2010 Folio Literary Magazine - Southern Connecticut State ...Folio 2010 14 Erin Jones The Salesman...
Transcript of 2010 Folio Literary Magazine - Southern Connecticut State ...Folio 2010 14 Erin Jones The Salesman...
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Folio
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Folio
Southern Connecticut State University
Arts and Literary Magazine
2010
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FOLIO 2010
EditorStephen Paul Johnson
Associate EditorConsulting Editor
Fiction EditorPoetry Editor
Art EditorFaculty Advisor
Assistants
Readers
Peter M. CunninghamJared R. EmerlingMichael DeSantiHeather FrodshamAndrzej DutkaniczJeffrey Mock
Adrienne Gurge, Jared Coffin, Cyndi Hutchinson, Lisa Litrenta
Michael Bozzutto, Katrina Bianchi, and Charles E. Taylor
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Judges
FictionJeffrey Voccola
Jeffrey Voccola teaches English and creative writing at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania, where he is a faculty advisor for Shoofly, the
university arts and literature magazine. An alumnus of both SCSU and Emerson College, Mr. Voccola has been published in Cottonwood Magazine, The Beacon Street Review, Central PA Magazine, and others.
PoetryGray Jacobik
Ms. Jacobik has published three volumes of poetry:The Brave Task, The Surface of Last Scattering, and Brave Disguises, and currently teaches at the University of Southern Maine. She is the recipient of the Juniper
Prize, the X. J. Kennedy Poetry Prize, and the AWP Poetry Series Award.
ArtJohn Cavaliere
John Cavaliere owns and operates Lyric Hall Antiques in New Haven, where he specializes in the restoration of gold leaf picture frames and antique furniture. He has done extensive work for Yale University and
the Greater New Haven community. He has a BA in Fine Art from Connecticut College in New London.
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Awards
Fiction
First PlaceSecond Place
Honorable Mention
Erin Jones, “The Salesman”Amanda Gamache, “Naked In the Snow”Jamie Conway, “Mania”
Poetry
First Place
Second PlaceHonorable Mention
Michael Bozzuto, “October 19th, 2009”Jared Coffin, “Discernment”Luisa Caycedo-Kimura, “Like Salome”
ArtFirst Place
Second PlaceHonorable Mention
Benjamin Quesnel, “DJ”Alison Walsh, “Mama”Neil Pascarella, “Reflections”
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ContentsFiction
Amanda Gamache FaceSludge NakedintheSnowErin Jones TheSalesmanJasmine Wilborne MarlieGalen Knox NothingTerriblyNew CakeBoxJamie Conway ManiaMichael Bonaldo MemorialDay
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14
24
5979
65
88Poetry
Michael Bozzuto IfEveryLoveBeginsinthe Desert... October19,2009Scott Spaziani FinalSalute ForgottenLuisa Caycedo-Kimura Crematorium LikeSalomeJared Coffin LiesMyFatherToldMe Discernment Shadows
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Kayla Williams PastedTogetherErin Jones FortyYearsRob Scucci WhatWouldJackKerouac Do?
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ArtAdam Komosinski ClamCornCup ClamHuntMugAllison Walsh Mama Rust UntitledLisa Turso UntitledTammy Miller UntitledSean Sullivan SplitDecisions Self-PortraitBecky Schaffrick Life&DeathJessica Halliday AliceNeil Pascarella ReflectionsHaley Smith RollingPetalsAmber Lewis UntitledBenjamin Quesnel DJ Lollipop
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Folio 2010
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Amanda GamacheFace Sludge
I had this zit on my face. It was the kind everyone gets once in a while. The kind that bulges gently and pink, up from those big gaping pores that stretch from the skin of your nose to the skin of your cheeks. I popped it. Dermatolo-gists as well as beauty magazines tell you not to. They tell you it takes longer to heal when you press two fingers together, pink bulge reddening underneath, and push and grit your teeth until there’s that explosion of solid infection, spi-raling in its own right, followed by white then yellowish clear, thick liquid. It’s disgusting, and of course it always bleeds after that, but would you rather stare at a face with a bump of nearly bursting face sludge—that’s what I always called the debris found in dirty pores—or a small scab that could be from a scratch or a mosquito bite or from the cat or the dog? I’d rather look at the scab. I like the mystery it brings with it. I was staring at it in the mirror, the scab that is, and decided it needed to be pulled off. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was the radio that got to me. Earli-er I had been listening to the announcers. Are they even called announcers? The DJ’s? I don’t know. I’m not some big radio fanatic. Well I was listening to them talk about scabs, about how they were nature’s candy. It was all men calling in, explaining how great scabs were. Grown men. I was nauseated listening to them regale the listeners with great scab sizes—one was pulled off hole at four inches long and half an inch wide—and scab tastes. Apparently they taste like bacon, nature’s bacon. I didn’t eat my scab. I just pulled it off because it looked too black, didn’t blend well enough with my make up and stuff. I figured a lighter one would show up, be less noticeable. When I pulled it off once again there was some bleeding. I pulled a tis-sue out of the box and pressed it to my cheek, bored. That’s what staring in the mirror is most of the time, boring and self-deprecating. But when I pulled the tissue away, I noticed that the cut was in the shape of an “S”. A perfect “S” with all the curves, nothing that looked fake or cut or something, it was like the Su-perman “S”. That was my first thought, maybe it’s a sign like Superman, a good
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thing,ablessing.Thentherealmekickedthatthoughtinthejunkandlaughedasitwincedawaycradlingitsbathingsuitparts,eyeswideandcrying.Ithadtomeansomethinggrim.ButallIcouldthinkofwassillyorstupidorserious.Serious.Thatwassomething.Mythroatachedalittle. Isatinmyroomcontemplatingthis,serious.Ibeganpoppingblackheadsonmyshoulders.Iliketopopthingstruthfully.Iliketopickatthings,andI’mreallyskinchallenged,azit-zilla,butit’sallunderthesurface,likehellissupposedtobeunderthesurfaceoftheearth. ThenIstartedpickingatmylips.Ilikedoingthat.Ilikethefeelofthedeadskinslowlytearingawayfromthenewer,pinker,softerskinunder-neath.It’sbetterthansexmostofthetime. The“S”couldhavestoodforskin,orseriousskin.Butmyskinwasn’treallyserious.Itdidn’thavethoselinesonthebroworaroundthemouththatgavemeaserious,smartkindoflook.Itwasn’tgreen—ohwickedwitch!—orpurpleoranything.Itwasn’tsilly. Ithinkitreallywasjuststupid.The“S”hadtodefinitelystandforstupid.Imean,stupidisdumbisidioticisloggerheadedisdoltish.That’smyfavoriteword,dolt!Butreallymyskinisstupid.Imeanitlooksalrightfromafewfeetaway.ItlooksclearandaswhiteasanorthernEuropeande-scendantcanlook.Butthenifyougetafootawayyoucanseethebigporesandthegreasyundertone.Noonereallylooksanycloser.Skinisstupid.It’sstupidtolookalrightandthenhaveallthefacesludgeboilingunderneath. Igotupandwentbacktothemirrorandstaredatthe“S”.Itreallywasperfect.Iopenedmymouth,decidingtolookatmyteeth.Icheckthemforstains,becauseyouknowcoffeeleavesstains—notthatIdrinkcoffee—butteadoestoo,andIdrinktea.That’swhenIcaughtsightofmythroat.It’dbeensore,butIalwaysignoredit.Iusuallyignoredsmallpains,buttherewasmythroat,mytonsils,whiteandspotted.Theylookedlikemoldybread.Itriedtotouchitandgaggedmyself.Ialmostthrewup,moron,dolt!The“S”wasserious.IsuspectedIhadstrep.
Gamache
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Michael BozzutoIf Every Love Begins in the Desert, Where Does
Every Love End?
Everyloveendsatthebottomofacoffeecup
thefragmentsofbrokenbeansinapoolofcream
thesugarlongsincegone
iflovebeganinthedesertitcan’tgetanyhotter.
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Bozzuto
October 19, 2009Winner of the 2010 Folio Poetry Contest
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orangeisbothacolorandajuicewhatastrangefeeling
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today’scoffeeabitbolderthannormaldrymouthanddryday
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catatonicstarethecomputerscreenglowswhitedoIevenread?
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thousandsofmilestextmessagesandpicturesbetweenherandme
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thecouragetostandwhilemywordsarenotenoughdoesitgetbetter?
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R. Scott SpazianiFinal Salute
WepullmyGrandfather’sgunmetalgraycasketoutofthehearse.Iliftmycornerandglancetowardsthefamilyandfriendsgatheredaroundtheplatformthatwilllowerthecasedownintotheearth.Thefuneraldirector,calmandincontrol,directsourmovementwithsubtlehandgestures.
