poisonsdeflower the floor. She is the last on in the room, red tears

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of freedom on her cheeks thanking him. He strides to the door, tearsthe wooden barricade from the handle. Ignore the Help me, the Endis Here, and the smeared handprints. Punches a hole through poisonson the wall. Crawls on his knees,escapee from St. Marys Hospital prison.He gets up, but stumbles on lifeless bodies, falls

next to a moaning child. Soulless eyes open, syrupy hair fallsonto bitten shoulders. Blade lifts, but he hesitates. Tearssit at the bottom of his eyes. This girl is his new prison;she cant recognize her own father. He cant endhis own flesh and blood. His hands quake, kneestremble. There is only one cure for the poisons

in his daughters blood. Her body is her prison,and the duty to give her the cure falls

to her father. He poisonshis lips to kiss her bloody tears.

Gives her the endshe doesnt deserve. Free man crumples to his knees.

57 aLexiS rowe

un court

58 aLexiS rowe

59

Memories of an Immortal Chapter 1

and then the bastard swore hed cut out my throat. Mine! The bloody fool. I never should have plowed his gangly-whore mother. Lord Borrent sat just to Athans left and waved his silvered goblet around with each crooked word.

Athan suppressed a groan at his hosts ramblings and kept his tongue in check. That is quite the story. This was Lord Borrents hall, Lord Borrents feast, so Lord Borrent could prattle until his teeth fell out. And probably would, long after that.

Yes, well, its the price I pay for being so damned irresistiblean army of bastard-born, thats what. Lord Borrent dribbled wine over his silk doublet, staining his house emblem, that of a black bear.

Athan wasnt surprised by Borrents openness, not truly. Elysians were still respected, still revered for what they were, but not quite in the same way; they were relics now, remnants of a fallen paradigm. Time had whittled their prestige.

But these are my problems, not yours, Borrent said as way of apology. He lurched to his feet suddenly and held the table for support. A toast! He raised his goblet.

Athan rose in unison with the other guests. Borrent and his family occupied the raised dais, the seats of honor. A dozen lesser lords sat at the closest tables with their pampered wives, while Borrents knights, household staff and guards ate beyond them. It was the small envoy of

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Woaden at the farthest table, however, that piqued Athans interest. They werent made for cramped stone, didnt belong in the halls of lords. Their furs and worn leathers clashed with the soft silks and satins of the nobility. And yet Athan found some level of comfort in their presence.

Their skin, normally a rich green or brown, had taken on a dull grey tone to best match the dim stone of the wall behind them. Athan wondered if the Woaden had any real control over their camouflage, or whether it was reflexive, an innate defense. The realization that he might have known in a past life left him with a brief chill.

Lord Borrent cleared his throat. Tonight we toast Avelorn for blessing us with the company of his Elysian, Athan, to share at my table and drink and eat of my stores. And to you, Athan. May your travels bring you fortune and women aplenty.

Nods and grunts of assent filled the hall. Athan gave a curt smile and finished the last of his wine. A line of servers entered the room then, with several more trays of steaming food. Athan sat down with a heavy sigh. After twelve courses, he couldnt handle another.

No stomach for capon? Borrent asked as servers set down the steaming skewers on large, silver platters.

The sickly-sweet fowl only made his stomach turn more. Ill stick with wine for now.

Ha! I should do the same. Borrent slapped his bulging stomach for emphasis. Though perhaps not. He grinned and ripped into his food.

He truly is a bear storing for winter, Athan thought. He turned back to his now refilled cupBorrents servants were quick. He took a sip, barely enough to wet his lips, and looked out over the guestshe found a sea of eyes

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fixed on him. Some looked away quickly. Some smiled. Most simply stared. And why wouldnt they? He was an Elysian, an immortal. He stood a head taller than any in the room and his hair and eyes shone a lustrous silver. The markings on his skin, however, were what truly set him apart from the humans around him. A geometric labyrinth of thin, silver lines wound throughout his body, branding him for all to see as one born from the Pattern itself, spun into existence by the Havenor.

