LETTERS + STROKES

ROOM EIGHTEEN

ASIA ALSTON - ELLIE COHEN - QUADAJA HERRIOTT

SIENNA LASTER - TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE - KAT PATRONG

SIENNA LASTER - KHAT PATRONG

- BARRETT SMITH

ROOM EIGHTEEN CHEAT SHEET

“The future ain’t what it used to be.”-YOGI BERRA

KHAT PATRONG -2

KHAT PATRONG - 4

ASIA ALSTON - 5

TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE - 6

QUADAJA HERRIOT- 7

SIENNA LASTER - 8

BARRETT SMITH - 9

TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE - 10

KHAT PATRONG - 11

ZOE GATTI - 12

ASIA ALSTON - 13

TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE - 14

ELLIE COHEN - 16

BARRETT SMITH - 18

MALIA WILLIAMS-HAYNES - 19

BARRETT SMITH - 20

SIENNA LASTER - 22

ELLIE COHEN - 23

SIENNA LASTER - 24

SIENNA LASTER - 26

QUADAJA HERRIOT - 27

TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE - 28

COVER ART: ZOE GATTI

ROOM EIGHTEEN - ISSUE IVCONTENTS

3

He attempted to plant a kiss on her right cheek. Her eyes looked distant and he did not recognise the skirt she wore. “I’m fine, but I have something to say” she said, looking at him for the first time. Her lips moved, but the words dismantled themselves in front of him, he spent the entire time trying to comprehend what it was she said. When she was finished, he got up without a word and left her there. His footsteps softer than her sniffling.

That night, he looked up at the ceiling, at the glow in the dark stars his father had put up when he was younger. He thought about the time he and his friends saw a prostitute pull at the hem of her skirt as she stepped into the back of a police cruiser. Then he thought of her, as he knew her – a t-shirt and jeans type of girl; a year younger than him, and yet she knew so much more.

KHAT PATRONGCONSTELLATIONS

4

5

ASIA ALSTON BREATHE BABY,

BREATHE

Her blood was thick, deep like the coils of her hair, her roots buried deep down into the dirt. She lay there motionless. Mr. Man stood there motionless. His black knuckles marked with the sweetness of her smile. He wiped it clean off for the third time this week.

She’d been in too good of a mood Monday, and he had had a bad day at work. Wednesday, she broke a glass while washing dishes. And today, she spent too much time folding clothes. To him, this meant disrespect and a man who does not demand respect, does not deserve it. So he hit her.

Collapsed on the living room floor, she managed to whisper, “I can’t breathe.” He frowned, positioning his fist to strike her again. “Bitch, how’s that my problem?” He grabbed a towel, wiped off his knuckles, and tossed it at her. “Clean this shit up before I get back.” Ending her stream of consciousness, her thoughts were of him and how the man she used to love still managed to take her breath away whenever he left.

QUADAJA HERRIOTTRELIGION’S CURE

“The way I see it, the human body is so beautiful, it couldn’t have been made by accident,” that’s how he tells you you’re wrong to question if there’s a higher being. A seventeen-year-old boy, with an infatuation for the breasts and lower backside of a woman, has solved the agnostics’ confusion. His hypothesis would suffice you too, if you were a teenager, like himself, flushed with overactive hormones. The boy isn’t quite grown up; he doesn’t understand the way the world works. He hasn’t had enough time to dissect and consider the spiritual world. He doesn’t know what you’ve been through. He’s oblivious to the fact that you were once certain of God’s existence, but there came a time when you had no one to turn to and God himself was disregarding your messages, hitting the ignore button when you called. All those moments, you were stranded in disaster because, for whatever reason, you lived a difficult life. Then one day something clicked; you came to a conclusion: Either God doesn’t care, or he isn’t real. The question of which will haunt you, perhaps, until the day you die. Though sadly, you’re a pessimist and you’re almost certain beauty can be an accident. 7

SIENNA LASTERAT IT’S WORST (A LOVE STORY)