ThreeMarinesstandatattentionwaitingforustopass.
Thegrassisstartingtoturnbrown.It’scoldandtheclouds,samecolorasthecasket,threatenrain.Wemarchacrossthefield.
IstareatthemetalandwonderiftheyoungmanwhofoughttheJapaneseonSaipanandGuadalcanalwouldhavebeenmoreboldhadheknownhewoulddiepainlesslyinahospitalbedEighty-sevenyearsoldandsurroundedbyfamily.
Idoubtitwouldhavemadeadifference.
WhenitfeelslikeIcan’tholdonanylongersIlookforward.TheMarinesstandready,unmoving,unfazedbythedireeventsaroundthem.Theheadofthecasketbeginstopassthem.ThefirstMarineslowlyliftshisarminasalute.
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Spaziani
Forgotten
Adriftforeverthehunksofsteel,shatteredremainsoftheprobe,floatslowlycollidingandbouncingawayagainturningandtumblingintheemptyvoidofspace.Adanceamongthestars.
NASAengineersworkedtirelesslytogetVoyagerintospace.Themostadvancedprobesentouttoexploreoursolarsystem.Itsjobcompleted.Radiossilenced.
Designedonlytolasttill2025itwilldiealonefarawayfromitsmotherstar.Themetalsbecomeasteroidsoftheirown.Gainingorbits,fallingbackintotheintricatemachineoftheuniverse,becomingtherawmaterialsofplanetsandstars.
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Erin JonesThe Salesman
Winner of the 2010 Folio Fiction Contest Thedoorbellrang,andDavejerkedawake.Hisheadhurtandhismouthtastedlikeamixtureofashandstalebeer.Itwasaboutnoon.Hedraggedhimselfoutofbedtolookoutthewindowtoseewhowasatthefrontdoor.HesawhisfriendAJclimbingbackintohisbeatupstationwagon.Davepulledonsweatpantsandrushedtohisfrontdoor,butAJhadalreadydrivenaway. Whenheopenedthedoorhesawacagesittingonhisfrontstep.Hesteppedoutsidetoseeexactlywhatitwas,butthesunwastoobrightsohehadtoclosehiseyes.Heheardclucking.Heshieldedhiseyes,squintedthemopen,andlookeddownatthecage.Threeredhenshuddledinthecorner.Ontopofthecagewasanote. “Yours.FairandSquare.”ItwasscribbledonthebackofareceiptinAJ’ssloppyhandwriting. Helookedatthechickensforamoment.Theirfeathersgleamedayellowtintinthesun.Everyfewsecondstheytwitchedtheirheadinadif-ferentangle,thenletoutacluck. “Mine?”hesaidaloudafterstudyingthem.Thebaldspotonhisheadwasgettinghotsohewentinside.Davewasamanofshortstatureinhisearly30s.Hetoldpeoplehewas5’8”buthewasreallyabout5’6”.Hehadsadeyebrowsthatsataboveevensadderlightbrowneyes.EversincehestartedbaldingDavedreadedgettingintheshowerandseeingthegrowingamountofhairthatgotcaughtinthedraineachtime. BythetimehehadfinishedgettingdressedhedecidedtobringthechickensbacktoAJ.Hecouldn’tfigureoutwhatthenotemeantorwhyAJhadgivenhimchickens.Hecouldn’tremembermuchaboutthenightbefore.HehadgonetoabarwithAJ,hadafewdrinks,andthatwasallhecouldremember.
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Thechickenshadcalmeddownalittlewhenhewentoutsideagain.Twowerecleaningthemselves.Thelittlestonesleptinthecorner,herfeettuckedunderherbody,andherheadburiedinherwing. “C’mongirls,we’regoingforanotherride,”hesaidtothemashebentdowntopickupthecage.Theircluckinggotmorefranticashewalkedtohistruck. Heputthecageinthebedofhistruck.Ashepulledoutofhisdrivewaythehula-girlonthedashboardshookherplastichips.ThetoyhadbeenagiftfromNancy,hisex-wife.Hehadn’ttalkedabouthersincetheyhadgottenadivorcetheyearbefore.InsteadtodealwithitheandAJgotapieceofparticleboard,drewanoutlineofwoman,wrotethenameNancyacrossthechest,andonceinawhileshotapotatogunatitwhiledrinkingBudweisersinthebackofDave’shouse.Buthelikedthehula-girl,soshewastheonlythingofNancy’shekeptaround. DavepulledintoAJ’sdrivewayandknockedonhisdoor.AJan-sweredwithagrinonhisface.Heleanedonthedoorframe,likeheknewDavewouldbepayinghimavisit.Davethoughthelookedlikeacockybastard.AJhadagoodeightinchesonDave,andhewaslanky.Heworeawrinkledpin-stripesuitjacketoveragray,stainedt-shirtandjeans. “Whatthehellarethoseabout?”Davepointedatthebedofthetruck. “They’rebeauties,right?” “Whydidyougivethemtome?” “Hey,hey,”AJshookhishandsdefensively.“Youweretheonethatwantedthem.I’mnottheonetoblame.” “Ineveraskedforthem,”Davesaid. “You’reright.Youwonthem.” “Won?”Davescrunchedhiseyebrowstryingtorememberthenightbefore,buthestillgotnothing. “Wellfuck.Youreallydon’tremember?”AJchuckled.“Youlight-weight.Thisguywasinthebarparkinglotlastnight.Hewassellingthechickensforfivebucksapiece.Igothimtolowerthepricethough.You
Jones
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tookonelookatthoseladiesandsaidyouwantedthem,thatyouhadtohavethem.” “Justtakethemback.” “Can’t.Youbeatme.Poker.” ThisjoggedalittlesomethinginDave’smemory.Hecouldremem-berholdingcards,puffingonacigar,buthecouldn’trememberanythingaboutchickens. “Ohshit,”Davesaid,rubbinghisbaldspot.“AndIbeatyou?”AJwasanavidpokerplayer,andDaveknewhisownskillsweremediocreincomparison. “Trustme.Iwasshockedtoo.Youkeptgettingallthesegreathands.Icanguaranteeyou’reneverplayedlikethatbefore.Youdidn’thaveasinglehandIcould’vebeat.SinceyouwereinnoconditiontotakethechickenslastnightIsaidI’ddropthemofftoyouthismorning.” WheneverDaveandAJwentoutDavealwaysendedupdrinkingtoomuch,andhecouldneverrememberifAJdranktoomuchornot.ButthatwasAJ’swayofdealingwiththings,badorgood. Theywerebothvacuumsalesman.AJwasafarbettersalesmanthanDave.AJcouldgointoahousethathadnocarpetsandaperfectlyworkingvacuumcleanerandbeabletosellthehighestandmostexpensivemodelKirbyVacuumshadtooffer. AJtrainedDave,that’showtheybecamefriends.OntheirfirsttriptogetherDavewasamazedattheprecisionlinesAJcouldcreateinacarpet:perfectlystraightwithperfectangles.AndAJhadtheabilitytoconvincealmostanycustomer—mainlyhousewivesandoldwomen—intobuyingvacuumcleanersthatweren’treallyanybetterthantheonestheyalreadyhad.DaveneverhadtheabilitytotalktothecustomerslikeAJcould,hissellingpointwerethetrickshecouldpulloff,likealreadyhavingdustinthevacuum.Hewoulddotensweepsofthecarpetwithhismodelandopenupthebagthatwashalffullwithdust.“Ijustreplacedthisbagthismorning,”hewouldsay. Thecustomeralmostalwayslookedwithwide,believingeyesatthe
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dustparticlesinthebag.Thensay“Ohmy.Ican’tlivewithallthatdust.I’lltakeit.” Hisfavoritetrickwasthecigarettetrick.ToshowhowsoftthebristleswereDavewouldrunanunpluggedvacuumoveracigarette.“Ifitisthisgentleonacigarette,”hewouldsayafterthecigarettestayedintact,“imaginehownicelyitwilltreatyourrugs.” ButafterNancylefthimhecouldn’tperformthetrickswithenthu-siasmorsellingpower.Hebrokeoneofthecigarettesduringademonstra-tion,anddraggedtobaccoalloverthewhitecarpet.InsteadofplayingitofflikeAJtaughthimandshowinghowwellthevacuumcleanercanpickupthosepeskylittleparticlesliketobacco,hedugitinevendeeperintothecarpetwiththeheelofhisloafer.“Isthispartofthedemonstration?”thehousewifeaskedhim.Davedidn’tsayanythingandwalkedout. “Toomuchbaggage,”AJtoldhimafterthecigaretteincident.“You’vejustgottoomuchbaggage.Tosellavacuumyouhavetobecom-pletelyfree.Orelsethecustomerwon’tbelieveyouthatthisisreallythegreatestvacuummoneycanbuy.” Daveknewheshouldn’thavebeensurprisedthatAJwouldn’ttakebackthechickens.AllsalesandbetswerefinalwithAJ. “Ireallydon’twantthem,”Davewasgettingmadnow.“Iwasdrunk,itdoesn’tcount.” “Abetisabet,”AJsaid.“C’mon,I’msureyou’lllovethem.”DavecouldtellthatAJwastryingtopitchthesechickenstohim.Tryingtosellhimtheideathatthesechickenswouldbeagoodinvestment.AJwalkedtowardsthetruck.“You’vejustgottogettoknowthem.” “IthinkI’llbefinewithoutthem,”Davesaid. AJhoppedinthebedofDave’struckandcroucheddownnexttothecage.“Ialreadynamedthemforyou,”AJsaid.Hewasonarollnow,consumedwithmakingagood,convincingpitch.“Thetallandskinnyone,thatoneisDorris.It’sanoldladyname,Iknow,butdoesn’tshelooklikeanoldbird.”AJpausedandlaughed.DavewonderedifAJhadintentionallymadethejoke,ormadetheconnectionafterwards.