No Borrent said, his voice dropping to a growl. He stared across the dais at a young girlno older than fifteenwhod just entered. She wore a dark blue dress and her hair was tied up in a loose braid. Her close-set eyes and square chin marked her clearly as one of Borrents children, but Athan hadnt seen her before, not even when Borrent had introduced his entire family.

One of yours? Athan asked.

Lord Borrent turned to Athan with concern and fear etched into his face.

I she Borrent blinked several times, as if trying to wake from a dream, and his drooping jowls shook as he spoke. Excuse me. He leapt from his seat and hurried to the girl.

Athan took another slow sip of wine, waited a polite few seconds, then followed.

I told you to stay in your room, Borrent said to the girl as Athan approached.

She pouted. But Im feeling much better.

That doesnt Borrents words cut off at Athans approach. Irritation was plain on his face, but he forced a grin. Athan. My my daughteryou know my daughter

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Ysabella. Ysabella, this is Athan.

Athan bowed slightly. The pleasure is mine, lady.

Ysabella lit up. An Elysian! She then blushed and fell into a stiff curtsy. Your Grace.

Borrent grated his teeth. She is not feeling well and is returning to bed.

A man suddenly stepped from the shadows behind the girl.

Borrent, he said, the feast can only help her improve. Girls are social creatures, after all. His voice was thin like a flys wings.

And Im feeling much better, Ysabella repeated.

Athan studied the other man. He had eyes the color of wet granite and his scalp was completely shaven. The skin along the right side of his neck was mottled and warped from an old burn scar, and he wore his collar high to hide it. He returned Athans stare.

Borrent took another swig of mulled wine and swallowed with a flash of purpled teeth. Fine. It would not do to deprive you of our honored guest.

Ysabella clapped her hands and hurried over to an empty seat beside her fathers, oblivious to his discomfort. Athan looked back to the grey-eyed man, who hadnt stopped staring.

Ah, yes, Borrent said, before he drained the rest of his wine. Athan, this is Thest Denner, my daughters

Caretaker, Thest finished. He stepped forward and extended his hand. The corner of his mouth twitched, and Athan couldnt tell if it was a suppressed smirk or a simple

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facial tic.

Athan shook Thests hand and a brief charge ran up his arm. He felt the Pattern. Athan didnt smile, didnt blink, didnt show any sign that something was amiss. Thest was a Pattern mage, a student of Athans own power, the Gift of the Havenor. How did a mage become chaperon to a lordlings daughter?

Borrent scratched at his patchy beard. Athan, join me, will you? My cup is empty.

Athan released Thests grip and returned to the table with Borrent, though he glanced back at Thest once. The mage stood perfectly still, like a gargoyle on his perch. Borrent sat down heavily and scooped up his filled goblet. His hand shook.

Shes been terribly sick, you see, Borrent said. I was worried her condition would worsen, being up and about. And all these people. I thought it best if she stayed in her room. For rest for rest.

Ysabella piled her plate with warm biscuits and a thick serving of steak and kidney pudding. Her skin had no unusual color to it: she wasnt pallid, wasnt flush, and didnt seem weak at all.

She is improving.

Lord Borrent nodded too quickly. Yes, much better. No doubt from your visit.

No doubt. Athan spun his goblet by its stem. I wonder why it is that I havent seen her until tonight.

Borrent coughed into his silk napkin several times. He took another sip of wine, grunted, testing his throat, then sat back. Yes, well I do have a sizable estate; it is very

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easy to go days without finding someone. He laughed, though he didnt smile. And I didnt wish to bother you with her condition.

Athan shrugged but said nothing. The story was plausible, but he didnt buy it. If he kept prodding Borrent, the lordling would crack eventually. But at what point would Athan wear out his welcome? He checked over his shoulder and found Thest staring at him. Athan glared back.

Borrent cleared his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. Your Grace, have you any plans to visit His Majesty, Perenor?

Athan leaned back but said nothing. Perenor was the Elysian of Proteusgod of purity and lightand ruled this kingdom. But Athan had been reborn only two weeks ago, and his memories still came in fits. Were he and Perenor close? Would Athan be glad to see him, or would it dredge up memories best left untouched? He knew deep down that he should go meet with Perenor, but to what end?

