2018 Issue
Click on the cover above to read a pdf version, or stop by an MCC Writing Center, Student Services Office, Learning and Tutoring Center, bookstore, or library to pick up a hard copy.
2018 Writing Awards and Selections for Print and Web
For her poem “Fresh Salt, part II,” Nicole Cudzilo is the winner of The Metropolitan 20018 Prize for Student Writing, a 12-credit-hour tuition remission. The first runner-up, Elmo Morris is awarded 9 credit hours tuition remission for their poem “Little Seed.” The second runner-up, Amber Lynn Carlson, receives 4.5 credit hours tuition remission for her story “Words Unspoken.”
Fresh Salt, part I, Fresh Salt, part II, She Eats Books by Nicole Cudzilo
Little Seed by Elmo Morris
Words Unspoken by Amber Lynn Carlson
Fuses, Eviction by Hannah Renee Theobald
Sriracha and Throw Pillows by Ashlee Woodruf
Over the Top by Marcus Sharon
Mom’s Cooking by Brandon Morland
Cigarette Break by Cassidy Bruins
Warmth of the Hawaiian Sun by Emma Boykin
Fresh Salt, part I
Nicole Cudzilo
fresh salt gathers in my hair
stinging my eyes and nose
with its sharp, crystalline scent.
it quickly collects along my knuckles and lips
tasting of sweat off the backs of countless tides.
I feel the spray creep up
heavy in the breeze like strands of damp lamb’s wool,
snaking up my nostrils and shifting my bones.
the sun had finally sunk beneath the waves
and the air was hovering just above darkness.
the sea and sky had merged into a single shade,
there was no horizon, no division
on which to rest tired eyes.
like a work of modern art
I was staring at a slab of grey,
the kind of cool, tempered grey one would find nestled
in the downy feathers of a gosling.
yet this moment was extraordinarily insignificant.
even the immeasurable breadth of a wave,
each crash swelling in grandeur and cacophonous symphony,
with power never duplicated
and existing only for a moment to disappear unnoted
could not compare to this feeling
of insurmountable loss.
I turned to leave in silence,
the night had become mirrored and slick
like black oil coating the wings of a gull.
I was amidst the void
and even the sea could not fill these hollows.
Fresh Salt, part II
Nicole Cudzilo
fresh salt bleeds from the scrapes on your knees
as the pavement slams into your hands,
the scent of asphalt burning holes through your nostrils.
two wasps dressed
in striped yellow jackets
zip past your shoulders, drunk off the syrupy black heat.
silver spokes still whirl in unison as dervishes,
maddening in repeat, sending shiny silver tassels reeling
with every turn.
your shirt is balled up roughly under your spine,
pressing seam marks into hot skin.
sticky sweat tendrils lace down your forehead onto your neck.
the overwhelming smell of sweet fruit stagnating,
their juices staining your palms and fingernails bright red.
you tried your hardest not to cry but I saw your brow wrinkle
and fall, and I heard the whimpered sob catch in your throat.
I wept for you then,
for your smallness, your fragility,
your desire to be grown.
back then I could still fix you,
bandaids and kisses could heal the worst of wounds
but
fresh salt couldn’t stop your car
from driving off that slick winter’s ledge.
silver tires spinning feverishly, grasping
for any last bit of traction.
we found you there
you looked as if you were asleep,
the moonlight draped gracefully across your neck
transposing a delicate pattern of shattered windshield glass
onto your chest like expensive lace.
She Eats Books
Nicole Cudzilo
She eats books, they said.
Books with lightly painted pictures, with long silk ribbon
markers
and books with words too cumbersome to read aloud.
She liked the sound of the pages ripping across her gums,
crisp, like fresh lettuce.
Breaking into the binding, she tugs at the threads
until each page wriggles free.
Thick paper with time worn edges tasted best when speckled
with the weighty writings of philosophers and scholars,
and poetry perfectly complemented the books that snapped and
cracked when held open at the spine.
Like ten plump inchworms, her nimble fingertips press down on
the type
as if she could still smudge the printed inks
and swirl them together in delicate patterns.
She chews each bite in languid contemplation,
turning over the subtle hints of cigarette smoke
and children’s greasy fingerprints with her tongue.
Paperback novels still soggy with bathwater were best for
breakfast.
Like a thick winter’s porridge,
the words settled warm and heavy in her gut.
She always saved the patterned endpapers
for a clandestine midnight snack,
the designs with silver flecking and swooping fleur de lis were the
sweetest, with fl eeting notes of champagne and persimmon.
She spoke not of her comestible habit,
but look closely and you may find her in the quiet corners,
tucked deep within yellowed library shelves
or buried under ten-cent coffee shop stacks.