Jones
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“Plus,shehasthattuftofyellowfeathersonherchest,soitlookslikesheiswearinganoldladypin.Theoneinthemiddle,hernameisCandy,”AJcontinued.“Ofcoursethefatonehasastrippername.Andthelastone,ohthelastone;she’sjustamotherfuckingdoll.InamedherNancy.”Davefelthischesttighten. AJsmiled.“I’mjustjokingman.Iknowbetterthanthat.Idon’tthinkthisgirlcouldhandleapotatotothehead.HernameisFrenchy,becauseshe’saFrenchhen.Getit?” GlancingatFrenchy,Davenoticedshewasshaking.“Istheresome-thingwrongwithher?” “No,she’sprobablystillscaredfromallthetravelingshe’sbeendo-ing.” AJundidthelatchonthecageandreachedhishandsin.Here-tractedthem. “Ohshit.Ithinkyou’reright.” “What’swrongwithher?” “Dunno.”AJnonchalantlyshruggedhisshouldersthenreachedbackintothecageandpickedherup.“Youneverknowwhatyougetwithchickens,though.”HeclimbedoutofthetruckwithFrenchytuckedinhisarmslikeafootball.“They’refinickyandweak.Theygetsickeasily.”AJheldFrenchyclosetohischest.ItwasalmostunnaturaltoDavetoseeAJshowsomesortofcompassion. JustasAJpulledthechickeninalittlecloserathinstreamofyellowliquiddrippedoutofFrenchy’smouthontoAJ’sindexfinger.Heletgoofher. Inanaturalreactionherwingsmadeanattempttoopen,tocush-ionherfall,buttheydidn’topenenough.AsshefellDavedoveouttocatchher,butfelljustshort.Shehittheground,crumpledintoaball,anddidn’tmove. “Whatthehell,”Davesaidwhilestandingupandbrushinghimselfoff.
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“Damnthingthrewuponme.”ThetopofAJ’slipsortofsnarledupwards.Davethoughthelookedlikeaferaldog.Hedidn’tunderstandhowAJcouldbesouncompassionatetowardsanotherlivingthing. “Shouldn’twedosomething?”Daveasked. “Definitely.”AJbentdownandgrabbedFrenchybyoneleg.Heheldherupsidedown.Herwingsfellopenandathicksteamofyellowpouredfromhermouth.Agurgleescaped. AJturnedandwalkedinthedirectionofthewoods. “Whatareyoudoing?”DavecalledafterAJ. “Somethingaboutthis.” “Putherdown.She’sstillalive.” DavecouldseethattherewasstilllifeinFrenchy.Herwingsstilltwitched.Shemadefeebleattemptsatclucks.Hisstomachturned.AJgottotheedgeofthewoodsandturnedaround.DavewasprettysurewhatAJwasgoingtodowithher. “Justletherbe,”Davepleadedagain. “That’swhat’swrongwithyou,”AJsaidpointingatDave.“You’reapussy.Whensomethingisheadedinthewrongdirection,getridofit.It’stheeasiestwaytofixit.Takethischickenforexample.”AJswunghishandaroundthechickenlikeamodeltryingtoshowoffaproduct,oramagiciantryingtodeceivetheaudienceintothinkingthatthenextactwillactuallybemagicandnotslightofhand.Likeavacuumsalesmantryingsellthenewestmodel. “Thischicken,yes,isstillalive,”saidAJ.“Butshewon’tbeforlong.Ithinkwebothknowthisbirdisdying.I’mnotavet,soIcan’tfixher.Areyouavet?” “No,but—” AJcuthimoff.“IfIshakeherdoesshetrytogetaway?”HeshookFrenchyupanddown.Herwingsbouncedalittlebutshedidn’tmakeanyattemptstoescape.Yellowcontinuedtodripfromhermouth.DavewantedtoreachoutandtakethechickenawayfromAJ,buthedidn’t.AJwastoogoodatpitching.
Jones
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Davestoodthere,lookingatAJ. “Answerme.Isshetryingtogetaway?” “No.”Davelookeddownandkickedatthegrass. “Good,sowe’vecometoanagreement.Thisgirlisnotgoingtobesaved.Sowegetridofit.” Hereallywasagoodsalesman.Davewasstartingtobesoldontheideathatthischickenwasdyinganduseless.Heacceptedthefactthattherewasnothinghe,oranyoneelse,coulddoaboutit.So,whenAJwoundupandthrewFrenchyintothewoodshedidn’treachouttosaveFrenchy. Insteadhewatched.JustlikehadwatchedNancyleave.Davekepthiseyesonthechickenasshespunintheair.Hewatchedherflipoverherself:headoverfeet,talonsoverbeak.Anarchofyellowvomitfollowedher.Shehitthegroundandstartedrollingdownthehilltothebottomofthewoods.Herfeathersgatheredleavesassherolled.OnceshemadeittothebottomofthehillDavelookedforherbuthecouldn’tfindherbecausehefeathersblendedwiththeautumnleaves.
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Luisa Caycedo-KimuraCreamatorium
Caycedo-Kimura
Wekissedherandlefthertoburnatthecrematorium,amidstremnantsofthosewhopreceded,tointerminglewiththosewhowouldfollow.
Atthecrematoriumherbodywentupinsmoketointerminglewiththosewhowouldfollowinasmolderingfurnace.
Herbodywentupinsmokeholdingourlove-stainedgoodbyes.Inasmolderingfurnacewehopedwewouldgettherightashes.
Holdingourlove-stainedgoodbyestheyconductedthecremation.Wehopedwewouldgettherightashesinacontraptionofdustandabsurdity.
Theyconductedthecremationamidstremnantsofthosewhopreceded.Inacontraptionofdustandabsurditywekissedherandlefthertoburn.
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Luisa Caycedo-KimuraLike Salome
Honorable Mention, 2010 Folio Poetry Contest
TheSpanishonionclothesherselfinamberveilsofcrisprawcrepehidinghertranslucent,multi-layeredbody,strong,savage,vanillawhite.Ajewelbornoftheearth.
Tasteherrawnakedness,bitethefreshnessofherflesh.Aplayfulmistress,she’llbiteyourtonguewithgentlesweetness.
Succumbtoheraswouldaroyalsubject,artistofculinaryrealms.Removeeachlayerofsunsettulleoryellow-redmantilla.
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Observehernudity,admirehergirth,cradleherwhiteness.Withanexactingknifeseparateher.She’llyieldwillinglycrescentsandringsofmoonlight.
Placeherinaheatedpan.Overcomebyheatshe’llsizzleherexoticdance,interminglewithwarmestoliveoil,loosedredtomatoes,wildestgarlic.
She’llenticeyouwiththeperfumeofawell-seasonedlover,finallyofferinghersurrenderedbodyonaplate.