They never look into each other’s eyesfor more than a momentbecause the more momentsthey share together the more they believe they will be led towards an eternal sense of shame,a place where they would continuallysecond guess themselvesand second guess their “relationship,”they never liked to thinkit was just there left unexamined and untouchedin their minds but unfortunately for her, a littlein her heart.They never kissed for more than a moment because more than a moment led tolove,and that was something

she thought she reserved for her spouse, and for him,he didn’t love anyone.Not even the kids he had with the woman his father forced him to marry, the woman he called his wife.But then again,he has never loved anyone besides himself.Which is why, when her heart weakens a little more,his gets a little harder.Excited by the thought that there is someone capable of lovinghis hatred.

8

9

10

TRÉSEAT LAWRENCEISRAELITES

Sunday dresses for church hang color coordinated in her closet; she says her prayers every night.

Head lies gently on a silk pillow,

tonight she will know how freedom feels.

The devil kissed her cheek after every tuck in, her fingers became the Israelites.

She recited in her head, “I just wanna see what it feels like.”

Her thighs parted ways like the red sea, splash, holy water trickled down her legs.

A tear falls slowly off the side of her face. This must be the promised land. This must be what God feels like.

“… But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immortality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because

these are improper for God’s holy people… (Ephesians 5:3)”

KHAT PATRONGBRUISED PEACHES

He kicks at an empty beans can with old blue Converse. His tattered windbreaker jacket covers up the t-shirt he wore yesterday. He doesn’t know why he goes to school, when all he really learns is a teachers sympathy isn’t worth two shits and laughter can burn him on the spot, down to his beat up shoes.

He looks up at the world with the same eyes as his mother’s, the only difference being that she always looks down. When he bends to tie his shoe, he remembers what his father once told him, “In a world full of apple sauce, don’t ask for peaches.” And as the wind blew, he imagined he was a part of it -the wind- and all that would be left, would be his blue shoes.

11

13

ASIA ALSTONHE SAID - SHE SAID

(THE MASTER)

He said: “It’s been a while.”

She said: “Since what?”

He said: “Since I seen you and it took you forever to call.”

She said: “I was scared.”

He said: “What is there to be scared of?”

She said: “It’s scary how history repeats itself, isn’t it?”

He said: “I miss you.”

She said: “Listen.”

He said: “I am.”

She said: “Do you picture yourself the slave or the master?”

He said: “What?”

She said: “Answer the question.”

He said: “The Master, of course.”

She said: “Right.”

He said: “Huh?”

She said: “What do you see me as?”

He said: “The master’s wife.”

She said: “The real slave.”

He said nothing.

14

“Expectation is the root of all heartaches.”— William Shakespeare

He Says: It’s been a year and five months.

She Says: Yes, and I’ve enjoyed every moment.

He Says: Space is necessary in every relationship.

She Says: I guess bullshit is too.

He Says: I don’t want to see you hurt.

She Says: Explain the tears on my face.

He Says: I have to do this for me.

She Says: What happened to us?

He Says: This isn’t for me to talk to other people.

She Says: Explain that tweet last night.

He Says: It’s just Twitter.

She Says: I guess this is were the bullshit comes in.

He Says: I don’t want you to hate me.

She Says: But hate is my last resort …

He Says: I’m sorry, I’m only seventeen.

She Says: Didn’t you know that one year and five months ago?

He Says: Bay, you don’t understand.

She Says: With hate in the picture, I never will. Just promise

you’ll never replace me.

He Says: That was never even a choice.

She Says: Was it my fault?

He Says: No, just right now, I need to be selfish.

TRÉSEAT N. LAWRENCEHE SAID-SHE SAID

S(HE’S) BR(OK)EN

18

She Says: So you’re never coming back?

He Says: I never planned to leave.

She Says: Fuck, you’re confusing me.

He Says: You’re always in my heart.

She Says: Yeah, but for how long?

He Says: Forever.

She Says: Don’t do this.

He Says: I have to do this, for me.