Gargoyled over open pages, she will sniff, then take a bite.
Little Seed
Elmo Morris
The small feathered star sailing in the wind,
worth less than pennies, is king of the air
its discoveries proclaimed with silence, trading
safety for life after death.
It’s part of a rebellion,
out to mock the greenest of lawns
just by starting a town when it finds roots,
or offering food to pesky bugs.
For my yearning, I’ll call it Hopeful Wanderer,
or Little El Dorado. For my imagination,
I’ll ponder it as past and approaching.
Or a kamikaze pilot
given a second chance at life.
Or curtains
slowly opening
for a peek into the world of giants.
For my joy, I’ll call it
The Book Waiting to be Brought to Life.
For my pleasure, Drifting Questor,
The Fortunate Successor, Emperor.
For naught, Tribute to the Invisible.
Words Unspoken
Amber Lynn Carlson
Soft hues of tangerine, gold and pink blurred together over clusters of autumn trees, reflecting off the serene waters of the lake. Rays of light spilled through burly tree branches, illuminating fiery leaves before they’d all fade and soon blanket the earth. There truly was no other sight, as majestic as a Minnesota autumn sunset—it was like a painting of heaven meeting earth, and the comforting feeling that all was good in the world. I sat on our old wooden bench, the one beneath the giant red maple tree, and ran my fingers along the initials “A&E” roughly carved on the back and took a deep breath. Tonight, was the night that I was going to tell her.
I ran through the words over and over again in my mind like a broken record, but I knew that when the time came, I’d forget them. Either way, I couldn’t hold this feeling inside of me any longer. It had been eating away and consuming me for the
past ten years. I glanced down at my watch—she was late, and I couldn’t help but chuckle a little, some things never changed. The light posts would be on soon and I realized that I hadn’t even eaten all day, but I wasn’t hungry. Instead of hunger, I felt tense knots in the pit of my stomach.
I removed my brown leather gloves, reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small ring made of braided twine. I slipped it on—it barely went down past a third of my index finger. I gently traced the braids with my thumb, turning it on my finger and thinking back to that stormy night in July, the summer when we were both fourteen—the night that her mother passed away. I gave her this ring and told her that I would always be there for her—she wore it every day. Years later, I left for the war and she threw it at my head, saying that she didn’t want it back unless I returned.
“Arty!”
I heard a familiar voice pierce from a distance. I quickly shoved the ring back into my pocket, stood and looked down the leaf-strewn path to my right—and my heart stopped.
Running towards me, black heels clicking against the cobblestone path, long chocolate tresses flowing, was a spectacular vision in a red dress and black coat. It was the same girl that I remembered, but at the same time she had changed, matured. She was slender with subtle curves and glowing ivory skin. She wasn’t a girl anymore but had blossomed into a lovely young woman. Her smile was bright like the sunrise and intoxicating, even from afar. I couldn’t help but feel a giant, stupid grin spread across my face as the excitement rushed through me like a current.
“Sorry I’m late!” she said, as she got closer.
Her heel caught a crack in the stones and she jolted forward with a sharp gasp. Without hesitation, I quickly leaned and grabbed hold of her, engulfing her in my arms. We both paused, our gazes locking on each other—her hazel eyes wide with shock and red lips slightly parted, at a loss for words. Breathless, it was in this moment, in her eyes, that I finally felt I was truly home. I cleared my throat and helped her back up, catching a hint of what smelled like daisies.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the fashionably late Miss Ella Mae and
her two left feet.”
“Arthur Pendelson! Is that really how you greet an old friend after three years?!” she said as she smoothed her dress and coat, and then punched me in the arm.
The corner of my mouth cocked upward—she may look more elegant, but deep down, part of her will still always be a bit of a tomboy and rough around the edges. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could still beat me at climbing one of the trees behind us.
“I almost didn’t recognize you. You know, if you were still wearing those smelly old sneakers of yours you wouldn’t be such a walking hazard. You trying to take out a kid or a few squirrels trotting around in those?”
It was just like old times, and I couldn’t refrain from teasing her. It was too easy, and I always loved to ruffle her feathers. “Well, you should be one to talk! Since when are you Mr. Big Shot, wearing suits and actually combing your hair?” she yanked on my tie and messed my hair with her hand, smirking.
My face prickled, and I felt a warmth sweep through me, I probably looked like a smitten fool.
“It’s good to see you again, Ella” I took a seat on the bench. “It’s been too long.”