Caycedo-Kimura
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Jasmine WilborneMarlie
Marlieranthepadofherthumbundertheelasticbandofhisbox-ers.Hesmelledliketheaftershaveherfatherusedtowear.Breathingdeeplyshepushedherbodycloserintothenaturalcreviceofhisbody.Heclutchedhertightandthesmellencapsulatedher.Herheartsurgedwithelation,thoughnostalgiabloomedbeneathit.Acrispbreezefunneledthroughthebuilding’sshatteredwindows.Thefirefedbydiscardedcardboard,cigarettebuttsandswigsofbourbonreachedhighupfromwithinitsmetalcage,andthefirelightflickeredagainsthissmoothbrownthroat.Marlie’skissesfol-lowedafterthem,chasingthearomaofthatspicysmell. “Youbeenoutherelong?”Heasked,hismouthpressedtoherear.Marliegiggledflirtatiously. “Justafewmonths.”Histonguetracedthecurveofherear.Sheshriekedplayfullyandpulledhimcloser. “Howaprettygirllikeyouendupouthere?”Hisvoicewasdeepandcharming.Hiseyeswereamuddybrownandablanketoffrecklessettledonhisnoseandcheeks.Marliewantedtolickthemoff,maybetheytastedlikecinnamon. “Justhadtoleave,”sheforcedout,nestlinghernoseinhiswhitecottont-shirt.Thebuildingwasdecrepitandneglected.Earlier,shehadpeedinthecornerquickly,afraidsomethingmightbiteher.Therewerelongstripsofpaintcurleduplikecradlesonthefloor.Graffitiateupwallspaceanddeeppuddlesofwaterpooledinthepuckeringbowlsofthedam-agedwood. “Youdon’tseemlikethebadtype.”Shedrewherlargeeyesupinmockedoffense. “Whatareyoutryingtosay?”sheprobedwithasmirk. Hechuckled.Herbrainswamandabdomenclenchedinlust.Shespreadherfingerswidebeneathhisjeans.Shecouldfeelthesculptedcutofhiships,chiseledabdomen,andthecuspofpubichair.Hisjawflaredand
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hislipspressedontoherforeheadpassionately. “Youdon’tseemlikethebadgirltype…”Hepausedtolookdownatherbrightbrownface.“Morelikedaddy’slittleangel.”Herheartthrobbed.Shedidn’twanttoremember. “Idon’tbelieveinangels,”shesaidasheknelttounbuttonherjeanshorts.One…two.Heroseabrowbutsaidnothing.“It’sstupidtobelieveinsomethingyoucan’tsee.”Sheranherfingersoverthewavesinhishair. “Whataboutguardianangels?”hequestioned,liftinghertanktoptoembellishherstomachwithkisses.No one was guarding my father. “Who?”Asoftsmile.Herheartflutteredwithuncertainty. “Iguess,heaven’sano-go?”He’s cute even though he’s stupid.Thefirecrackled.Thewindhowled.Sheshivered.You know better than that. “Nope,we’vegottolivenow,‘causethere’snothinglater.”Heleadherdowntothefloor.Shekissedhislips,hopingtostaunchhisquestions.Therewasyellinginthebackground,thedeepgrowlofmen’svoicespairedwiththesoundoftirescuttingacrossasphalt. “Thenthisshouldn’tbotheryou.”Heimpliedshimmingherunder-wearoff.Shewrappedherlegaroundhim. Heentered. Sheleftbeforethesunpeekedthroughthehorizonwithripplesoforangesandpinks.Marliemovedquietlyassoftsnoresbubbledfromhislips.Sheshovedherclotheson,pickedupherbackpackandwithgreedyfingerssnatchedupasmallvialofcoke,afewdollarsandabottleofliquor.Shelefthisjacket,tobenice.Whenshewasfarenoughdownthestreetshestopped.Openedherbaganddroppedthecontentsinside.Shecarriedverylittle.Agnarl-headedtoothbrush,askinnysilverofsoapandafewdollarstoretampons.Therewasapairofdirtysocks,undiesandathinsummerdress.Therewasalsothephotographofherfather,Marcus. Thepicturewastakenbyaccident.Itwasoneofthefewweekendsherfatherwasabletospendtimewithher.Hishighambitionsatsuccessoftenpulledhimawayfromhome.Buthewouldmaketimetospendwithher,evenifitwereforafewdays.
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Marlierememberedhowherfatherhadgrabbedherintoasidehug.Herhairwasawildmassoffroandblemishesspottedherforehead.Herfingersclawedplayfullyathisbulgingarm.Inthepicturehisshirtsleevesrosejustenoughtoseetheintricatelinesofhistattooedcrucifix.Herfacewascontortedwithannoyance,lipspulledwide.Herbigeyesflaredwithdisgust.Butherfatherhadmanagedtoplanthislipstoherforeheadandsnapthepicture.Sheswallowedhardandtuckedthephotoaway. Marlie’sstomachgrowled.TheneighborhoodaroundherlookedlikeitdependeduponfoodstampsandSection8.Shemadeherwaytothesubway,headingdowntown.I can always find something down there. Shewalkeddownthestreetsluggishly,thelasttendrilsofliquorcloudinghermindandwaveringhersteps.Shewaitedforthenextrailcar. Marliewanderedaroundthesilverandgreymetropolis,alone.Shepickedaroundthetrashcanssearchingforhalfeatenpizza,plasticwrappedsandwiches,anything.Shemovedlikeadogwithoutanowner.Coolbeadsofsweatsettledonhershoulders,withdrawallitupherinsides.Herstomachfoldedinuponitself.Itbeggedwithsharpelectriccramps.Herfingerswenttoherpocketandfondledthesmallvial. I’ll need this later. Cornerstoreshadbegununsheathingtheirmetalstorefrontsandreadyingforbusiness.Carsprowledalongtheroad.I feel sick. Marlieshuffledthroughthesilentcity. Hopeful,sheduckedbehindabakeryshoptotryherluckatsalvagingbakedgoods.Themorningbreezewaftedthearomaofbakingbreadcrackingitsdelicatecrust.Herstomachgrumbled.Withweaklimbsshetoppledoverintothedumpster.Shecrouchedlowinthepit,closedhereyes,ashersightdiminishedintoadizzykaleidoscopeofcolor.Shefeltvomitcrawlupherthroat,butswalloweditdown.ItwaseasyforMarlietobecomecarelessandferal.Hadnothingtolivefor,shethought.Whenthefeelingscameback,sometimesitwasthebitter,fierytendrilsofalcohol.Oftenhertonguesearchedfortheremainingdropsofgraininthesmoothmouthofthebottle.Othertimesitwastheboyssheallowedtoinvadetightcrevicesanddelvehalfmoonsintohersides.
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Morefrequentlyshewouldweepinthebackofahookahbar.Tremblingasshestaunchedhernosewithanapkin.Marliewouldweepincessantly;long,slow,slipperysobsforherfather.Sherememberedthecoldmetalbarsdividingthespacebetweenthem.Howhislipswereagreycrackedlineofsuffering.Howhiseyesflickeredrapidlybeneaththetranslu-centfilmofhislids.Andher.Herhandsfeltrawfromthecheaphandsoap.Andthemurkyauraofdeathclungtothecornersoftheroomlikeaspider’sweb.Therewasapartofherthatwantedtoslinghersleeveoverhernoseandmouth.Theotherwantedtoliebesidehimanddietoo. Anirksomeflygrazedhercheekandsheslappeditaway.I don’t feel good.Herinsidesmoaned.Shereachedforthandbeganriflingthroughgarbagebags,famished.Therewereshreddedcardboardboxes,burnedunrecognizablesandwhatlookedlikethemaroonstainofdriedblood.Thehighrisescastdarkshadowsacrossthealleyandpigeonscongestedtheair.Findingaroll,Marliebrusheditoffwithherfingersandbitintoit.Thein-sidewasstillfluffy,theoutsideflakyandbuttery.Shesavoredit.Withshameshedippedlowerbeneaththebin’smeniscus.Thenitwasgone.Defeated,Marlieslumpedagainstthewallasburningtearspriedatthecornersofhereyes.Why’d you have to go? Shetippedherheadbackagainsttherustywallandallowedthetearstoforcetheirwayout. Despiteherfather’sirregularpresence,theywereclose.Oneweek-endherfatherhadgivenheranhourtopackforacampingtrip.Herfather’simpromptucreativespurtsexcitedher.Sherememberedthefeelingofthenight.Howcatharticitwastojusttalk.Everyeveningseemedtobefullofreminiscing,playfulbanterandquestions. “Noteverythinghasmeaning.Whataboutthesand?”Marliesaid,digginghertoesintothecoolearth.Herfatherlaidbesideher,staringupintothecleardarkbluesky.Shewasjustplayingaround,really.Theairsmelledlikefire. “Saysomeguydecidestotakeawayallthesandonearth.Whatwouldpreventtheoceanfromdrowningusall?Whatabouttheminusculecreaturesthatthrivefromthemicroorganisms?Andthelargeonesthatfeed
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offofthem?Considertheevenbiggerfish?Theywouldhavenofood.Saythere’sapopulationofpeoplewhoneededthosefish,whoneededthoseorganisms.”Hepaused,dramatically.“They’ddie.” “Ohmygod.Ididn’twantalecture.”Marlierolledhereyesandshoweredherfather’slegwithahandfulofsand.Hesmiled. “Everythinghasameaningandpurpose.” “SureDad.” “I’mserious.”Hisvoicedippedlow.Abreezeenvelopedherwithaftershave. “Right.”Marliechewedonafingernail.I have that stupid paper to write. God. “Mar,ifwehadnomeaning,wewouldhavenevercometothatrealization.Afishdoesnotknowitiswet.Norbirdsknowtheycanfly.Wewouldbelivinginaworldthatwas.” “Yousaythatallthetime.I’mnotafish.”Sheshotback.I think I left my iPod at home.Herfatherpulledherclose.Sheresistedandyankedhershoulderaway. “Iftheworldhadnomeaning,whydopeopleseektofindit?Howisitthattherearesevendifferentplanetsaroundus,butoursistheonlyonesupportinghumanlife?WhydoIloveyou?”Sheseethedinside.I want to go. “I’mhungry.“Shesaidstandingupandbrushingthesandoffofherlegs.Shebeganwalkingaway.“What’sfordinner?” Startled,Marlieheardvoices.Oh fuck.Shesidleddowndeeperintothebin.Therewasnowheretogo. “WaitJoel;letmethrowthispieceofgarbageaway.”Shufflingfeet.Marliecouldn’thelpbutbreatheloudly.Theywereclose.Shewastiredofpeoplewiththeirquestionsandgawkingfaces. “I’mtiredofthemdroppingthisshitby.I‘aughta-“ “Yeah,yeah,yabigpussy.Yabakecakesforalivin’.Whatareyougoingtodo?”AnItalian-voiced-manchided.Marliewaitedandthensud-denlysomethingsharpstabbedhertemple.Sheforcedbackayelp.