Why? So eager to be rid of me, Borrent? Athan meant the words in jest, but the lordling paled and shook his head.

No, no, of course not! You may stay as long as you like, Your Grace. I just thought you might wish to visit His Majesty. Im sure he would be so glad to see you.

Athan grunted. If I do, Ill be sure to tell him what a gracious host youve been.

Lord Borrent half-smiled. Thatthat is good to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another hour passed without incident, and Lord Borrent seemed to relax. Athan waited patiently for the right

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moment to speak with Ysabella. Elysians craved knowledge, and there was something here, beyond his reach. Why would an Order mage look after a lordlings daughter? Unless he was instructing her in the Pattern, it made little sense. And if he were acting as teacher, why the secrecy? Pattern magic was the Gift of the Havenor, a thing to be lauded, not hidden.

Athan got his chance when Borrent excused himself from the table to speak with one of his knights.

He shifted into Lord Borrents seat beside the girl. You dont seem sick.

Ysabella looked up from her plate of honey-roasted boar ribs and watched him carefully. Im feeling much better. She wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

I see that, Athan said. You keep strange company, my lady.

She followed his gaze. Him? Thats Thest. He takes care of me.

He is a mage.

Worry flashed across her eyes, but it vanished just as quickly. I dont believe so, Your Grace.

Perhaps Im mistaken. Athan took a long draw from his wine.

A sudden pulse of Chaos shook the air. Athan jerked his head around, feeling out the strange ripples through the room. He immediately looked at the Woadenthey were the only elder race presentbut they seemed as oblivious as the humans. Where

Thest! Ysabella cried out.

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Her small hands shook and she balled them into fists, her knuckles white as bone. It was her. Athan could see it now, a faint red energy throbbing out in waves, and smell the sharp earthy note. His senses cramped at the impossibility. Humans couldnt use Chaos... Ysabella staggered away from the table.

Athan grabbed her arm without thinking. Whats going on?

Let go of her, Thest said.

Athan turned toward Thest. Ysabella struggled against his grip.

No, Borrent said, panic thick in his voice. No, no, no, no.

Ysabellas skin suddenly burned like heated metal and Athan released her as she screamed. Thest reached out and wove a thin Pattern barrier around her, barely visible even to Athans trained eyes. Ysabella convulsed violently for a few moments, then her eyes rolled back. Flames burst from her skin. At first they were small, like wilted candles, but soon the fires spread across her body and batted against Thests barrier, consuming her completely in an inferno.

The hall lit with screams. Nobles and guardsmen alike scattered. Several women fainted as delicately as theyd been taught. Lord Borrent stood frozen in place. Athans stomach turned at the conflagration before him, both from the wild Chaos in the girl and from the sheer intensity of the heat. Humans couldnt use Chaos the words echoed in his head like a mantra, a challenge to what he was seeing. The torches along the walls erupted into great geysers of fire, whipping about the room like wild serpents and burning everything they touched.

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Athan! Thest yelled as the flames ate through his barrier.

That single word brought Athan back from his stunned silence, and he acted. He was an Elysian. He drew from the Pattern and wove a perfect shield around the girl. He then split his mind five more times, setting each to a different task, and with each he wove a barrier around the spreading fires. A distant ache spread behind his eyes from the sudden use of the Pattern, but the pull was so faint he simply ignored it. With each fire contained, he turned back to Ysabella. The flames swirled within her silver cocoon like a storm-tossed sea.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the fires vanished. Athans skin twitched at the sudden chill that crept across his body and he lowered his barriers. Ysabella lay on the floor. Her clothes had been consumed beyond recognition, and black streaks of soot stained her skin, but she was alive.

The other dinner guests were in a frenzy. Several had already fled the dining hall, and many stood in shock. The Woaden remained perfectly still across the room, their wide-set eyes fixed on the dais.

Lord Borrent hurried forward. Thest, take her to her room. Damn you, I told you not to bring her. Go now! He spun on the fleeing guests. Guards, bring them back. The feast is not over. It was a mummers trick. A foolish joke. Tell them.