Ella sat beside me and smiled softly. “I missed you too. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard you were coming back. I’m so glad that you’ve fi nally made it home safe…” Her face slowly grew solemn and she gazed off towards the lake. “You know, Clyde Baker and Louis Heminger just came home too… their services will be this weekend.” Ella let out a big sigh, “The Bakers closed their hardware store for now… and The Hemingers haven’t been out much either. Pa and I were going to stop by and
drop off a casserole…” Ella wiped a tear from her face with the back of her hand. “H-how was it?” She paused to glance at me, but I didn’t make eye contact or say a word. “Did you… did you really…”
She couldn’t finish the question, but what she really meant, was whether or not I had killed anyone during the war. How was I supposed to answer that? I didn’t want to relive those memories; they were a heavy, dark stain that I had pushed back to the furthest corner of my mind where they should remain, tightly locked. There are terrible things that you hear of in life, and then there are the unspeakable evils that can only be described as hell on earth—war is one of them. I lived it, day after day, and I didn’t want anyone, especially Ella, to carry the weight and discomfort of knowing what I knew, seeing what I saw, and feeling what I felt. She was such a positive person with a beautiful way of perceiving things, the world. She had a sense of innocence to her, and I didn’t want to break that.
Ella looked towards her feet and continued. “When I didn’t hear from you for all those months and your letters stopped coming, I thought that you…” her voice trailed off as she looked down at the bench space between us.
I looked towards her and could see tears streaming down her cheeks. I felt a large lump in my throat that I had caused her any pain and sadness at the thought that I may never return.
I took a deep breath and grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly. “I’m home now,” I hooked my pinky around hers. “Don’t you remember our promise?”
Ella let out a small laugh and wiped her cheeks. “The one that if you didn’t come home, I’d resurrect you and kill you again myself? I remember.” She reached up and tucked her hair behind her left ear. “I was so angry at you when you enlisted. You were so excited—all the men in town were. Celebrating, getting drunk, talking about going to blow up some Nazis and taking bets on who’d personally take down Hitler… eager to serve their country and be heroes, but not thinking about, well, you know…” She sighed heavily and then shook her head, as if to rid herself of the thoughts. “Anyway… I’m glad that you’re back, Arthur.”
“You and me both,” I sighed and scratched the back of my head. You’re the reason I made it back. “You know, I was anxious to come back, because… I, well…” I paused. Tell her, Arthur. Say it. You’ve been practicing these damn words in your head since
the day you left for training. “I, uh…” the words rose in my throat like bile, but my lips couldn’t produce them. “I’ve been wondering… h-how has Benny been?” Idiot.
Benny was my black Labrador retriever. I had found him abandoned as a puppy on the side of a dirt road, in the middle of August when I was seventeen. There was a heat wave, so hot you could fry an egg on the cement like a skillet—it’d been weeks
since we last had a drop of rain. The poor little guy was barely clinging to life, scared but too weak to move due to dehydration and being malnourished. Ella and I had nursed him back to health with a lot of help from Dr. Barnham, the town
veterinarian. In exchange, I did a few odd jobs like repairing his roof, yardwork, going on grocery runs for Mrs. Barnham, painting the clinic and their fence or helping to clean the kennels. Benny was my sidekick and always at my hip, that is,
unless Ella was around. It only made sense for her to take care of Benny when I left for the war.
“He’s missed you too,” she grinned. “He’ll be ecstatic when he sees you. He did have an incident with Mrs. Eckleys’ Border collie though… you’re a grandpa now!” Benny, you dirty old rascal.
“You don’t say? I never would have pegged him as being interested in the prim and proper type. I always envisioned him with a nice yellow lab or a pointer. You know, a gal more in his class range, who likes to hunt.” I stood up, grabbed a smooth, flat stone off the ground and whipped it across the water, watching it skip and leave behind a trail of growing ripples.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Ella, laughing while rolling her eyes. “The puppies are about eight months old now. Mrs. Eckley kept one of them, Pa and I took one, two went to Dr. Barnham and his wife since their English sheepdog, Barnaby, passed from old age. The last one went to John and Milly’s little boy, Charlie.”
“The kid with the messed up face?” I asked.
“Don’t be insensitive,” she said, furrowing a brow at me. “It’s called a cleft lip, and yes. He’s seven now and has had multiple surgeries. He’s looking much better, but he still has a scar and the other kids in town avoid him like he’s diseased—they even used to throw rocks at him. He’s been through so much and needed a reason to smile—and what better than a mini Benny? They named her Lila and she follows Charlie everywhere and smothers him with kisses. They even take baths together.”
“Is that so?” I whipped another flat stone across the lake.
“Well, what about you? How’ve you been? Are you still planning
to teach someday?” I asked.