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“Ihateyou,youknowthat?”Theothermanchuckledandtheirvoicesgrewfaintuntil,silence.Marlierubbedherforeheadandlookedaroundquizzically.Shegroanedasherfingerstracedtheraisedformofaknot.Shejerkedherbodytotheright,thenleft,untilshespottedit.ItwasascratcheddarkbluecontainerwithLTL burnedontop.Shescoopeditupandwithangrilyandopenedit.That shit hurt.Ametrocard,packofgranolaandafoldedpieceofpapertoppledout.Marlieblinkedhard,herlipsgaping.Withdeftfingersshepluckedtheitemsfromthetrashandshovedthecontentsbackinandthenflungthebackpackoverhershoulderandscrambledoutofthedumpster.Thenshewasgone.JoysurgedthroughMarlie’schest.Herheartpoundedwithanticipationasshestoppedbyaparkbenchandsat. Herchestroseandfellasshetookinthecoolair.Withasmileshelookedagain.Firstsheexaminedthemetrocardandhelditbeforeherface.Therewasonlyonerideleft.Oneride.Herfacebrightened.The world is full of opportunities, the most vital piece is the opportunity,herfatherwouldalwayssay.Thenextthingwasthefoldedpieceofpaper:
We want to listen to you: Are you sick? Mourning? Just need to rant without interruption? Here at Love to Listen, our focus is on providing support. Please come visit us at Uptown 1139 Avenue where we will provide a free warm meal and a quiet ear. Feel free to stop by and be prepared to be treated with care. You are never alone. With care, Joshua Christii Founder of Love to Listen
Marliereadthenotemoretimesthanshehadintended.Sheap-pearedconcerned,quizzical,stunned.Herjawbulgedandrelaxed.Ques-tionsrivetedthroughherbrainlikeaschooloffishmaneuveringachannel.“Idon’tneedhelp.I’mnotretardedoranything,”shesaidhalf-heartedly. Withaforcedchucklesheshoulderedherbackpackandwalked
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towardsthesubway.Shedescendeddownthestairs,thesuddenheatform-ingpricklybeadsofsweatunderherarms.Peopleclusteredontheterminal.Somedangerouslyclosetotheedge,peeringaroundthepillarsanxiously.Thecrowdwasthickwithworkingpeople.Marlietightenedthestrapsonherbackpackandrippedopenthegranolaandchewed.Amaninanavysuitshoutedintohisphone.AHispanicwomaninscrubseyedthefloor.Ateenagersippedatawaterbottle.Marlierippedoffhernail,lookedaroundatthewhirlingsubway,chewedattheskininhermouth,clickedherfingers,finishedthegranola,twiddledwithhershortsandshuddered.Something’s wrong. Someonewaswatchingher.Herheartheavedandthunderedinherears.Itwaslikeherentirefleshwascontractingandreleasing.Hereyesfocusedandunfocused,shefeltfaint.Herpalmsbegantomoistenandsheshivered,cold.Herthroattightenedandhertonguefeltdryanduseless.Hereyeswidenedandshetriedtolookarounddiscreetly.Shescannedthecrowdslowly,ratherpainfully.Shelookedintothecrowd’sfaces,wassome-oneoutthere?Shetightenedhergriponherbag,whenshefeltsomeonebehindher.Herfacedroppedwithhorror.Who is that?Beforeshecouldmovetherewasatightgriponherwristandanarmacrossherwaist.Shecouldn’tmove...avoice.Sheflinched. “ActlikesomethingiswrongandIswearI’llfuckyouup.”Thatvoice.Sheshuddered.Shesaidnothingasthecrowdfoldedandunfoldeditself.Perhapstheylookedlikeanintimatecouple,embracingbeforeasaddeparture.Doorsopenedpeoplecameout.Peoplecamein.Movinglikeafloodthroughavalley.Shecouldn’tfeelherlegs,didn’tknowhowshewasstanding,mouthdry,earsbuzzing.Itsmelledlikerubberandmusk.Hesmelledstill,likethataftershave. “Youtooksomethingsthatbelongtome.”Afact.Hishandclenchedherwristharder,shegasped.Oh god. “It’sinmypocket.” “Fuckdatshit.I’mateachyouavaluablelesson.”Hebeganpullingherbackwards.Flabbergasted,sheresisted.Be good, he won’t hurt you.
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“Stop!”Shesaidfirmly,butsoftly. “Iwillbeatdashitouttayouifyoupullascene.”Thethreatrangloudinherears.Thenextsubwayscreechedtoahalt.Peoplepushedthemselvesout.Othersbulliedtheirwayin.Instinctively,Marliebroughtherheadbackandslammedintohisface.Asickeningcrackresounded.Hereleased.Vulgaritiesflewfromhismouthandsheran,slidthroughtheclosingdoorsandgraspedontothepoletosteadyherself.Thecarlurchedforward.Shelookedbackandsawthathewasnolongerthere.Herheartrackeditselfagainstherribcageintrepidation.Oh god.Shesatdownandpeeredattheboard.Shewasgoinginthewrongdirection.HeadedUptown.IndifferentandterrifiedsheallowedherselftoconsidermeetingwiththeLovetoListengroup.I’ll just see what it is and if I don’t like it…Shegotoffatthestopclosettotheavenue.I just won’t come back.Trepi-dationsurgedthroughherframe.Is he following me?Shescuttledupthestairs,nearlyscrapingherkneeandscampereddownthestreetfearfully. Thetwostorybrownstonebuildingloomedonthefarendoftheblock.Itrosedauntinglyovertherestofthebuildings.Marlieobserveditwithcare,straininghereyestoseeifithadanyinscriptionsonitsside.Butshefoundnone.Itlookedwellmanicuredandclean.Shewalkedwithslowmeasuredsteps,hereyeswanderedalongthevariouscracksinthecement.Carscrammedthesidewalk,leavingmereinchesbetweenthem.WithbrowntwitchyhandsandmeanderingeyesMarlieleanedovertopeerintothecars.Acoffeestainedcup,acoloringbookpagetapedtothedashboard,crumbsrestinginthedriverseat.A disheveled over-bearing mother, sheconcluded.Witheverystep,herheartflutteredandhereyesflashedbackandforth.Shepickedherwaydownthestreet,restingtorunherfingersalongablackironfencerisingabovesomebushes,tooktimetopluckleavesandstoptopinchtrashfromtheground.Itapproachedslowly,thebuilding.AndMarliepausedbeforeitandscrutinizedthedoor.Itwasgreenandappearedfresh,withcleanevenstrokes.Upanddown.Upanddown.Abovethedoorrestedasign: Love to Listen.Marlie’sfingerstrembledasshereachedpushedherthumbintothedoorbellandsnubbed
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thelightout.Shecouldhearfaintly,abriefchime.Herheartbeatlikeatrottinghorseandherheadspun.Therewasthenearinaudibleclickasthedoorwasunlockedandasoftcreakasthedoorwasopened. “Hello.”Hervoicewashighandshehadapleasantsmile.Shelookedaboutsixty,withhergrayinghairpinnedupinabun.Herbrowneyeslookedfriendly.Like a grandma.“Comeinandsitdowninthewaitingroom.”Marliesatdown.Thewomandisappearedbehindadoortositbe-hindthereceptionistdesk.Theroomwastinywithlightbluewallsdonningframedpictures.Achildwithpaintslatheredonherhands.Asnapshotoftwomenreadingfromapieceofpaper.Astaffphotoofabouttwentywithmatchingshirtsandlargegrinningfaces.Marliejiggledherkneeandlookedfromthepicturestothewoman,andabsentmindedlyrifledthroughthemagazines.Shecouldn’thelpfromshivering,butitwasn’tcold,theroomwaspleasantandwarm.I should leave. “Sweetie?Canyoucomehereplease?” Marlie’sstomachfeltfinickyandherearsseemedtobestuffedwithcottonballs.Shenoddedandgotuptoapproachthedesk.Thewomangrinnedandslidtheglassawaytohandheraclipboard.“Hi,love.”Sheretrievedapenfromasmalltin.“I’mMrs.Laurane,thesecretaryhereatLovetoListen.”Hereyesweresetinthefinelinesofcrow’sfeet.She’s pretty,Marlieobserved.Sherelaxedtookadeepbreathandleanedagainstthecounter. “I’mMarlie.”Mrs.Laurane’seyesbrightened. “Pleasuretomeetyou.”Sheofferedherhand.Marlieclaspeditweakly.“Isthisyourfirsttime,Marlie?”Shenoddedslightly.Lauranestraightenedupinherchair.“Great,”shechided.“HereatLovetoListenweprovideawarmmealandanopportunitytomeetwithoneofourmanystaffandjusttalk.”Shesaid,finishingoffthesentenceratherproudly.“WehaveaNo-Questions-Askedpolicy.Meaningwedon’tprodyourpasthis-toryoraskforyourSocial.Weworkwiththe‘you’youarenow.Soundgood?”Marliethoughtaboutitbriefly.I don’t know what I’m going to talk about. Even if I did have something to say what would be the point? “Yes.”
