Remus Volume VI

Remus

Literary Journal Volume VI

Literary Journal Volume VI

RemusVolume VI Spring 2012

Editorial Supervisors Lisa Colletta & Silvia EspositoStudent Editor Chelsea GrahamLayout & Design Suzanne Darkan & Chelsea GrahamHeader Design Chelsea Graham

Remus PublicationsDepartment of Communication & English The American University of Rome Via Pietro Roselli, 4Rome, Italy 00153 Email: remus@aur.edu www.aur.edu/remus

Remus Wolf Logo Kristen PalanaFront Cover Photograph Chelsea Graham

Remus thanks The AUR Department of Communication & English and The AUR Student Government

© 2012 Remus Publications

In

ThisIssue...

L’Uomo Limone ....................................... Sarah Nowak .........................3Grilled Meat and Mayonnaise .................. Chelsea Graham ....................4The Mop ................................................... Manny Anguiano ................19Wrong Side of the Ruins .......................... Adrian Petrilli ......................16Fae of the Forum ...................................... Adrian Petrilli ......................20Impressions of Paris ................................. Kate Montana ......................25

Tomato ..................................................... Zoe Pedulla ...........................8Ode to an Onion ....................................... Melanie Pisano ....................10Ode to Honey ........................................... Melanie Pisano ....................12Ode to a Scorpion ..................................... Zoe Pedulla .........................14Monti ........................................................ Alida Borgna .......................22

Robert and Jane ........................................ Melanie Pisano, Alex Sexton, Rory Westerman ...29For Emily ................................................. Nicholas Bartolone .............55

................................................................. Suzanne Darkan

................................................................. Chelsea Graham

Poetry

Fiction and Creative Non-Fiction

Screenplay

Photography

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Maze by Suzanne Darkan

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L’’Uomo Limone Sarah Nowak

The market opens. A middle-aged man walks down a makeshift aisle shadowed by a crude aluminium roof. He passes other sellers putting out their wares: fruits, vegetables, cheeses, meats, bread. He settles in his usual place, between an elderly couple’s produce stand and a booth where a young man sells flowers, sometimes assisted by his brother. The middle-aged man turns two nearby crates upside down, sits on one of them and places his single box of goods, lemons, on the other. “Limoni” calls the lemon man. The people of Monteverde take their time examining the goods in the market, chatting with the vendors they have come to know well after years of coming to this market and seeing them several times a week. The couple with the produce stand is getting a lot of business. They have everything one could want in the way of fruits and vegetables; apples, bananas, onions, tomatoes, spinach, oranges, lemons. The lemon man watches as customers swarm around them and every other booth in the market. He looks from the lemons at the old couple’s stand to his own small box. His appear to be less plump, less yellow, less appealing entirely. He rearranges them, putting the bigger and brighter ones on top, towards the front. The effect is less than impressive. “Limoni” cries the lemon man. One thirty in the afternoon rolls around. People begin packing up their stands, closing up shop. By two o’clock only a few stragglers remain. The lemon man sits there, weakly, staring out at nothing as people pass him on the way back home to their families. Shadows lengthen and the market darkens. “Limoni” whispers the lemon man.

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Polka Dot by Chelsea Graham

Grilled Meat and Mayonnaise Chelsea Graham

It was August 2009, a month which broke all records as the hottest Michigan summer in years. I lived in a basement bedroom with my boy-friend, in a house with broken air conditioning and a clan of mohawked, band-t-shirt-wearing guys. As northerners unaccustomed to too much sun, we spent days lounging in the basement, where windowless cement walls trapped the cool air. Next to the TV, the rickety floor fan buffeted us with lukewarm air, ruffling my hair but never quite drying my sweat-soaked skin. When the sun started setting I usually watched the guys shoot off fireworks from the patio, or we crowded into the kitchen to drink. The ta-ble was perpetually dirty with cigarette ash and scarred with stab wounds from various weapons, and each morning after long nights of drinking, I cleared sticky glasses off the table and wiped it down with a colorless rag. One such evening, Pat showed up at the house with a rectangular package

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wrapped in white paper. He dropped it on the grimy counter with a sicken-ing thud. “Meat,” he announced. Pat, who worked third shift at the meat packing plant up in Plain-well, lived off a diet of energy drinks and red meat. For my friends, meal-time meant fast food or frozen dinners, and they would watch me like a zoo animal each time I pulled hummus or fat free yogurt out of the fridge, carefully measuring out a serving size to make sure my calorie count wouldn’t exceed my daily limit. Every once in a while, someone would ask me what on earth I was eating and I would offer them a bite. Even more occasionally, they would admit that they actually liked “that health food crap you eat.” The front door swung open, and Cal and Spyke joined us at the kitchen table, a pair of recent recruits into the US Marine Corps, who lifted weights constantly to look the part. From somewhere, a fifth of Popov Red Label and two-liters of pop materialized. I dug my secret stash of diet Coke out of the refrigerator, and we started mixing drinks, flipping quarters into shot glasses and sipping on cups full of rubbing alcohol and artificial sweetener. Cal and Cody took turns pounding the Chihuahua-sized chunk of meat with a hammer which they’d “sterilized” with dish soap. With every thunk and squelch the meat trembled slightly and spider webs of fat clung to the hammer as it was raised again. Cal watched as I dug through piles of ice and chicken nuggets long freed from their plastic prison until I found my box of black bean veggie burgers. I was hungry enough for two, but decided on one after re-checking my mental math. “What is that hippie shit?” Cal asked, grinning at me. “Veggie burger.” “Ain’t no burger!” A chorus of agreement sprang up from the other guys. “Burgers are meat.” I laughed. “Aright, it’s a veggie patty.” “Rabbit food,” he replied. I pulled a pile of discs out of the cardboard box and pried them apart, carting one outside to the grill, where Cody took it from me and tossed it onto the slimy rack alongside the chunks of meat. I took another sip of my mixed drink and prete nded that the molecules climbing up my nostrils were merely the ashen scent of campground barbecues, not the fetid stench of cooking flesh. Bocephus bustled around the grill curiously, his paws still too big for his body, until his attention turned to a squirrel that had crossed the chain link fence and invaded his territory. The backyard was a jungle of

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unmowed, half dead grass booby-trapped with fragments of demolished furniture, beer cans, dog toys, and the occasional axe-head. With the sun finally creeping below the horizon, we crowded around the picnic table. We ate off of paper plates, the chunks of meat so greasy that they soaked through to the wood beneath, leaving smear marks like the oil stains in the mechanics’ bays at my dad’s garage. Using the side of my fork, I partitioned my burger into pieces, dipping the corner of each into mustard and chewing each bite slowly, as the spices exploded in my mouth like a cap-gun.