True story.___________________________

And As Usual,

Promises become bullshit…

Forever is figurative…

Tears become a habit…

heartache becomes your best friend…

And thinking of memories is a nightly ritual…

I just wish you knew, but deep down in the pit of my heart I know,

You never will. </3

15

ELLIE COHEN WE DON’T TALK (AND IT’S MY

FAULT)

BARRETT SMITHADAGIO

Her son kicks on the brakes of her wheelchair. Where is she? It is familiar. A dusty piano. She protests, “I can’t.” “Just try, I’ll go make your sandwich.” She wills her hands to move. Shakily, they rise. And fall. The keys are thick. Thicker than her fingers. The music is in front of her. How did that happen? She hears a D-flat. Her fingers are moving. Unfamiliarly quickly.

In the next room, a man and his sister toast bread and fix tuna with celery. The sister sways to the Music of the Night, influenced by years of dance. The man tries not to let his sister see his smile. “When was the last time she’s played like this?” She asks He ignores her question; “She can’t even walk to the toilet” The music stops.

A man appears beside her. He is anxious. Her shaky hand is raised. She can’t pick up the page. How did it turn? She looks up. “That was beautiful mom” Raised, is a familiar question: “Who are you?”

18

“Hello.” She said, breathing heavily down the phone. “Where you been girl?” the voice on the other end said, “I’ve been calling you and your mother and neither of you have been answering the phone.”

It was true, they hadn’t talked in weeks. She had called him a couple times but only got his voicemail. “I. Called. You. Back. Dad.” She said in staccato. His routine happened often enough and she was tired of it. She mouthed his response, even before he said it.

“No you didn’t, I would’ve seen if you called.” She had a response she had prepared hours ago, and though she told him that she had called yesterday, as well as earlier in the day, she was not sure how much of it he heard between his continual complaints that she did not love him. “I came all the way across town on the Metro, and walked to your house to come see you, and you can’t even give me a call?” he said. She knew it was his attempt to make her feel a sense a guilt, yet despite the knowledge of this, it continued to work every time. “But I have called.” She repeated, but still it fell on ears distracted by their own words and what it was they wanted to hear. “I’m coming to see you this weekend so don’t make plans.” he said. “Okay,” she said, knowing she might hear from him next Friday, or even later. “Alright, bye.” “Bye.” she replied and hit end on her cell phone. She scrolled through the menu, for her list of recent calls, and called Wendi back. It went to voicemail. “Hey Wendi,” she said, “just calling to confirm that I can make the sleepover this weekend...”

MALIA WILLIAMS-HAYNESVOICE MALE

19

When you're standing on the green/yellow line platform at Gallery Place, waiting to make your transfer, do you notice how tense people get? They start to put away their valuables and glance around. Or when you get on the orange/blue line train and you feel like everyone else is classier than you, you can't help but notice the judgmental side glances, as if you're some sort of slag or drug dealer. And how many times have I heard people running half an hour late say "I'll just blame it on the red line." The metro lines aren't just one area, one people, they each stretch across the whole city, but somehow connotations are universal on these trains.

BARRETT SMITHMAPS

20

Times are always changing, and with them people want the laws to change. Naturally, there is resistance to these changes; protests are met with counter protests, arguments with debates, reason with reason. This is how our democratic republic is supposed to work, America at it's best. However, more than often, change is halted because "God didn't want it this way" or because "this isn't what the bible said" but is this really a valid reason to interfere with someone’s personal search for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Live your life the way you want, obey what you want and listen to whoever's God you think will condemn you, but when it comes to law, "no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States" (1) and "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion." (2)------1(Article VI US Constitution)2 (Amendment I Us Constitution) 21