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“Wonderful,filloutthisbriefform.”ShepointedtotheonebeforeMarlie,wholookeditoverandthenplacedpentopaper.“Thisisjusttogetsomeinformationonyou,ifyouweretocomeback.”Whenshefinished,Lauranetookitandscannedoverthepaper. “…Oh,JoshuaChristii!”Shebeamed.“Heisoneofthebesthere.Pleasetakeaseatandsomeonewillbewithyoushortly,forlunch.”Marlienoddedonceagain.AfterafewmomentsanolderwomanwithtwostrandtwistsandaSouthernaccentledhertoalargediningcafeteria.Morepic-tures.Morephotos.Morefaces.Marliesatwhereofferedandwashandedasmallmenutochoosefrom.SheanxiouslypickedouttheCaesarsaladwiththeturkey,cranberryandcheesePaniniandwaited.ThefoodwasdeliveredtoherwarmandMarliequicklythankedthewomanbeforeeating.Every-thingwasdelicious.ShehadtorefrainfromrunningherfingersalongthebottomofthebowltofinishtheParmesancheesesauce.Shewipedherfingerswithanapkinandlickedherlips. “Marlie?”Amale’svoiceinquired.Sheliftedherheadtoseeayoungblackmanwithanearringglintinginhislobe.Shesmiledpolitely. “Hi.”Hesmiledback,extendingahand. “I’mJoshua.”Heshookherhand.“Comefollowme.”Hegesturedtothehallway.“Let’sgotomyoffice.”Shepickedupherbagandobeyed.Itwasn’tfar;sheturnedintoacozyroomwithtwocomfychairs.Shesankintoone,almostemittingasighofrelief.Hefollowedandpulledoutherfileandreaditquickly. “Sowhat’snewinyourlife?”Hisvoicewassmoothandsincere.Heheldhergazepatiently,runninghisfingersalongtherimofthechairsarm.Hereclineddeeperintotheseat,kickedoffhisshoesandthensettledhiseyesbackonher.Marliecopiedhimandgotcomfortable.Sheletherhandgoofherbagandrestedherfingersinherlap.Thequestionwassoinviting,sorevealing.Shemulleditover,thesilenceintheroomneutral.Sheranthewordsthroughhermind,tryingtocatchthemononeparticularmoment,onephrase,onesituation.Butcouldn’t.Itwasalltoomuchtotalkabout.What’s new? What isn’t new?Shemadetoopenhermouth,butdidn’t.Hereyesdancedaroundonthecarpetfloor.Itwasapatternofvariouscolored
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squaresintersectingagainstblack.Why should I talk to him?I don’t even know him… why does he care?Sherolledherlips.That’s stupid. You’re making excuses.Marliescruncheduphereyes. “Nothing,”Shesaidloudly.Joshuasmiledandscratchedhishead. “Hmm.That’shardtobelieve.”Marlieshruggedhershouldersandbeganplayingwithherearlobe.Moresilence.I don’t need this.“Imeanisthereanythingthatisweighingonyourchest?”No. “Well,”shebegan,twirlingastringaroundherfinger.“Mydaddiedjustrecently,”shesaid.Stupid. Why did you say that? Shekneadedherteethintoherbottomlip.Don’t cry. “Howdoyoufeelaboutit?”Histonewascompassionate;thesoundofhisvoicewassoothing.Whensheopenedhermouth,shecouldn’tstopfromtalking.Shewailedaboutherfather’sdeathandhowclosetheyhadbeen,howunexpecteditwas.Howshedidn’tknowwhattodososhelefthomeandhadn’tbeenbacksince.Sherevealedtheinnocentfeelingsofherheart.Abandonment.Hatred.Guilt. “Imean.Howdoesanormalpersonjustgo,getsickanddie?”sheasked,snifflingintoatissue.Joshuaheldhergazesteadilyasifreturningthequestion.Marlietookthecueandreplied.“Shithappens.” Joshuashiftedinhisseat,pullingalegunderneathhim.“Wouldyouhaveeverbeenreadyforyourfather’sdeath?”Marlielookedupathimwithdisgust. “Whatkindaquestionisthat?”Hervoicewasshrill.Heplacedhishandsoutinfrontofhimquickly,asiftowardoffanattack. “Don’tgetmewrong,butcouldyouhaveeverpickedadaywhenyouwouldhavebeenlike“Hecandienow.I’llbeokay.”?”Marlie’schestroseupanddownfuriously. “AreyousayingthatI’mbeingtoosensitive?”Sheyelled,gettingtoherfeet.Furycoursedthroughherveinsassheclenchedherfingerstightly.Heshookhishead. “No,I’mnotsayingthatall.I--,”Shecuthimoffvehemently.
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“Youcan’tpreparefordeath.Godjustsmitespeopledownforfun!”Shescreamed.Joshuastoodtomeetherfuriousstare. Hisvoiceremainedcalm.“Fouryearsago,myoldersisterwasmurderedontheeveofhertwentiethbirthday.”Marlie’sfacerelaxed,slightly.“Ittookthreeyearsformetoreallyconfrontmyproblems.Ifeltthesamewayyoufeelnow.”Heofferedheranothertissue,shedidn’ttakeit.“IalwaysthoughtthatifshehadjustdiedafewdayslaterorwhenIwasolderorwhenIwasn’tsomadatherorwhenIdidn’tneedheranymore…”Hepausedandstaredpasther.“ThatIwouldbe…okay.”Hiseyesreconnectedwithhers.“Iknowhowyoufeel.”Marliestaredathim,blankly. “Iwanttogo.”Shesaidmaliciously. Hereacheddowntogathertheclipboardandwroteoutafewwords.“Here.”Hehandedittoher.“Ifyouwannatalk,here’smynumberandofficehours.”Afteramoment,Marliereluctantlytookit.Heledheroutoftheroomanddownthehalltothefrontdesk. “Stopbyifyouwanttotalk,orsomething.”Heopenedthedoorforher.Shesteppedoutintothedarknight.Shebeganwalkingaway.“ByeMarlie,TheLordhasblessedyou.”Shelookedoverhershoulderabruptly,butthedoorwasclosed. Shecrumpledthepaperintoaballandtosseditontheground.Theheelsofhershoesscrapedthecementasshestormedaway.Thenshestopped.Pausedandturnedaroundtolookdownthestreet.Thestreetlightswereburningasoftandpaleyellowoutinthenight.Shecouldhearthetreesrustlingasthewindcaressedthem.Justbarely,Marliecouldseetheballeduppaperlyingdiscardedontheground.You should go back and get it,shethought.
Wilborne
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Jared CoffinDiscernment
Second Place, Folio Poetry Contest
Inouryouthwehangdrinkingthecoolsweatofsunlight,nakedinaSwissvineyard,
blossomingintofragile,pinklungs,meditatingonthewhitefainthieroglyphicAlps.
Thereisatrainthatrunsthiswayshuttledouttheendofatunnelsomuchlikearolloffilmshuttledthroughacamera,withitssquareviewportssuperimposedwithfinalfaces.
Gropingtheairwithourblindhands,alldocileandfinicky,queerandavuncular,lollingingentlysensuousshapeseachglobeofourexistencewondersatyourfrailpowersofrecognition.