For as long as I could remember, Ella wanted to teach elementary school. She always said that teaching was one of the most important jobs, because children would grow to change and shape the world, so it was imperative that we instill values, drive and compassion into them to lead to a more positive future. With the patience of a saint and a special gift, she was even able to tame Milton Ackerson, the brattiest, snot nosed kid I’d ever met. He used to sling frogs at peoples’ windshields on Main
Street, hide cow dung under the pews at church or terrorize other kids, and sometimes adults, in town. Ella spent some time with him, and gradually learned that he couldn’t read. The other kids in town used to make fun of him, calling him “Muttering Milton” or “Mutter-Milt” for short, after struggling to read aloud
in school. She tutored him three times a week for an entire summer. As he gained confidence in learning, it was like an exorcism had been performed and the demon was extracted from him. He was a completely diff erent kid.
“Actually, I just started this school year—third grade.” She beamed. “But… I’m not sure how long I’ll stay there, beyond this year.”
I gave her a questioning look. Ella raised her eyebrow and bit her lip, trying to conceal a big grin. “I—well, there’s something I actually haven’t told you.” She removed her gloves and placed them in her lap. “I’ve been… well, seeing someone. I
met him, surprisingly, by an act of my own clumsiness.” She lightly laughed and looked at the ground while admitting to her own fault.
“You’re… What?” I asked in disbelief, barely able to find the breath to produce the words. This couldn’t be happening right now. I felt my stomach drop as if I had eaten a pile of bricks.
“I was in Minneapolis last December, meeting Pa for lunch. I was on my way to the restaurant, walking down the sidewalk and accidentally hit a patch of ice. Someone caught me, although, I accidentally took him down with me and rather, he broke my
fall.” She began to blush and tried to conceal it by looking down at her lap but was unknowingly twisting her gloves in all her giddiness. “His name is Walter – he’s a lawyer in the cities. Anyway… after our incident, I didn’t think much of it, but I ran
into him the next day on my way to the post office to send you a letter. We ended up having lunch, and then started going on a few dates… to the movies, dinner, dancing… it’s all been kind of a whirlwind.”
“So, this Walter… do you…” before I could finish the question, Ella immediately grabbed my forearm and glanced at my watch, gasping.
“Oh gosh, I’m going to be late! I’m sorry, Arty, I completely lost track of time. I forgot, I’m supposed to meet Walter tonight for dinner—I can’t be late! He’s taking me to Antonelli’s – that fancy restaurant on the lake. You know that there’s only one
reason couples go there—I think tonight is the night that he’s going to ask me!” She quickly stood and grabbed her purse.
“Oh, r-right. Well, Ella, there was actually something that I wanted to talk to you about…” There it was. This was the moment. Tell her, Arthur. Tell her how you feel, before it’s too late. Before I could finish my thought or say anything else, Ella
hugged me tightly.
“We’ll meet at Marty’s tomorrow and you can tell me everything! I bet you’ve been craving a butterscotch shake ever since you’ve been back—and you can meet Walter! I’ll see you there!” And just like that, she was off , down the cobblestone path.
“Wish me luck!” she called out, waving her arm back at me as she gradually became a blur.
I slumped into the bench and ran my hands over my face. What just happened? Just like that, I felt like I was back in the trenches, after a grenade had gone off. Like an explosion, it all hit me hard and suddenly—I felt stunned, breathless and trying to
regain clarity. She’s seeing someone? Since when does she date? It’s your fault, Pendelson. You waited too long, you should have told her before you left for training—heck, you should have told her when you were fourteen. Stop, you should be happy for her; she’s your best friend—but that’s all that she’ll ever be now because you’re a coward.
I rubbed my forehead out of frustration and then banged a clenched fist on the bench seat. No, I should still tell her how I feel—but, what if she doesn’t feel the same? Seeing the light in her eyes as she mentioned this guy… Walter, the lawyer. Who am
I kidding? Did you really think that you’d go off to war, come back a hero and win her over, Pendelson? You’re an idiot. Women like Ella Winters, whose father is the judge, just end up marrying lawyers or wealthy, successful men and expanding their wealthy, successful families. You never even had a chance.
I took a deep breath and tried to rationalize the rush of thoughts and feelings coursing through me. Ella wasn’t like that; she didn’t care about money, status or material things. She looked beyond those things, to the core of a person’s soul and what made them who they were. She valued trust, intellect, respect, compassion and humor. Acknowledging this terrifi ed me more, because for Ella to be so serious about a man, he must be the real deal. How was I ever going to compete with that?