Thest wrapped Ysabellas naked body in his cloak and carried her from the room. Athan stood still as stone. A human using Chaos. His mind whirled at the thought. Chaos was a profound part of the world. It boiled back to the Creation by the Primordials, before the Havenor came, and lived in every race. Except humans. Servants rushed to

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clean fallen plates and chairs as Borrent staggered to the table and refilled his wine glass with shaking hands.

Athan narrowed his eyes. Borrent.

The lordling trembled. My, my apologies

Athan seized him by his collar and pulled him close. We have much to talk about. Your solar. Now. He shoved Borrent toward the door and followed after him, but paused. If Ysabella really had used Chaos magic, a Woaden might prove useful. They knew of such things.

He turned back and locked eyes with a female Woaden who stood apart from the rest. Her wide, black eyes, like dark forest pools, bore into Athan, and her small, doe ears twitched under his gaze. Athan felt the Woadens power, hidden in comparison to Ysabellas earlier display, but power none-the-less.

You. Come with me. He turned before the Woaden could respond, but after a few moments he heard her follow.

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A Slave to Time SCENE 3

BEGIN BY CLEANING THE SCAL-PEL,EVEN THOUGH YOU CANT GET INFECTED.OLD HABIT, I SUPPOSE,BUT YOU CANT BLAME ME,CAN YOU?FEEL FOR THE COG, AH, THERE IT IS.THEN SLICE CLEANLY, WATCH THE BLOOD.RUBY RED.

GROOVES FIT TOGETHER,SPINNING, SQUEALING,SO UNNATURAL.

TAKE THE RATCHET, THAT COMES FIRST,PASS THE CLICK SPRING,BUT TAKE THE CLICK.

OR WAS IT TAKE THE SPRINGAND PASS THE CLICK?

Operation room. Metal tables, various medical instruments ev-erywhere. Organized, yet slight-ly messy. Milton is strapped to a table, still passed out. Adeline wears a protective mask around her neck but never raises it to her mouth. She is rather brisk and lively; in her element.

Adeline slices under one of Miltons ears, leans down, and watches the cog.

She takes up other tools, un-screwing the cog and taking pieces out.

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ITS NOT IMPORTANT.

THIRD AND FOURTH WHEELSTAY IN PLACE.

THERE SHOULD BE BONE AND BLOOD HERE.

BALANCE SPRING UNCOIL,MAKES A GREAT ADDITION TO MY HAT.

THIS WILL GO WELL WITH MYBRASS CAMEO. AND THE DRESSOF GOLD TAFFETA. COG COMBS TO HOLD THE HAIR.THE BUCKLES I FOUND LAST WEEK,RUBY RED, A DASH OF GOLD.THATS JUST THE KIND OF LUXURY A LADY NEEDS.(spoken slowly) Lady Adeline...

YOULL FINALLY BE ABLE TO SEE.TWO SLICES BEHIND THE EAR,REMOVES THE ROYAL BLIND-FOLD.

Adeline becomes distracted, her hands bloody, cogs half in, half out of Milton. Apron and gloves have spots of blood.

A pause. Adeline remembers herself, goes back to the sur-gery. She takes the cog from one side, moves to his other side.

Slices behind other ear. Works on removing the other cog. Apron and gloves with substan-tial amount of blood.

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THERES THE SECOND RATCH-ET,THIS SHINY WHEEL IS NEW.I WONDER WHAT IT IS...LETS TAKE THAT OFF, YOU DONT NEED IT.RUBY RED, THE SWEET ARTIFI-CIAL BLOOD.ARTIFICIAL, THATS ALL YOU ARE.BUT NOW, AT LEAST,

YOU CAN THINK AGAIN!

ADELINEThere we go, nearly finished. You wont even have a scar.

She holds both of the slave cogs up in triumph. She tosses them on the table, then starts to sew the cuts closed. Her apron and gloves are nearly dyed red. She switches to whis-tling.

She finishes sewing him back up and uses a small towel to clean up nearly all the blood on him. He wakes as shes wiping him off. She unstraps him from the table.

MILTON(jolting up)

Wha-?

ADELINEEasy, easy...Lay back down and take deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Thats it, dear.

MILTONMy head hurts. Where am I? What did you do? Oh god...the room is spinning. Make it stop.