In August 2010, I returned to Kalamazoo after a year-long adven-ture in the promised land of food: Italy. As always, barbecues were the highlight of suburban existence in the summer, especially for those of us not yet lucky enough to have turned 21. In my mother’s spotless kitchen, I leafed through stacks of food in the freezer, looking for a box of veggie burgers which I was sure was hidden there somewhere. Locating them, I pulled out the box and separated one from the rest. In another drawer I found neat rows of ziploc baggies. I found the “sandwich size” and pulled one out of the box. I inserted the frozen disc into the bag and sealed it. Then I shoved the whole thing into my purse. At Jeff’s house, the party had already begun as everyone powered through cans of Bud Light, immune to the flavor often aptly described as “stale piss.” Cody immediately handed me a can. “Did you bring something for us to grill you?” I dug through my purse and found the veggie burger, which I handed to Jeff, the grill master. He ambled off to the garage with Cody in tow, where they manned the grill, probably accompanied by a joint or two. In the backyard, Bocephus raced around with a bone as long as my fore-arm in his mouth, dodging beneath the card tables set up for beer pong. I stood beside the table, cheering for Jillian and Libby, who were winning every game and getting all the guys drunk. Finally, the burgers were ready, set up on a table and surrounded by ketchup and mustard, lettuce, onions and tomatoes. I grabbed a bun and tossed my veggie burger onto it, piling it high with condiments. Other bowls held baked beans and pasta salad, all of which was studded with thick chunks of meat. “We set aside some pasta salad without ham for you,” Pammy told me. She handed me an enormous bowl and I paused for a moment, pondering the calorie count in this delectably chemical concoction of plas-tic cheese, mushy noodles, and what seemed like two entire jars of mayon-

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naise. Then, I globbed an enormous spoonful onto my plate and stabbed two pieces of cheese and a handful of noodles. I crammed it into my mouth and chewed rapidly. Only two thoughts crossed my mind then...I was hungry and this was delicious. Who cared how many chemicals had gone into making this cheese the perfect texture to be machine stamped into little blocks? And who cared how many calories were loaded into each jiggly jar of mayonnaise? Who cared if the pasta wasn’t cooked perfectly al dente, or if mixing it with mayo is a capital offense in a coun-try without the death sentence. Suddenly, the noodles were gone and my burger looked lonely on the plate. I picked it up and took an enormous bite. As the pile of beer cans in the recycling bin grew, I joined my friends near the beer pong table to celebrate the excesses of America and the simple pleasures in life, of noodles smothered in mayonnaise and meat tenderized with dirty hammers.

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Tomato Zoe Pedulla

He sits there, ripe on the vine,Vying for attention,Red against green.Like a communist, he sits.His red skin screams,“Choose me, you fool, choose me!”I decide he needs to ripen more;“Until next time, my Marxist friend”My fingers apologetically say.He sits there on the vine,An impotent Bolshevik.

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Untitled by Suzanne Darkan

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Untitled by Suzanne Darkan

Ode to an Onion Melanie Pisano

An Onion is The crème de la crème Of all avant-garde Dishes; New and old In these kitchens.

It’s the prominent Pearl inA French Onion Soup.Transparent ChoppedSliced or diced,Her layers unfoldLike a fleur-de-lis.

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Half petals Or cubed, It perfumesLike a parade of Frenchmen on line at the Louvre.Slippery time The pan sizzles,Soft stench.

Like Monet’s Madame Gaudibert,Her dressComplicatedHard and thick.She’ll make you cry--Or even sick. The people will say,“She’s bitter raw to the core”Run quick!

Sharp to the eye,Sweet like Coco Chanel,The onion waits At the market like a MalevolentMademoiselle.

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Ode to Honey Melanie Pisano

Oh honey--Natural and richAn ingredient used inAlmost every religious dish.

Internationally different,The world begins to weather. Honey is the only thingTo bring us back together.

Verona’s romantic dose;Spoonful of Romeo and Juliet;Red wine regret, young lover’s fret;Catholic sweet rose,Coating the throat Of the Italian Opera singer’s Lasting note.

Apple slices dipped raw;Must be Rosh Hashanah.Sweet tooth feast,Straws of delightUsher in the New Year just right.Hinduism’s key addition;Melting pot of health;Medical serenity;The happiness for eternity Mixed Bittersweet potion For immortality.

The festival of Madhu Purnima A gift of peace. That Buddha saw

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Disciple’s disagreement; Left alone, one man’s retreat;A monkey’s selfless largesseTo bring everyone together for peace.

A virtue available, Natural and fresh,Heeling the wounded fleshIn Islam.It’s nutritious; Stories of holy medicineHelping and delicious.

Religion is said to be the reason for wars.The world separates, rain pours,We disagree.But if we could all stop For a second, to seeThe solution is in a spoonful of honey.