I pulled the twine ring out and spun it around my finger. Reaching back into my coat pocket, I pulled out a small, navy, silver lined box. I opened it, looking down at the intricately designed, white gold and diamond ring that once belonged to my mother.
“I love you, Ella Mae Winters, more than you know.” I let out a big sigh and placed the twine ring next to my mothers, closed the box and tucked it away, back into my coat pocket.
Fuses
Hannah Renee Theobald
I keep blowing fuses—
Too many space heaters.
I’m always cold.
Shades drawn, preferring the dark.
Living alone means simply—
Living with yourself.
I’m not the best roommate.
I keep blowing fuses.
Eviction
Hannah Renee Th eobald
For the first time in years, I bled—
As if to cleanse me of you.
To push out all the babies we never had—
To remind me—
We have no lasting bond.
As if a broken heart can pass through me—
And then disappear.
Sriracha and Throw Pillows
Ashlee Woodruff
I can smell the taste of sriracha on your breath.
I’m gripping my chopsticks and I ask you to pass
the rice. You push it past your bowl and let out sighs
that let me know you would’ve rather eaten at your place.
Nevertheless, you dip your General Tso’s Chicken in the red
sauce and scoop it into your mouth. I can hear the spice flaming
from your nostrils. You start to sniffle and lean back on a couch
pillow, signifying that this bite set you back a bit. Cushy Little
Number, the pillow reads. And it matches the throws. Virescent.
Greenish, is what it means. You ask me why I use such big words
and why I need pillows on every couch cushion. You would’ve
rather dined at your place. I tell you that it’s my style and I pour
some more rice next to my Kung Pao Chicken and offer you
a spring roll. I can tell that you’re frustrated, shifting back and
forth, eventually tossing that Cushy Little Number upon the floor.
Dropping rice in the Saxony carpet. I’m finished with my meal,
there aren’t any rangoons left. I bend to pick your scattered rice
up with my chopsticks. You use the last of the sriracha
and utter that I’m smug.
I’m surprised you know that word.
Over the Top
Marcus Sharon
As the mist from an early morning rainfall dispersed, we all lined up along the trench line and peered up at the parapet. The vile stench of mud and decaying bodies fi lled the nostrils of all the soldiers in our company. Soldiers carrying ladders made their
way to the front of the ranks and propped them up against the edge of the trench. A large burly man with a sergeant’s insignia on his shoulder walked down the cramped and narrow trench line with a bucket yelling, “If you’ve got any valuables, toss ‘em in the bucket. It’s the best chance of getting them back to your families if you don’t make it.”
That resonated with me; death was an outcome that had an extremely high probability. I looked at my watch. It was twenty to eight. The other men in my company were grey with fear. Some doubled over and vomited. Others made peace with whatever higher power they believed in. I stood in a small huddle of three and lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and watched the ash hit the soupy, muddy, rat infested ground. A good friend of mine, Ramos, nudged my shoulder and pointed to an even larger man.
“Brass is here mate, good luck.”
The large man was Captain York, the commander of our company, the 3rd Blackguard Fusiliers. His presence signified it was almost time to go over the top.
A few more minutes went by, as old friends shook hands and said goodbye to their comrades.
Then Captain York exclaimed, “Alright lads, you remember your training, and you’ll get through this. Don’t give them any opportunities, cover each other’s advances, don’t clump up, and most importantly, do not stop. Is that understood?”
Like well trained dogs, every man responded with a confident “Aye, sir!”
Captain York pulled out his pocket watch, ordained with gold and silver damascene, a relic from a different time.
“Mors,” he exclaimed. “What time you got?”
“Three till Captain,” I responded.
Captain York nodded in assurance and fed a five-round charger of ammunition into his rifl e and closed the bolt.
“Fixed!” York barked, and all of us faced forward and drew out our Mk. 2 sabre bayonets and held them in front of us. “Bayonets!” he thundered, indicating we were to now attach the blades to the muzzles of our rifles.
We stood at the ready, for what felt like an eternity, until it began.
The noise was unlike anything I had ever heard. Hundreds of field guns and artillery pieces fired off round after round of high-explosive and shrapnel shells. The rounds hissed and whistled through the air, eventually crashing down into no man’s land and the enemy’s trench network with blaring thuds. It was as if the almighty Himself was bringing down a hammer on the charred hell scape of the battlefield. I could feel the shockwaves rip through the air as the shells found their mark. The barrage
lasted for ten, agonizing, minutes before it subsided. Now came the moment we dreaded the most, Captain York blew into his raiding whistle with one large gust of breath, a piercing shriek that signaled our next move. Like a tsunami, the men from our company, as well as the five other companies on this sector, went up the ladders and flooded the blackened land between us and our enemy. It was truly a sight to behold. Brass, shrapnel, and body parts littered the area, along with the twisted, mangled carcasses of our gun walkers and tanks. The impact craters were ever present, with one every three yards or so. The trees had been blown apart by artillery, leaving only partial stumps.