Perhapsitisourthousandfaceseachgrownlargeandcalmastheeyesofablindhorse.Nomatter–youforget.
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Pressedandstompedintotheindistinguishableexistenceofliquidity,lefttoageinthetighthipsofabottleexiledtodarknessforthesakeofelixirhood–
wearefuriousuponourliberation,rushingfromglasstoglasstobejudgedbythecolorofourcollectivelyobliteratedskin.
Please,enjoyourvelvetburnonthepinkgill-wallsofyourthroat.Soonwewillcoursethroughyourmazeofveinsconspiringwithyourownbloodtomakeyourage.
Youwilltrodthestreetsshoutingobscenities,forcingtouriststochangenamesandseats,pacesandfacialexpressions.
Inthethirdpersonyouwillseeyourselfyourquick,garbledvoiceinformingachild:J’ai besoin d’un ami!Youwillheareachsyllableun-nestlefromyourpinkgill-throatandwillstruggletodiscernwhichofyourthousandinseparablefaceshasspoken.
Coffin
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Folio 2010
3�
Lies My Father Told Me
WhenIwasachild,myfathertoldmemanywonderfulthingswhichIdidnotunderstand.Hesaidonehundredcopperpennieswereworththesameasasingledollar–Iknewhewaslying.
Whenhetooktowriting,disappearingtohisofficetomakesoundsthathadnomeaning,Iwouldimaginetheletterseachclinkmightbe.
Whenthesoundsstopped,hereappeared,kneelingtowhisperasecret:words,hesaid,onlylivesolongthemorethey’reusedthefastertheydie,butwithpeople,it’stheopposite.
Ithoughthewaslyingagain,butmothersaiditwastrue.Ibelievedher,toldherIwantedtogetdadsomenewwordssincesomanyofhismustbedead,withallthesoundhemakes.
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Rummagingintheshadowsandcedarsmellofmyfather’sdesk,Ifoundsomeabandonedletters.Mostlyconsonants,afewnubilevowels.Thatwinter,Iincubatedtheminthewarmpalmsofadictionary,hopingtocoaxthemintofreshnewwords.
Eachnight,Iwouldreadtothelettersfromathesaurus,showingthemallthefabulouswordstheycouldbecome.Astheygotolder,andIcouldfeeltheirsmallbodieswarmingthedictionary,motherreadpoetrytothem,thewayshewouldsingtomeinthewomb,trickingmetocomeout.
Inthenextroom,shewasgrowingnotesbetweenlayersofblanksheetmusic,andshewouldplaysongsforthemmuchthesamewayIreadtomyletters,yetbothrefusedtobeborn.
Iaskedmother,atwhatpointdolettersbecomewords?Howlongmusttheyremaininthedictionary?Shewashonestandsaidshedidnotknow.OnedayIlistenedtomylettersthroughanoldstethoscope,excitedtohearthebone-scrapeofconsonantsandthefaintgroaningofvowels.
Coffin
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Thenextmorning,theyweregone.Mydad’sroundfacegreetedmewithablindsmilewhenIrantohisofficewithquestionsandtears.Hehadalreadyburiedsomewithinthemanysentencesofastory;afewwerebornadverbsandhehadabortedthem,lefttheminkyanddecomposinginthetrashcan.
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Adam KomosinksiClam Corn Cup
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Adam KomosinksiClam Hunt Mug
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Allison WalshMama ~ Second Place, Folio Art Contest
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Allison WalshRust
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Allison WalshUntitled
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Lisa TursoUntitled
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Tammy MillerUntitled
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Sean SullivanSplit Decisions
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Sean SullivanSelf Portrait
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Becky SchaffrickLife & Death
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Jessica HallidayAlice
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Neil PascarellaReflections ~ Honorable Mention, Folio Art Contest
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Haley SmithRolling Petals
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Amber LewisUntitled
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Benjamin QuesnelDJ ~ First Place, Folio Art Contest
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Benjamin QuesnelLollipop
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Coffin
Shadows
Blackmittenstitchedtoyourspirit–whatanovelinvention.youthinkIleaveyoutojointhefabricofthenight–Idonotthatsilhouette,followingyouassomesayGoddoes,inthewomb,brackishurnoftheunborn,whenyouwerethecoalescenceoftwocellsafish-slipperyembryoathump:ahiddenmetronome.You–anupsetstomach,imagelessandformlessandunabashed,
Melistingdumblyatmymooringatiredflagweigheddownbyblackwaterandblood.Whencalloftheworldfinallyreachedyourearswithitsbluenotesoflonging,andthebodycoughedyoufleshtoair,freshasanun-inventedwordscrapingoutofthethroatinathickbruiseofsound,
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Folio 2010
5�
Iwasbirthed,blossominginadimaperturebeneathyournew,fragilebody,formfittingandfulloflife.
Nowasouvenirofbirth–vestigeofalandirretrievableasadream.
Icry,darkcousintothebellybutton,Iwillneverceasetooverprintyourgroundwithmyflickers.IamanobstinatetattooIamtheearth’smascara:sable,fluid,andunwashable.CarrymeacrossyourroughsurfacesoflandandIwillskimthemlightlyasaship.InwaterIwillshiveroverpulsesofwavesglisteninglikefracturedmirrorsbutdonotbedeluded;thoughyoucallmeafractureofonce-coherentlight,Iamwhole.Inallyourfreedomyoucannotkillmethoughyoufuddleaboutunderthewhitecoinofthemoon,hopingtocoveryourdarknesswithdarkness.
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FromtheboxofglassandAstroturf,IwatchedEmmitrollupanddowntheslantedyardasIanandGeoffsmokedandtalkedshop.Shopforthemwasmunitionsanddeployment,whyGeoffhadaplateinhishead,andwhyIandidn’tgetclearancefornuclearweaponsstacking.MymomandItalkedabouthealthcare,andwhyherfamilymembersaredicksonlyifpolitics(oroneofanassortmentofothertopics,forthatmatter)aremen-tioned.Iwasontomythirdofsomestrangepirate-themedbeerwhenmymotherdeclaredthechilitobeedible,andwemovedfivefeettothediningroom. Ilookedoutovermymother’sfrontlawn,whichconsistedofaspiralingstonestaircaseandaforty-fivedegreelawn,bothconnectingneatlyagainstahighway.Ian,mybrotherandmyride,hadhiscarparkedinwhatservedforadriveway,asmallnookofpavementconvenientlycarvedintothearduousslantofgrassandweeds.Sincehehadmovedouthehadtodriveanextrahourtobringme. Mymother’schilihasalwaysbeenessentiallygroundbeefwithafewbeansmixedin,unlessI’mmistaken.It’sbeenaconstant,enoughsothatwhenmymotheraskedaftermydad,Icouldn’tthinkstraight. “Well,he’sgotdenturesnow,stillsmoking,sameshitjob,y’know?Nothingterriblynew.” “Oh.” Itriednottomentionhowmuchhappierheseemed,howhefinallystoppedkillinghimselfwithovertime,howhiswifeactuallybother-ingtohelpfinanciallyseemedtobetheonlythingthatmadethispossible.Ibegantopokeherinthecheeksuntilshecomplained,aswasthecustominmomentswhenIhadn’tacluewhattosaytoher.Geoffsavedmefromthisbychangingthetopictobitchingabouthowhisson,Emmit,wouldonlyeathotdogs.