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ADELINEShh...it will stop. You woke up too soon. Keep your eyes focused on the light above you. And keep breathing, in...out. In...out.

A pause as Milton does so.Better?

MILTONA little. I dont feel sick, at least.

ADELINEYour head?

MILTONNot a splitting headache anymore. I still feel a little lightheaded. But Im fairly well, I suppose.

ADELINE(with a smile)

Your surgery was a success. Perfect in every way.

Picks up the cogs she took outof him and hands them to him.

Welcome to free thinking, Mr. Edwards.

MILTONThese are my...?

ADELINEYes.

MILTONIf I couldnt feel the stitches, I almost wouldnt believe you. I barely feel any different. (beat) Though you are a tad bloody...

He sways, queasy. Forthe rest of the scene,

he doesnt look directly at her or the blood on her.

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ADELINEBut you are different now, Milton. The Queen doesnt have access to an easy slave button for you anymore.

MILTON (pause)

Will she be able to tell? Like if Im standing right in front of her?

ADELINEShe shouldnt be able to, no. But shell know who we are when we face her in June.

MILTONWere going to face her?

ADELINEWell, of course! Were going to spoil her Diamond Jubilee. I thought you understood. Well go in front of her, in front of every-one, and reveal the truth of England. The Queen will try to hush it all up, but there will be no denying it.

MILTON(nervously)

What if she kills us before anyone hears what we have to say?

ADELINEWere saving humanity, Milton.

MILTONSaving humanity...have to do whatever it takes, dont we?

ADELINEExactly. Remember that.

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cage size

Past neon swarms of sweaty children;past church songs screamed; past spider-webbed

collection tins; past problems half a world away; past boardwalks breathing dehydrated

clouds of mold, a wetter months last gasp; past dusty gift shops, long gone out of date;

past faded signs still croaking information at the bland, unhearing crowd; past

the desperate carnival train and onto asphalt melting like a Dali clock. I hold close infant sleep

and hope this zoo will close before he knows it from the wrong side of ten years and relativity.

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La Pascua Florida

She rises like polypsbreath into the current.

Beyond cardamomaquatic silk surfaces:

the breastplate clampsher sunless neck.

Carved of steeringhorizons gate, she

cut faults from mapspost-predestination.

Harbors in vertical sleep,callused as her feet,

knot away the weedsand know them.

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Driving homeAre you coming or not? I asked, unwilling to

admit I knew the answer and the reason hed been

acting so differently.

Shawn stared at me, eyes blank, no sign of an

internal, emotional struggle. His mind was made.

It was the day before my senior prom.

Come on, give it up. Tell me the truth, I said,

wanting him to do the dirty work himself.

Shawn and I had been together for four and a

half years. We were best friends, despite our two year

age difference and the fact that he was in college

before I even considered where I might go when the

time came.

We were goofy together and I was innocent when

wed met. Hed swept me off my feet at the age of 15,

much to the disapproval of my strict Catholic parents.

Our nights were filled with ice cream cones and the

Olive Garden, even when the rest of our friends started

sneaking out and finding ways to feel hung over.

You were alone in your room with another girl?

Are you serious?

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We just watched a movie. Its not a big deal,

Shawn countered. He stared blankly out of his drivers

side window, oversized hands resting on his lap.

Not a big deal? We hardly hung out with other

people, and when we did, it was with those of our

respective gender, or in big mixed groups.

We were parked in his driveway, but it was clear

he was moving on.

This would not be the usual fight, the kind where

we argued back and forth until someone caved and

then spent the rest of the night making up, making out

until our lips went numb.

This was the fight.

The fight that he said, Im not going to fight for

us anymore.

I considered for a split second the act of taking it

in stride, accepting the battle lost and over.

But what I did was hit him, punch him with all

of the strength I could muster while cramped in his

beloved, precious, hideous Mustang.

He didnt scream; he didnt try to stop me. And

when he spoke, his voice was calm and certain, Dont

do this, Meg.

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As usual, his command was enough to subdue.

We can still be friends; thats what I want.

As usual, it was about his wants.

But I wanted a date to my senior p