We advanced through the barren wasteland swiftly and cautiously, as previous experiences with land mines had taught us to do so. We were watching the ridgeline of the enemy trench network waiting for them to get themselves together to repulse
our attack. And sure enough, they did. An eruption of machine gun fire halted our advance, pinning us down. I witnessed a young man, no more than seventeen, get caught in the barrage of bullets; the rounds acted as a sewing needle, stitching him up from the left hip up through the right shoulder. He was killed instantly. From there, the carnage only amplified. The machine guns and rifle fire kept most of us halted where we were, but enemy mortar crews had the entire sector pre-sighted and wereraining down hell upon us. An older man, maybe in his mid-thirties, attempted to help another soldier on the ground who had a foot-long piece of shrapnel stuck in his torso. The older man began to throw him over his shoulder, but a mortar round
landed right next to them, tearing pieces from the two men, and throwing them all over. It was a repugnant sight. Men missing limbs crawled into shell holes for cover and medics died trying to get the wounded from out in the open. Multiple men caught rounds in the neck, causing a fine red mist to spray out from the wound. Others sat with their knees to their chests screaming, their voices drowned out by the overwhelming amount of noise. Countless men lied face down, and motionless.
I was snapped out of my trance when Ramos grabbed me and shouted, “Are you daft? We need to move!”
We dashed over and around the heaps of bodies and found refuge behind a downed gun walker with a few other members of our company. We were shielded from the rifle and machine gun fire but stuck in a fairly open area. Once I made sure I wasn’t
injured, I shouldered my rifle and began to return fire, cycling the bolt as fast as I could. I lined up a shot and pulled the trigger. The body of a machine gun crewmen fell over and the rounds from him stopped. I ducked back down to top off my rifle and noticed a green signal flare in the sky.
The men around me were screaming, “Enemy target marker,
get to cover!”
I scrambled from where I was and found a large shell hole to hole up in. The flare was marking where the enemy’s railgun artillery would hit. One round was fired, and it landed with a deafening thud and threw enough mud and dirt in the air to shower me in it and bury me alive in the shell hole.
Mom’s Cooking
Brandon Morland
My mom’s cooking was
bland.
Boiled chicken with salt.
My mom’s cooking was
necessity.
Boiled chicken with cheese
and tortillas.
Burritos
we called them.
Spaghetti is
Ragu sauce with
Walmart meat tubes.
Her mom’s cooking was
desperation.
Cornbread and beans
for dinner every night.
Saturday was a treat
of boiled chicken with salt.
Cigarette Break
Cassidy Bruins
Jacob yawned and rubbed his eyes as the sun began to peep out from behind the willow looming over his backyard. He leaned over his porch railing, watching as the wind combed through the vast grasses before him. They swallowed the Earth for as far as he could see, and much beyond that, as he learned from his previous treks through it. Sometimes, if it was quiet, he could hear the trains rumble in the distance. But, it wasn’t quiet that morning. The dog howled from inside and his little sister’s radio sang from her window filling his ears with “Slow ride, take it easy…” He rolled his eyes and threw his neck back in the same motion. He knew the path to the tracks that lay hidden within the field by heart. Making sure to close the gate as soft as possible, he set off.
The grass was tall, nearly reaching his waist as he towered over it at 6’4 in. His personal path could barely be made out, but it was no trouble for him. His feet led the way. When he was concealed by the field enough, he dug into his pocket feeling
around until his fingers grasped the box inside. With his other hand he found his lighter and sparked a cigarette. The day was cool and cal—crunch. He stopped in his tracks.
“Go home Judy.” He demanded.
A small figure rolled out from the grasses and plopped into his path.
“Cindy says you only smoke cigs because you think you’re cool.” She stands, brushing the dirt off her bell bottoms. Her blonde curls carried a few stray twigs and a confused ladybug. Normally Jacob would laugh at the sight before him, but he wasn’t in the mood today.
“Yeah? Well Cindy doesn’t know shit.” He returned to his travel. Judy scrambled over the path, trying to step where Jacob had left footprints.
“I said go home Judy.”
“You don’t get to boss me around. Besides I don’t think you want mom knowing about those.” She pointed her finger.
Suddenly, he became aware of the smoke he’s inhaled and blew it into Judy’s face. She coughed and glared at him before following.