Untitled by Suzanne Darkan

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Ode to a Scorpion Zoe Pedulla

O Scorpion! Venomous sting that killed my lover!How I despise you, yet am fascinated...For how do you trek across such desert heat?Your hard shell like the armor of a soldier,Masking the vulnerable interior flesh.You scan the horizon,Searching for food.Crawling slowly, your dark segmentsMove in a dangerously diligent way.O how I loathe your crooked tail -Steeped in venom and murderous rage.Yet you dance delicately, as if the stingWas no fault of your own.You cross the scorching sand,Baby clinging tightly to your back,Shielded from the wind and brutal heat.Your shell - red with the sun’s unwanted glare -Protects you from my crushing fist.Sharp pincers crush, and yet drag you down.Their weight restricts you, You’ll never be free.O how I hate your small body.Your blind smile haunts my sleep,But still, I am fascinated by you, Tiny,Majestic, Ruler of the sand.

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Fibonacci by Chelsea Graham

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Alfred*’s Birds by Suzanne Darkan

Wrong Side of the Ruins Adrian Petrilli

I have seen every fashion in footwear and hairstyle that humanity has ever offered. I can’t get what they have, but I will one day.I work endlessly in the squares to obtain a meal for myself, and stake a claim on a small piece of real estate in Rome’s city center. It’s not easy to keep fed in this economy. It’s tiresome work. Not to mention the working conditions, but rain or shine you’ll find me fluttering around the tourists without workers rights or union representatives. I receive no benefits, no breaks, no holidays. So forgive me if I take a bathroom break in an inap-propriate spot. Plus it is painfully difficult to change jobs in this labor market. The economy has moved onward it seems. I remember when the postal service held us in high regard. Those days are no more; we are replaced by

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technology and automation like so many of the working class. Instead, I dream big and admire the ever-changing, oft-flaunted fashion of my bour-geois benefactors. They feed us crumbs and look at us with scorn. Who entertains your children? Who cleans up at your restaurants? Who brings life to an otherwise dead city? It is us - the pigeon proletariat. Forever looked down on … even when we fly above. ---------Those pompous pigeons don’t know their place in society. It is unforgiv-able how they think they can move into our neighborhood like some up-per class cockatrice. They occupy the wrong side of town; they have no aristocratic breeding in their feather, like we do in our fur. No, we have inherited these ruins. They are from the new side of the city. They are ru-ins as well but they are ruins without class, no emperors walked on their cobblestones, prime ministers only tripped. Ha! So what if some of us aristocrats have run upon hard times. We, too, in some aspects are dependent on those bourgeois behemoths but we are still noble, still respected and still impeccably well-groomed. We do not scav-enge for food. We are fed or feed, as we choose, because we are the felines of the forum. Forever deserving, simply because we are what we are. Perched in the sun, among cafes and catacombs, the good times and bad. We will always have our poise and our pride. We will forever rule the ru-ins. The sophisticate’s Rome.

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Untitled by Suzanne Darkan

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The Mop Manny Anguiano

On all fours, a 12 year old boy slowly and meticulously scrubs the kitchen floor. The square tiles, approximately 10x10, had originally been a pale pink/salmon color with faint twirls. This is slowly becoming apparent to the sweating boy who scours the tiles then rings out his rag in a bucket filled with water that is now as black as the grit contaminating the majority of the floor. He is alone and it is his first time cleaning. The boy’s dad is at his new job and won’t be back for hours. His mother and sisters no longer live with the boy and his father. The boy’s parents are newly divorced. The task has taken most of the morning and was initiated by their over-caring neighbor who came to see how the bachelors were faring. She was not impressed. “Take a rag and get down and scrub the hell outta that floor honey,” she had said with a wrinkled nose. He starts to curse under-neath his breath as the sweat pours down his face. She had made him feel embarrassed about their house. Her suggestion seemed like a perfectly plausible task at the time. Some spots were easier to clean than others as evidenced by the results. The boy wonders how his mother kept such a clean house if she had to do was what he was doing to the kitchen floor all the time. He should have given their neighbor puppy-dog eyes and had her demonstrate how to clean a kitchen floor for him. Many choice swear words later, his father returns home after stopping at the grocery store. The one item that stands out the most to the boy like a runt in a litter is the yellow mop. A look of disbelief, anger, longing, amusement, acceptance, and resignation all fight for a place on his face. He exhales a deep breath, curses one more time and begins washing the dishes with a sponge.

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Fae of the Forums Adrian Petrilli

There is something about this city that is enchanted. It is almost as if the city’s millennia of citizens are quietly humming in your ear, along with the sound of traffic, soothing the frustrations of the day. They use the cobbles stones to playfully trip you as you hurry for the bus. Sitting in the forum under the sun they glare at you until you blush so deeply that it lasts for a fortnight and you call it sunburn. When you walk down a crumbling, antiquated path, they wave their togas to direct the pigeons in your direction. Methodically aiming them to make you twist away from the flying, feathered spear tips. Trained by the greatest centurion tacticians, they await the perfect moment to pounce and swiftly blow on your brightly colored lighter so that it is manifestly more difficult to ignite your cigarette. They poke and prod your back as you climb the steps on which Caesar was stabbed, tickling your vertebrae, but you blame it on your backpack. I have sometimes wondered if I were to count the shadows in a crowd, would I find a deviation? Would there be an outline out of place and time? I am perhaps too nervous to notice or maybe I would rather not demystify the magic. The fae of the forum revel in our romantic recollections of Rome. It is their finest feat of deception--so tantalizing that I believe it is true.

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Sperlonga by Chelsea Graham

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Monti Alida Borgna

Via Sant’Agata dei Goti(Is more than a mouthful)What delightful “g”s, cobbled and winding,satisfying the phantomnostalgiato modern day;what Rome may (or might) have been.

All grasping ivy, grey stone, mustard walls,not a soul on that street;all closed doors, except one;andalmost at the end a man who repairs anything you need and has whatever you don’t.