23

It was cold enough outside to see your own breath, but that was never the reason why he shook. He’d always been a shy, nervous man, with the kind of stutter that made you turn to whoever was nearest to you and whisper ‘poor man’. He sat at the kitchen table with his girlfriend as they unwrapped presents, brushed pine needles off of the brightly colored paper and exchanged a kiss after every gift, every meaningful material object given. And finally, the time had come. He announced that h-h-he had o-o-one m-more g-g-gift, and then he got up and walked over to her side. He got down on one knee, then fumbled in his pocket for the box. He pulled it out, shaking and very nearly hyperventilating. And then he asked the question to his feet, not at all like it looked in the movies, because he couldn't look up, because of the piercing ‘what if’ that came with it. It was silent, then she opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, although her voice came out before she had time to think, and she said, softly, “I’m only twenty-four.” And then he stopped shaking. He just stared at the floor as he had before, except now it was this odd, emotionless stupor, his feeling completely void of emotion. He should feel horrified, embarrassed, as he thought he would. He just didn’t feel at all, and he felt as if he wasn’t even in his own body anymore, as if he were in a dream, this perculiar, floaty, but awfully heavy feeling. He didn’t look up to see her pity, and how much she wished she could take it back and mean it, his remaining fixed to the flooring and the opening between two wood panels. He’d become a part of history, joined the long list of rejected suitors that had passed through the ages. He’d read about them, seen their circumstance in movies. Each reacting differently but always with anger. . Some would head to a bar with a friend and they’d drink and drink and drink until they put their heads down on the bar table, their secrets spilling out of their mouth along with drool. But he didn’t have a friend like that to go out with, nor did he know of any good bars, because he’d never been much of a drinker, nor had he ever conformed to the comfortable norm that movies were made to imitate. So, for the benefit of them both, he got up off the floor, closed the box, and walked out the door without even taking his jacket, and then walked aimlessly through the snowy streets of New York to make his own cliché.

ELLIE COHENTHE PROPOSAL

SIENNA LASTERFORTUNE COOKIE POEM

25

*on the phone with a friend*

She said: He’s starting to ask about a father.She said: What do you tell him?She said: I just tell him his father is a hero and he’s busy saving lives.She said: And what does he say?She said: Nothing, he just turns away and stares at the wall, like he’s waiting for the truth.She said: And what do you do?She said: I do the same.She said: Why?She said: There’s nothing else for me to do, all I can do is just wait.She said: Have you heard from his father?She said: No, he hasn't responded to any of the letters I’ve sent. It’s been months, many months, almost a year since I’ve heard from him.She said: Have you at least heard from any of his friends?She said: No.She said: Do you think...She said: I know, but I wish I didn’t.

SIENNA LASTERHE SAID - SHE SAID

(MONTHS)

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QUADAJA HERRIOTTINNOCENCE TERMINATION

She spotted the signs of suppressed excitement and new life. The idea was abstract in her nine-year-old mind, but she understood the need to conceal her curiosity. It was meant to be a surprise, the good kind. Although, when the time came, the words broke through a gate of tight locked lips and sprung upon her young mother. She refused to accept any additions to her life. Her brother, six years younger, was enough. In explaining to her parent the lack of desire for anything recent, it was as though she had to create a whole new set of words to get her point across. The typical reasons, the ones she’d heard on T.V. programs and the ones she’d gotten from eavesdropping on her mother’s conversations with overly optimistic girlfriends, weren’t the real reasons she said no, although, she did say it. Firmly. And her part-time father was to blame for exposing her to the world far too soon and sleeping with her mother’s best friend and forcing her to keep quiet without even saying a word.And her mother’s love for her, a love that could put out the fire in hell, and tame the devil himself, was proved. And she got rid of it, the spawn she was carrying, that troubled her first born so—it was terminated. But the child said no to the wrong person. She said no to the woman who would give anything for her, she said no to the woman who would fight to live with just a fraction of her heart left, for her. The other unborn is whom the child wanted out of the picture because it would be harder to fit in her fantasy of a truly united family.

TRÉSEAT N. LAWRENCETRESEMÉ

29

ROOM 18 - ISSUE #4- DECEMBER 2011PRODUCED BY THE LITERARY MEDIA & COMMUNICATIONS DEPARTMENT