“Where you goin’ anyhow? The grass could swallow me whole.”
“I wish they would.”
They traveled in silence as Jacob puffed on his cigarette until the glowing ember faded away. He flicked the butt into the grasses.
“Is this where you disappear to in the mornings?” Judy questioned with no answer, “Ya know mom thinks your meeting girls out here, but I tell her no girl wants to meet up with you.”
Jacob grinds his teeth, but continues to ignore her, silently praying she’d leave him alone.
“Are you always so stubborn?”
“Are you always so annoying?” He breaks.
Judy’s eyes light up in victory. Defeated, he spotted his rest stop- a fallen tree. He wandered over to it, pulling out another cigarette on his way. He lit up and sat down. Judy sat herself directly to his left.
“Thank god, my feet were really starting to hurt.” A silent minute passes before she shyly asked “Hey you think I could, uh, try some?” Jacobs eyebrows raise.
“Weren’t you the one threating to tell mom?”
“I’m going to be a high schooler next year Jake. I don’t want to be the only one who’s never tried it.” She pouted.
He sighed and passed her his cig. Delicate fingers held it.
A gold bracelet marked with an emerald jewel hung loosely on her wrist. Jacobs attention was centered on this spectacle until it was broken by Judy’s cough.
“Ew. Now I know you only smoke these to be cool.” She handed it back.
“Isn’t that mom’s bracelet? The one dad got her for her birthday last year?” As the question escaped his mouth, Judy’s arm lowered causing it to slide right off. She scooped it up in a hurry.
“Yeah, so?”
“So mom would be mad if she knew you had it.” Their eyes lock in a standoff until Jacob broke it with a smirk.
“Say ANYTHING to mom and I tell her about your little habit.” Judy stood up. “Can we just keep going?”
Jacob led her to a small dip in the ground. Peering over, Judy caught a glance at the tracks below.
“This is where they are! I never knew where they were coming from.”
She jumped down beside them with Jacob following. They walked down the middle of the tracks, Jacob dragging his feet and Judy pretending to walk a tightrope. She placed one foot in front of the other, eyes closed, until her bell bottoms snagged on
a stake. The snag caused her to fall forward.
“OW!” she yelled out, pulling at her leg.
Jacob turned back and helped pull her loose.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, we done here yet?”
“Sure, lets get home.” He starts, “You ‘aint gonna follow me out here every morning are ya?”
Judy winked at him. “We’ll see.”
She stepped to the edge of the dip and grabbed onto a branch to pull herself up. As she went up, her bracelet once again fell. She didn’t seem to notice as it slid to Jacobs feet. Jacob smirked and pocketed the treasure.
“Yeah, we’ll see.” He mumbled.
Once they were both up, they began the journey home with a distant rumbling behind them. They passed the log and far beyond it in a tired silence until Judy abruptly stopped in her tracks.
“Oh no.” She began feeling her empty wrist and looking around her in a panic.
“Uh- oh Judy.”
“Mom is going to kill me!” She began tracing her steps farther and farther back with no luck. “The last place I remember seeing it was the tracks.” She gasped, “I must’ve dropped it there!” She started to run back.
Jacob slowly followed, amused at his own trick. He let Judy run until she was merely a dot in his vision.
“Judy!” He bellowed. “I have it alright? I have the bracelet. Come back!” He held the bracelet up as if she could see it from afar. When he didn’t hear a response, he picked up his pace. He was at the log before he could hear her, just barely over the rumbling.
“Jake! I’m stuck!” His pounding feet matched his racing heart until he could
no longer tell the diference between the two.
“Jake! Hurry! Hur—“ Her voice was drowned out by the growing rumble and horn.
With the last air in his lungs, he scrambled to the edge of the dip. Before him, the train passed. In one exhale, he loosened his grip on the bracelet as the grass below swallowed it.
Warmth of the Hawaiian Sun
Emma Boykin
I almost forgot what the sun felt like. The happiness that envelopes you as the heat is absorbed into your skin. I hadn’t remembered that feeling in what seemed to be a very long time because I was in such a dark place; but, fortunately, my brother
was there at the rescue for me.
It was the 2nd of July and I had just landed at Honolulu National Airport in Oahu, Hawaii. It was around 5pm when I stepped off the plane and instantly I felt the warm breeze surround me carrying with it the tropical smells of the palm trees, the hibiscus plumeria flowers, and, of course, who could miss the fresh smell of the surrounding ocean. I walked through all these wonderful scents till I saw my brother waiting for me outside, dressed in his dark blue Navy uniform. I ran up and hugged him so tight and had this rush of emotions from not seeing my brother in what felt like years; he was a much needed sight. I was surprised to see his wife Kayti and 2 sons weren’t
sitting in the back seat of the car.