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Watercolor by Chelsea Graham

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Tightrope by Chelsea Graham

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Impressions of Paris Kate Montana My first morning in Paris. It was seven o’clock on a Sunday in March and it was raining. I walked from my hotel in the Latin Quarter across the river to the right bank. Everyone had always told me that I had to go to the Marais. I stopped in front of a window at semi-open bak-ery, the shopkeeper just unlocking the door for the day. Dozens of tinted macaroons lined the bakery window shelves, and the rain, falling down in heavy sheets across the glass, made me think of one of Monet’s watercolor canvases. The pigments of the tiny cookies blended wonderfully with one another, creating a street side masterpiece. I had dreamed of this moment since I was three and wished my mother could’ve been standing next to me on the Rue des Rosiers. Even if it was cold and I was completely soaked. From my mother was born my love for two things French: pastries and Impressionist artists. I knew about Cezanne, Renoir and Gauguin long before I had ever heard the names Cin-derella or Snow White. Since my mother is an artist, I spent my whole life I surrounded by paints and brushes, calligraphy ink and imported paper that smelled of faraway places. She and I used to sit on a bench in front of her store in downtown La Jolla and share a croissant—I loved the soft, light-as-air middle, and she always ate my leftovers, the crusts. Those days in my memory are always sunny, the Pacific Ocean made of billions of shimmering sapphires dancing along the horizon in the distance, and my mother, perfectly frozen at 35, always wearing her favorite Florentine printed sundress. “One day Miss Kate,” she would say “we will be doing this in Paris.” My mother had dreams of traveling the world, but the farthest she ever got was Morelia, Mexico, where she lived for a year as an art student when she was 20. After returning she met a man who she thought she could travel and spend her life with and married him. Seven years later she had two children, a beautiful home in South Pasadena (she still hadn’t left California) and an absent husband. After filing for divorce she found a job as a graphic designer and moved on, taking her two boys with her. She was a single mother for six years before she met my father on a bench along Pacific Coast Highway in Laguna Beach. Within four years both my brother and I were born. At the time my

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father was a writer, which allowed him to stay at home with my brother and me, but it didn’t allow for a very steady income. So my mom opened a snobby stationary store in downtown La Jolla and kept working. My mom closed her store when my oldest brother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. I was almost four and even I could see how it changed everything. I remember walking into the hospital room where Jacob was resting before his surgery. My mother stood by his tiny bed; she looked so tall and strong that day. I was so proud that she was my mother. The best gift I ever re-ceived was for my fourth birthday on February 14, 1995 when Jacob came home from the hospital. I don’t remember ever seeing my mother happier than that night. After the store closed, my dad started working, and our family became quite mobile. In every new city we moved to my mom and I would find a new bakery in the area to frequent, which had to fill one criterion—it must make croissants. There was Belen Artesian Bakers in Escondido, Four Sisters in Wailuku, Le Petit in Baltimore, The Secret Garden in the San Fernando Valley. It was our thing, something about her that I never had to share with my brothers.

But the older I got, the less enjoyable it became. Our sleepy after-noons in the garden with tea turned into slamming doors and fights; she and my father screaming at each other. The kinds of things that happen to married people when they’ve been together for a while, the things that make being at home uncomfortable and awkward. I could tell that they just stopped loving each other. I remember how I used to lock myself in my room for hours, but my bedroom door was just never quite thick enough to drown out the yelling. I used to stare at the maps pinned on my walls, the ones my mother so carefully hung, imagining myself somewhere else really far away. I blamed my mother for all of it: for being too needy, for spending too much money, for making my father so mad. When I told my mother that I was moving to Europe, she was so happy. She kept hugging me and kissing me and saying, “I’m so proud of you Miss Kate, you’ve become so much better than I could’ve ever imag-ined.” Later that night I walked by her bedroom. My dad was out of town on business, Dubai I believe. I could hear her sobs through the door. It was difficult to leave but I convinced myself that it was my life, the point where I had to let my parents be my parents, let them work it out and that they had to let me move on without them. My mom helped me pack

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all of my things, photos of my brothers and our home in Maui. When she wasn’t looking I snuck a picture of my parents in my bag, the only one I ever had of them. They’re at a dinner party; the shimmering lights in the background make me think that it must’ve been Christmas. My father is looking into the camera, trying to hold back a smile, but failing. And my mother, so in love, is kissing him on the cheek. When I landed at London Heathrow airport, I took that picture out of my suitcase, folded it three times and stuck it in my wallet. When I found myself finally standing in the Marais, finally in Par-is, finally staring at actual perfect French pastries, I took out that photo of my parents and thought of what I had left to get to this moment. This was the dream that my mother had given me.

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Smoke by Chelsea Graham

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Robert and JaneA parodic adaptation of Romeo and Juliet Melanie Pisano, Alex Sexton, Rory Westerman

INT. JANE’S BEDROOM - EVENING

JANE a petite, 20 year old girl with long brown hair sits in front of a full length mir-ror putting on eye make-up. Her best friend NANCY a bigger framed girl with short curlyhair, is standing behind her with two differ-ent high heeled shoes on.

NANCY Which one looks better? JANE They’re both black and it will be dark in the club so whichever is comfortable.

Nancy shrugs, kicks off one of the shoes, and puts on the matching pair.

EXT. GILDA CLUB ENTRANCE - NIGHT

ROBERT and MARKUS, two well-built, brown haired boys from John Cabot University are walking from their cab to the entrance of the club. The BOUNCER lifts up the red rope as they ap-proach.

BOUNCER Right this way.

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TIMOTHY, a clean cut blond haired boy walks up to the entrance with his posse of friends following. They are wearing different shades of green dress shirts.

BOUNCER Ah and the boys from The American University of Rome have arrived.

He lifts the rope for The American University of Rome group. The bouncer turns to the sec-ond bouncer.

BOUNCER This should be an interesting night. Two rival soccer captains from rival schools in one club.

He motions for the extra bouncer to go in-side.

INT. GILDA CLUB - NIGHT

The AUR VIP table is directly across the club from the JCU table. Markus glares across the club at the AUR Captain Timothy.

MARKUS What are they doing here?

ROBERT Just let it go Markus, we are here

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to have fun. Have a drink or something.

Robert hands Markus a glass and fills it up with vodka from their table.

EXT. GILDA CLUB ENTRANCE - NIGHT

Jane and Nancy step out of the cab in front of the club entrance. They walk up to the bouncer who is standing with his arms crossed and he puts up his hand.

BOUNCER Are you on a list?

JANE Yes, I’m Timothy’s sister and we’re at his table tonight.

BOUNCER Under AUR’s table?

JANE Yes sir.

BOUNCER Sorry for the hold up, right this way please.

He lifts the red rope and the girls walk past the line of people waiting outside.

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NANCY That’s right, apology accepted. Nancy glares at the bouncer before going into the club.

INT. DANCE FLOOR IN GILDA - NIGHT

Timothy sits around his table cheering with his friend. Markus is fist pumping and being goofy at his table across the club. Jane and Nancy are dancing together on the dance floor in a crowd of people.

INT. JCU VIP TABLE - NIGHT

Robert is sitting laughing at Markus. He looks around.

ROBERT I’m gonna go take a lap around the club. Maybe hit up the dance floor.

MARKUS (drunkenly) This is my song man!

Robert taps him on the shoulder and walks away from the table.

INT. DANCE FLOOR IN GILDA - NIGHT

Jane and Nancy are dancing and singing. She

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catches the eye of Robert who is awkwardly standing outside the crowd of people dancing. He sips his drink and watches her. She smiles at him and continues dancing with Nancy.

INT. DANCE FLOOR IN GILDA - NIGHT

Nancy hands Jane another drink and the dance floor is crowded. Robert makes his way through the crowd to Jane. She does not break eye con-tact with him and he becomes closer to her. She continues dancing.

NANCY I’m going to the ladies room! Be right back girl!

Jane nods to Nancy. Nancy walks through the crowd as Robert finally reaches Jane. They dance.

INT. GILDA BATHROOM - NIGHT

Nancy is walking out of the ladies room. Markus is standing by the bathroom entrance. He looks at Nancy.

MARKUS Hello, Sexy!

NANCY Ew, a JCU.

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MARKUS Oh, I didn’t know the AUR came out at this hour.

Nancy rolls her eyes and walks towards the dance floor.

INT. DANCE FLOOR IN GILDA - NIGHT

Jane and Robert are passionately dancing to-gether in the middle of the crowd. Nancy comes in between a couple dancing next to them.

NANCY Jane! It’s so hot in here, let’s get a drink!

Nancy pulls Jane’s arm and tugs her back through the crowd. Jane looks back at Robert and blows him a kiss with a smile.

INT. CLUB BAR - NIGHT

Nancy and Jane stand by the bar and Jane is looking around the club for Robert.

NANCY You look distracted. What’s up?

JANE No... uh... nothing. I just am looking for this guy.

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NANCY Who!?

Jane looks towards the row of VIP tables and sees Robert walk up to the JCU table. Markus gives Robert a big drunken hug.

JANE (whispers) A... JCU? No way.

NANCY Oh I know, they are everywhere! I got hit on by one in the bathroom. Totally JCU status. Gross.

JANE No, no, Nancy, he is a JCU guy.

NANCY Oh my God, Who?

JANE Him!

Jane points to Robert at the JCU table, where he is singing with Markus and other JCU boys dressed in blue.

NANCY (laughing) Your brother is going to kill you!

Jane throws back her drink and slams the empty glass on the bar counter. She pulls Nancy’s

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arm and tugs her through the crowd to the AUR VIP table.

INT. AUR VIP TABLE - NIGHT

Jane and Nancy give the boys a double cheek kiss greeting as they come up on the table.

INT. JCU VIP TABLE - NIGHT

Robert looks across the club at the AUR VIP table and sees Jane and Nancy sitting around it. He does not tell his best friend Markus. He stands alone observing.

ROBERT (under his breath) She’s from AUR? How can that be? Is she the sister of my biggest rival?

INT. AUR VIP TABLE - NIGHT

Jane taps on her older brother Timothy’s shoul-der. He turns around and gives her a hug.

TIMOTHY Hey little sister! How’s your first night out clubbing?

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JANE Nancy’s tired. I think we’re going to take off now.

TIMOTHY Okay, I’ll see you at home.

Jane waves goodbye and walks off from the ta-ble. Jane pulls Nancy with her.

NANCY Why are we leaving? I’m having so much fun!

The girls leave the club.

INT. JCU VIP TABLE - NIGHT

Markus tackles Robert in a drunken way. They fall. Robert stands back up and looks over at the AUR VIP table and cannot find Jane anymore. He looks around and then walks away.

MARKUS Dude, where are you going? Robert leaves without saying a word.

EXT. GILDA CLUB ENTRANCE - NIGHT

Robert runs out the entrance of the club. He looks down the street and sees Jane and Nancy walking away with their arms linked.

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EXT. STREETS OF ROME - NIGHT

Robert runs up to the girls. Jane and Nancy turn around and Nancy gives Jane a look. Jane motions for her to keep walking and hail a taxi.

ROBERT I’m sorry for being so forward, but I had an amazing time with you tonight.

JANE You’re a JCU, and if my brother found out, he’d kill you. You know that. ROBERT I don’t care, because all I want is to be with you. Please let me be that guy for you.

JANE I would love that, but your timing is terrible. We have our rival soccer game tomorrow night.

ROBERT That’s fine baby, we’ll just pretend we don’t know each other for the hour.

JANE I’ll have Nancy give you a note during the game to tell you where we can meet afterward.

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ROBERT Sure, I’ll take you somewhere amazing. No one will have to know. JANE (smiling) Okay, I can’t wait. I had so much fun tonight with you.

ROBERT There are many more amazing nights to come. JANE I’ll see you tomorrow my love.