“How come Kayti isn’t with you?” I asked.
He looked at me and gave me one of those classic crooked Ryan smiles and said, “because you and I are going to go do something together.”
I gave him a puzzled look because it was obvious the gears in his head were turning and usually that meant some sort of craziness was about to ensue.
“What are we going to go do?” I asked.
He turned to me with excited eyes and a widened smile and said, “Just wait, I promise it will be an enjoyable day.” And with that he threw on his Oakley’s and drove off away from the airport.
I was still curious about what my brother had in mind for us but I just leaned my seat back, threw on my sunglasses, and let the warm breeze cover me from the car window. We went driving around for a while, through cities then through the dormant volcanic mountains that were just a sea of green as far as the eye could see. Two hours had passed of driving through valleys and mountains, smelling all the tropical plants that grew in them; all you could smell was green and it was absolutely wonderful. The sun was hidden behind the mountains now so the air chilled a
tiny bit but was still enjoyable. I had no idea where we were going or if we were even close so I sidetracked from our conversation and turned to him.
“Okay Ry, where exactly are you taking me?” I asked.
He let out a small laugh, “Just wait Em we’re almost there. You’ll know when you smell it.”
He turned his focus back onto driving and continued our conversation while I sat there trying to fi gure out where the hell my brother was taking me. A few minutes passed while I continued to think of places when all of a sudden it hit me like a
ton of bricks; salt. I couldn’t miss that smell even if I tried to. The scent of the fresh, salt filled ocean overtook the car and brought a huge smile to my face that couldn’t be wiped away for anything. We turned a corner and I was blinded by the golden sun that had shot out from behind the mountains and instantly warmed me with its rays. Just below it I could see the golden reflection it cast upon the ocean inside the cove, sparkling like a million diamonds; it was breathtakingly beautiful.
My brother drove the car right onto the beach and turned off the engine.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” he asked me.
I stared into the sun soaked cove in amazement, “Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it.”
He turned and looked at me, “Well nothing treats being in a dark place like the sight and feeling of a Hawaiian sunset.”
I could feel the sting of tears flooding my waterline before they overflowed and trailed down my cheeks. I could almost feel the warmth of his smile as he saw me crying, for once, happy tears. He nudged me on the arm and opened his door. I sat there for a second before opening my door and was about to step out before my brother stopped me. I looked at him with a confused expression.
“You won’t be needing those” he said, pointing at my black flip flops.
I smiled and kicked them off onto the floor of the car. I lowered one foot down and felt such an amazing feeling; the small grains of sand covering one foot and then the other. To some, this may be such an inconsequential and trivial thing but to me, it was the beginning of feeling happy again. I slowly walked across the beach, heading straight for the water just watching every step I took and the footprints left behind. My brother was walking in step right next to me until we both stopped at the water’s edge. I felt my feet sink into the cold, wet sand. I stood there with my arms at my side and closed my eyes, just feeling the warmth of the setting sun wash over me and listening to the powerful waves crash into the volcanic rocks that formed the cove then calming as they returned back to the ocean in a never ending cycle. I took a few more steps until I felt the cool water cover my feet and a rush of happiness overtook
me. I haven’t felt that much happiness in I couldn’t remember how long and it was more than amazing; it was indescribable. I opened my eyes and looked out onto the golden ocean in front of me just taking in everything it had to offer me. I became so
distracted I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until I saw that the sun had started to fall under the line where the red sky met the waters below. My brother lightly grabbed my arm which knocked me out of my daze and motioned for me to
sit down next to him. I sat down in the warm sand and leaned against my brother so I could rest my head on his shoulder.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked me.
I shook my head, “No, not yet. Can we stay a little longer?”
I felt his cheeks turn up in smile. “We will stay as long as you want.”
I allowed myself a little smile and continued to stare out at the reddish gold waves as they were rolling up on the sand leaving trails of white foam as they recede back into the ocean. We sat there until the sun was replaced by the moon that cast a white, rippling beam across the water. Even then I wanted to stay there and wait to watch the sunrise turn the black, starry sky into a swirl of red, orange, and golden yellow. It was around 1 a.m. when we left the cove and as we were walking back across the beach I still felt the warmth from the day even with the chill breeze swirling around me. I felt a happiness I hadn’t in a long time and I have no one but my brother to thank for it. It’s been nine months since that day and yet whenever I have a bad day or am overstressed I think back to that evening at the cove and can feel the warmth of the Hawaiian sun. I will never forget that day or the feeling of happiness it allowed me to feel.