ROBERT Good night and sweet dreams.

JANE And to you Robert.

ROBERT Ciao amore.

They kiss in the street before parting ways, Jane runs to catch up with Nancy. Robert stands in the street alone watching her walk away.

EXT. AUR SOCCER FIELD - AFTERNOON

The rival soccer match between AUR and JCU be-gins. The tension is high on the field and in the stands. Timothy, AUR’s soccer captain slide tackles Markus, the JCU soccer captain.

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MARKUS Watch it punk!

TIMOTHY Or, what?

They move towards each other, fists clenched and foreheads touching.

REFEREE Alright, knock it off you two! Or you’re off the field!

Markus turns and walks away. Timothy SPITS at Markus’s back. Markus turns around and begins to charge Timothy. Robert runs over.

ROBERT Let it go Markus.

MARKUS Why are you so nice to that AUR creep all of a sudden? You are usually the first to get a swing at him.

ROBERT No particular reason... Besides the way to stick it to him now is to win the game. You with me?

MARKUS Yeah alright, let’s do this!

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The soccer match continues. Markus gives Rob-ert a clean pass and he scores. The score is 2-1 for JCU. Markus gives Timothy a smirk as he runs past him.

MARKUS How does that feel, Timmy my boy? Oeee must feel good, because it feels pretty good to me!

Markus walks away laughing. He high fives his team mates and waves to the JCU fans in the stands.

TIMOTHY I’ll get you Markus, mark my words...

EXT. AUR SOCCER FIELD - AFTERNOON

The first half of the soccer match ends. The Referee BLOWS the whistle. The players from both teams exit the field to their respective locker rooms. Robert sneaks off the fieldalone and walks up a path to the park behind the field. He sees Jane walking ahead of him.

EXT. AUR LOCKER ROOM - AFTERNOON

Timothy stands outside the locker room door smoking a cigarette. Nancy runs up to him.

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NANCY Tim! Have you seen your sister?

TIMOTHY No. Isn’t she supposed to be with you?

NANCY Well yes, but I went to get us some beers and when I got back to the bleachers, she was gone.

TIMOTHY Did you check the bathrooms?

NANCY Duh! That was my first thought, I’m not some dumb bimbo!

TIMOTHY Alright, Alright! Take it easy. Where do you think she may be?

NANCY Well, I didn’t want to say anything but she has been acting very strangely ever since we went out last night. Even during the game, she kept eyeing one of the JCU players, Robert... I think his name is. She was handing me a peice of paper when I made a comment about it and then she put it back in her pocket. I knew something was up, when that JCU scored that first

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goal he pointed directly at her!

TIMOTHY Robert! No way in hell!

Timothy put his cigarette out on his arm and ran towards the bleachers.

EXT. PARK - AFTERNOON

Jane and Robert are sitting beneath a tree.

ROBERT Did you see how I scored that goal for you?

JANE Yes, I did.

ROBERT I wish we could just run away from this rivalry. I hate it... that I can’t be with you.

JANE I know what you mean. I wish we could just kiss, at anytime and anywhere.

Timothy walks briskly across the park to Rob-ert and Jane. Jane and Robert are kissing. He tears Robert away from Jane and throws him against a tree.

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TIMOTHY You shit! Kiss my sister will you?! Get up and fight me, you worthless worm.

Timothy slams him again against the tree and lets him go. Robert staggers forward holding his side.

ROBERT I don’t want to fight you Timothy. You’re Jane’s brother and I love her.

TIMOTHY Fight me!

Markus enters the park and walks over to ev-eryone.

MARKUS I’ll gladly oblige you, Timmy my boy!

TIMOTHY My fight is not with you Markus. It’s with that spineless creep.

MARKUS That Spineless creep happens to be my best friend!

Markus charges Timothy. Timothy dodges Markus and throws a punch into Markus’s face. His nose bleeds down his soccer uniform.

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JANE Tim! Stop it!

TIMOTHY Shut it sis! I’ll deal with you later!

Markus wipes the blood from his nose. He charg-es Timothy to the ground and kicks him in the stomach. Robert intervenes and Markus shoves him away.

EXT. ENTRANCE OF PARK - LATE AFTERNOON

Fans from the game stand by the entrance of the park and watch the fight unravel. The Ref-eree brushes through the growing crowd. He marches across the park.

REFEREE What’s this? A fight during my match? That’s it! Both teams disqualified!

Everyone leaves the park. The crowd of by-standers walk to their cars in the parking lot. Markus stands with Robert under the tree in the park.

MARKUS I curse you Robert! You just had to go for an AUR girl! And not just any AUR girl but Timothy’s sister!

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ROBERT It’s not like that Markus! I love Jane.

MARKUS Like the way you loved Rose? Whatever dude.

Markus turns and walks out of the park brisk-ly. Robert stands alone.

INT. JANE’S BEDROOM - DAY

The two lovers, Robert and Jane lay in bed looking at each other. Robert lights a ciga-rette.

ROBERT Our schools are going to find out. Trouble like yesterday will be ten times worse.

JANE I know, but...

ROBERT -- We should leave. Just you and I together, we will see the world.

JANE Robert!

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ROBERT I know, I love you.

JANE I always thought that love could overcome such hatred.

ROBERT It can and it will. We need our schools to have more time. Change will take place.

Robert’s phone rings. Robert answers the call. Markus begins to speak.

MARKUS Robert, it is on.

ROBERT What is on?

MARKUS We’re fighting AUR today.

ROBERT Did we not get that out of our systems yesterday at the game?

MARKUS We got disqualified from the game because of AUR, this means blood. ROBERT I’m not going. I am leaving Rome. I am on my way to the Metro now.

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MARKUS Leaving? What Metro?

ROBERT Piramide the B line. Ciao Markus.

Robert hangs up the phone and turns to Jane. He kisses her on the lips and jumps from the bed. ROBERT Get dressed!

JANE Now?

ROBERT Yes.

EXT. ROME - DAY

Markus is standing in Piazza Trilussa. He calls Timothy with his cell phone.

MARKUSHey fuck head. Piramide B line now.Markus hangs up and proceeds to call the rest of the team.

EXT. TIMOTHY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Timothy calls his team mates.

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TIMOTHY Piramide, B line, now! Timothy hangs up his phone and walks to the window. He pulls out a gun and speaks to it.

TIMOTHY Robert, I’m coming for you. Today this ends with JCU. My sister may never forgive me but at least you will not be with her.

INT. PIRAMIDE B LINE PLATFORM - DAY

Jane and Robert stand waiting for the Metro to arrive. Robert looks up at the electronic sign. Arrival time is in ten minutes. Robert hears the chants of their team coming down the stairwell.

JANE I hear my brother.

ROBERT Markus... how could he do this. Where is this Metro already?

JANE What now Robert?Timothy and Markus come down the stairs with both teams. Timothy and Markus stop as they see Robert and Jane standing together.

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TIMOTHY Robert get away from my sister.

ROBERT Timothy, I am not going to fight you. I am in love with Jane and that is that.

Markus and JCU’s team seperates from the AUR team. Markus pulls out a knife and walks up to Robert.

MARKUS We must fight in honor of our team. Forget the girl, the most important thing here is our team. Our family.

ROBERT Leave me be, I will not fight.

TIMOTHY Pussy!

Markus darts towards Timothy but Robert stops him.

ROBERT Leave it alone, Markus. I no longer want to be a part of this meaningless rivarly. None of you can come between Jane and I.

TIMOTHY You’re a pussy! What’s wrong? You can’t fight for the one you love so much?

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Both teams start approaching Jane and Robert. They back up to the edge of the tracks.

JANE Brother please leave us be, we are not a part of this. Timothy pulls out his gun and points it at Robert.

TIMOTHY This love ends now.

He fires the gun. Robert drops to the ground holding his chest. Markus tackles Timothy and wrestles the gun out of his hand. Jane drops to the ground and holds Robert.

JANE Robert, speak to me.

ROBERT Do not fear my love. I feel like the bullet had tried to pierce my heart but our love is too strong.

Jane takes Robert’s hand in hers. Dark red blood comes pouring out of his chest. Robert chokes and gaspes for air. Jane kisses Robert on the lips as Robert closes his eyes anddies. Jane stands up and looks at the two teams.

JANE Your hatred has led to the death of an innocent man. The one that I

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loved. What we had was so beautiful and the hate you have digusts me. I pity all of you here today.

Timothy looks at Robert lying on the ground. He looks up at his sister and sees tears roll-ing down her face. He breaks into tears him-self. Jane glances down the tracks and seesthe train coming.

TIMOTHY What have I done. Jane... I’m so sorry.

JANE I will never forgive you!

Jane looks down at Robert and blows him a kiss. Jane throws herself backwards onto the tracks as the train arrives. The train hits her. Tim-othy SCREAMS and walks over to Robert’slifeless body. He holds the gun to his head.

TIMOTHY I am sorry for coming here today.

Timothy pulls the trigger and kills himself. He falls down next to Robert. Both teams stand still and silent. Markus walks towards the dead bodies and turns towards both teamswith tears in his eyes.

MARKUS Shame on both rivals here. Was the rivalry between our schools worth

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the death of the these three kids? How did we let emotions get in the way of our judgement? Selfish, selfish, selfish! Yes, we are all selfish because we could not let these two lovers be together. Shame on us all! Why? Why do our schools have this rivalry? Has anyone asked themselves this? Today is a cursed day where two lovers died and love was lost to the hatred of a pointless rivalry.

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Untitled by Suzanne Darkan

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For Emily Nicholas Bartolone

INT. KITCHEN - DAY

ALEX GRISEY, a shy 14-year-old with young features, and his father CHRISTOPHER GRISEY, a stern 45-year-old, sit at the breakfast table with sullen looks on their faces. Alex pours himself cereal while Christopher stares blankly at a musical score in front of him.

ALEX Pass the milk?

After a few moments hesitation, Christopher pushes the carton towards Alex without look-ing up from the score.

ALEX Thanks.

Alex pours the milk and eats his cereal.

ALEX Can you give me a ride today?

Christopher continues to stare blankly at the music and ignores Alex.

ALEX Dad?

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Christopher nods only slightly. Alex gets up from the table and puts his cereal bowl in the sink.

ALEX I’m gonna catch the bus. See you in class.

Christopher does not respond. Alex picks up his backpack by the door and walks outside.

EXT. SCHOOL - DAY

Alex walks off the bus and stops when he looks up at the school. He sighs heavily and starts walking towards the school’s main en-trance.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAYAlex walks down the hall and into a class-room with a sign next to the door that says “Orchestra”.

INT. ORCHESTRA CLASSROOM - DAYAlex sits with his violin in the first row of the orchestra fingering the strings on his violin. His friend, BILLY, sits down next to him.

BILLY Did you hear what happened to John on the bus?

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Alex is focused on the music in front of him and continues fingering his part. BILLY Alex?

Christopher walks into the classroom and the majority of the class immediately becomes silent. He walks up onto the conductor’s po-dium and TAPS his baton multiple times on the conductor’s stand until the rest of the class quiets.

CHRISTOPHER Everyone take out your music.

The students obey and SHUFFLING sounds fill the room as they take out the music. When the sound quiets, Chrstopher holds up his baton.

The students raise their instruments and play along as Christopher cues the down stroke. Christopher conducts with little emotion or excitement until tears start to form in his eyes.

He stops the orchestra and steps down from the podium. With his head bowed, Christo-pher walks out of the classroom, leaving the class surprised. The STUDENTS erupt in con-versation. Billy turns to Alex.

BILLY What’s wrong?

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Alex gets up from his chair without replying and walks towards the door. Alex passes the other students in the orchestra.

STUDENT 1 Where’s he going?

Alex walks out of the room.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

Alex walks out of the classroom and looks up and down the hall, but his father is not in sight. Alex turns the corner and looks into his father’s office, which is dark and empty.Alex turns with a dejected look on his face and walks back towards the classroom. The school bell RINGS and students flood out into the hallway as Alex shuffles back into theorchestra classroom.

INT. HOME HALLWAY - LATE AFTERNOON

Alex enters his house through the front door and walks down the hallway, peering into each room until he sees his father sitting in the last one. He enters the study.

INT. STUDY - LATE AFTERNOON

Christopher is at a piano, playing franti-cally with one hand and writing on sheet mu-

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sic with the other. Alex approaches his fa-ther.

ALEX Are we meeting later?

Christopher does not respond.

ALEX Dad?

CHRISTOPHER Go away. I’m working.

Christopher continues notating and playing. Alex leaves the room with his head hung.

INT. BEDROOM - LATE AFTERNOON

Alex enters his room and walks over to his bed. He pulls a violin case from underneath the bed and places it on top of his bed. He opens up the case and takes out his violin and bow.

Alex positions his violin and starts playing a somber tune. He stares out the window as he plays a solo from memory.

INT. STUDY - NIGHT

Alex, 9 years old, continues to play his

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solo while his father, 40 years old, plays piano next to him. His father plays with his eyes closed and a grin on his face, deeplyfocused on the music. Christopher stops playing.

CHRISTOPHER Stop.

Alex removes the violin from his shoulder and looks up at his father.

CHRISTOPHER Have you been doing your exercises?

ALEX Yes, but these sections are hard.

CHRISTOPHER You just have to break them down.

Look at these two sections here. Christo-pher points to the sheet music in front of Alex.

CHRISTOPHER They follow the same fingering pattern. Let me show you.

Christopher picks up the violin and posi-tions it on his shoulder.

CHRISTOPHER Like this.

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Christopher plays the previous passage, ac-centing the notes that start pattern and mo-tioning those notes to Alex.

CHRISTOPHER You need to see how the music breaks down into patterns. Feel the music, don’t just play it.

ALEX Anything else?

CHRISTOPHER Work on your technique. Your tone sounds much better.

ALEX Thanks.

CHRISTOPHER Now, let’s start from the beginning.

Christopher sits down at the piano and starts the tune again. Alex plays along with the music. He looks at his father and smiles. Alex closes his eyes and plays his solo.

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alex finishes the same solo, but without the accompaniment of his father’s piano. He places his violin back in the caseand slides it back underneath his bed. Alex

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climbs into bed and turns out the light.

INT. ORCHESTRA CLASSROOM - DAY

The next day at school, a substitute teacher, MR. SQUEO, walks into the orchestra class-room. Alex has a puzzled look on his face as Mr. Squeo steps onto the podium.

MR. SQUEO Good morning. My name is Mr. Squeo. I am filling in for Mr. Grisey until he gets back. If you could please take out your repertoire, we can get started.

Alex is surprised by the news. A few other students turn their heads and look at Alex while shuffling their papers out of their mu-sic folders. Billy turns to Alex.

BILLY Where’s your Dad?

Alex ignores him and fingers the strings on his violin while staring at the substitute.

INT. STUDY - NIGHT

Alex opens the door and walks towards his father. Christopher is vehemently play-ing piano more emotionally than before, with both hands. He stops playing to notate onsheet music.

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ALEX Dad?

Christopher continues to notate on sheet mu-sic, not responding to the question.

ALEX Where were you today?

Christopher ignores him again and begins to play piano.

ALEX Dad?

Christopher stops playing and turns to Alex.

CHRISTOPHER (raising his voice) What are you doing? Can’t you see that I’m busy right now?

ALEX Yes but --

CHRISTOPHER Why do you keep interrupting me when I’m working?

ALEX I --

CHRISTOPHER Don’t bother me. Don’t come in here. Do you understand?

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Alex runs out of the room.

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alex runs into the bedroom, crying. He quick-ly gets the violin case from underneath the bed and takes the violin out. He positions his violin and plays his solo with more emo-tion and fresh tears still on his face.

INT. ORCHESTRA CLASSROOM - DAY

The next day, Mr. Squeo conducts the class. Christopher walks in with a stack of papers. Alex, surprised, stares at his father.The substitute teacher wraps the orchestra and steps down from the podium.

Christopher walks over to him and whispers in his ear. Mr. Squeo hands over the baton and walks out of the orchestra classroom. Christopher passes out the parts to each row and the students pass them down.

Christopher gets up onto the podium and glances briefly at Alex. Christopher immedi-ately looks away and down at the music in front of him. Billy passes Alex’s part to him. Alex looks at the sheet music, which is entitled “For Emily”.

Alex’s eyes start to water. Christopher taps his baton on the conductor’s stand and rais-

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es it to signal the start. The students all raise their instruments except for Alex. Christopher cues the orchestra to begin and the music lavishly swells.

The class continues to play through the piece while a few tears stream down Chris-topher’s face. Christopher’s conducting is flawless and dramatic. His conducting and the orchestra’s sound are significantly more im-pressive than before.

Alex wipes the tears off his face and po-sitions his violin. He begins to play more dramatically and emotionally also. When the song ends, there are a few seconds of com-plete silence.

The bell RINGS and the silence ends. The other students get up to leave and start to talk to each other with excitement. When the classroom clears out, Alex approaches the podium with caution. When Christopher sees him, he steps off the podium and hugs Alex.

ALEX Sorry about last night.

Christopher squeezes Alex harder.

CHRISTOPHER I shouldn’t have ignored you. Christopher pulls back from the hug and stares into Alex’s eyes.

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CHRISTOPHER I love you. Lesson tonight? Christopher smiles, Alex smiles back, and they embrace again.

THE END

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