Galen KnoxNothing Terribly New
Knox
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“WellIguesshe’sjustatthatfuckingagewherehewon’teatshit,eh?”helaughed. IstaredatEmmit,whoshookhisheadwithsomestrangesnortinggurgleIrarelyhearpeopleproduce. “Iwon’teatthistoday,maybeinaboutfiveweeks.Januaryseventh,Ieatitthen.”Emmitstuttered. “Yousee,healwaysdoesthis.Hewon’teatthings,an’thenhemakesweirdexcusesaboutit.” “Leasthedoesn’tjustthrowitatmelikeyoudid,”jokedmymother. “Yeah,well,heshouldjusteathisfuckingfoodorelsehe’sgoingthefucktobed,”insistedGeoff,staringEmmitdown,whocapitulatedwithaspoonful. Istaredathim,tightlipped,ignoringhisfather.Iassumedhewasn’tallthere.Iwasn’teither,atseven.ImusteredwhatlittledefenseIcaredtostateanduttered,“So,Ilearnedsomethinginoneofmyclassesabouthowpunishmentonlymakesitworse,andastructuredrewardsystemencouragesimprovement.” WhileEmmitsilentlyfork-pokedhischili,Ianretorted,“Someoneshouldtellthattomyboss!TheclosestthingtoarewardIgetisknowingthattheG.I.Billisgoingtoletmequit,eventually.” “Oh?That’sgreattohear!Areyougoingforartlikeyouwanted?”repliedMum,coupledwith,“Geoff,couldyoujustmakethekidafuckinghotdogandsendhimtobedalready.” “Alrightyoulittleshit,I’llmakeyouahotdog.CooltohearaboutartschoolIan.Y’hearI’mworkingonanursingdegreenow?”Geoffsaid,gettingupandsteppingtothefridgetohelpEmmitout. Isighed,turningandinquiring,“SoMom,whyhaven’tyoustartedgoingforyourRN?It’sbeen,what,twentyyearsnow?EvenDadisgettingonesohecanretire.” Theroomwasstaringatme,evenEmmit,hotdoginmouth. “Well,yousee,Geoffandmearetakingturns.Whenhefinishes,
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I’llgotoschool.”shesaid,smiling,eyesdartingfromGeoffandme.Iself-ishlyhopedshewasasawkwardasIwasaboutthis. “Soyou’rethebreadwinnerthen,ehMom?”Ianjoked. Unabletohelpmyself,Iadded,“Quiterevolutionaryofyou.” Geoffprotested,“Woah,Ijustcan’thandleallthosedamnsalesjobsanymore.Toomuchrushingandgoddamnpeople.Soyourmomwasniceenoughtohelpout.” “Soyouwentintonursing?”Ianprodded,whereIcouldnot. “Yeah.” “Togetawayfromtherushing.Andthepeople.” “Wellyeah,Iknowthere’sabunchofthatshitinnursingtoo.ButatleastI’llbehelpingpeople.” Therewasapause.Mymothersmiledatme,seemingproudofGeoff.IanandIshareddoubtfullooks.Emmitpokedanemptyplate. “Ican,canIgotobed?”Emmitpleaded.Geoffstoodupwithalowsigh,sayingwithutmostcompassion,“Alright,com’ereshitbox,let’sputyoutobed.” GeoffandEmmitsteppedoutoftheroom,andmymothersmiled,silentlyexcusingherselftothebathroom.IturnedtoIan,takingthepre-ciousmomentstoconspire. “Didn’tmomleavebecauseshewastiredofdoingwork?” “Howisdaddoing?”Iansaid,dodging. “Oh,um.He’salmostdoneremodelingthehouse.Actuallybeensleeping,downtoapackaday,stufflikethat.” “Cool,youhadmeworriedabitbefore.LasttimeIwasthereheseemedalright.” “Yeah,didn’tyoutwojamforawhilethen?” Mymotherslidbackintotheroom,sittingnexttoIan.Hugginghim,shesaidbrightly,“Soyourfather’spickeduptheguitaragain,hashe?” “Yeah,hejustfixedupthat‘73LesPaul.” “Wasn’tthatabass?”spokemyconfederates,inunison.Geoff,con-tinuingtheprocessionofinterruptions,returnedtotheroom. “Bass?”
Knox
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Thethreeofusjustsmiledathim,eachslightlylessgleefulthanthelast.Itwasmymother’splacetobroachthesubject,Ithought.Iwasn’tabouttotalktoGeoffforhoursaboutmymother’sex-husband’svintagemusicequipment.Heshrugged,takinghisplaceatthefootofthetable.Well,theheadrealistically. “Whatever.” Thepreviousstiltedconversationandconsumptiongone,andGeoffhavingquietlysentEmmittobed,theairwasslightlymorefree.Slightly.Itlackedthatsubtleharshnessthatwatchingayoungeryougetderidedbrings,anyway.Geofflikelyfeltmorefreenowaswell,ashede-clared“Soyeah,thiswholeeducationthingsashamanyhow.Theyjusttakeallyourmoneyforapieceofpaper,anddon’tteachyouanyshityouneed.Afterall,I’vegotadegree,anditdoesn’thelpmeatallwithfindingajob.God,I’dhatetobeyou,tryingtofindajobwithadegreeinEnglish.” Ididn’tfeellikepointingouthowoftenhegetsfired.Orconceptslikenetworking.Ornotyellingatcustomersuntiltheygetyoufiredandbeingunabletofindajobbecauseyouburneverybridge.Orhowhewasabouttomakethebestnurseever,consideringhowfantasticaparenthewas.Ijuststaredatmysea-thiefthemedbrewasitrapidlylostappeal. “Well,yeahit’sasham,butifyoucan’tevenpassthebasicshit,howareyouworthadamn?Ican’tbelievepeoplearemakingitthroughcol-legewithoutevenknowing...”OneofIan’srarepoliticaltirades,whicharegenerallyiconoclasticandrarelyunheardof,sentGeoffandhimintoarant,safelydistantfrommeandmymother’searsontheothersideofthetable. Mymotherjustsmiledatme.Ipressedthecoldofmybeerbottleagainstthesideofhercheek,sheglared,butdidn’tstopsmiling. “Imissthesedinners.Youshoulddropbymore,”sheinsisted. Ismiledthinlyandgotsomemorechili.Itwas,afterall,oneoftheonlyconstants.EvenifIhadn’thadanyforfiveyears.
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Kayla WilliamsPasted Together
Shewassloppilyputtogether.Flakybitsoffleshhodgepodgedontodense,pearlybones.Hermotherandfatherpastedonringletsofblondehairandblue,googlyeyesthatcircledwhitesocketsinshock.ShewastheirbestArtsandCraftsproject,andtheirchild.Shegrewandlearnedhowtowieldastrongadhesive.
Atwork,sheburnsagrislysteakandhastostartagain.Herbossyellsathertohurryandservethecustomers.Ablue,tear-stained,googlyeyepeels,unfastens,andplopsintopeasoup.Sheshouldhaveusedsuper-gluemascara.
Herstiff,crustyhandsfeellikeflypaperagainsttheoutsideofherapartmentdoor,andsheseesthestickypost-itfromthelandlordwhowantsrent.Herhandunfurlsanddropsfromhercrustywrist.
Williams
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Whenherweakfingersdialanunsteady,on-and-off-and-on-boyfriend,agirlishshriekanswersthephoneinsteadofathroatybaritone.Hereagersmilecurls,shrivels,andpullsawayfromherivoryskin.Itwon’tstickwithouttheElmer’s.Soshepicksitoffandleavesthick,dryscabsofwhite.
Shesearchesforaquickfix,moresquelchingglobsofmilkymolassestocureher,butit’stoolate.HercementedarmlosesIt’scohesion.Itthrashesonthefloor.Herlegsunhingefromtheirjointsofputty.Hertorsoisleftunbalancedanditfallssideways.Herheadloosens,unfastensfromherbreakingneck,andpitchesforward.Itrollsnexttoherdetachedarm.Sheisamessymosaicoflimbsleftstrewnacrosstheshaggycarpet.Faded,splittingpiecesofherselfwaitforsomeonewithanadhesive.
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Bi-polar.Manicdepressiondisorder.Nomatterwhatyoucallit,itsucks.Constantmoodswings.Fromfeelinglikeyouwanttodietofeelinglikeyou’reontopoftheworld.Mostpeoplesaythe“depression”partistheworst.Imean,itmakessense.Whowantstoconstantlyfeellikekillingthemselves,neverwantingtogetoutofbed,notcaringaboutanything?Ithinkthemanicpartistheworst.Yourmindfeelslikeaballoftangledyarnwhereyoucanneverquitefindthebeginningortheend.Youfeellikeyou’reonaninnumerableamountofdrugs,allaffectingyourbodyinwaysyouneverexpected.Pureeuphoria,yetsomuchpain.Thoughtscomeandgo.Completechaos. Allmythoughtsarefleeting.Ican’tcontrolmymind.Ican’tcontrolmyactions.IwritethisstorytodetailmylifeinthebestwayIcan:insmallsnapshotsfromdifferenttimesthroughoutmylife.Iblameitonthemania-thefactthatIcan’tconcentrateonanythinglongenoughtowriteabeauti-fuldetailedstoryfilledwithmetaphorsthatmakethereaderspondertheirownlives.Isayit’sthemania.OrisitbecauseItrymyhardestnottofocusonthesethingsfortoolong? Mymother,LindaSpinelli.IseemtocallherthatmoreoftenthanIdo“mom.”Welivedinsixdifferentapartmentsintenyears,andeachapartmenthadthesamecouch.Anold,wornoutbrown,almostcorduroycouch.Thestuffingwasfallingoutofeacharmduetooutcatsusingitastheirpersonalscratchingpost.Mymomalwayscalleditour“sickcouch.”Ifwestayedhomesickfromschool,shewouldpromptlylayusdownonthecouchandcoveruswithourfavoriteblanket.She’dlaywithusuntilwefellasleep,fightingoffwhateverfeverorillnesswehad.Ifuckinglovedthatcouch. Slowly,mymomstartedspendingmoreandmoretimeonthatcouch.Shehardlyeversleptinherownroomwithherboyfriend.Dayand
Jamie ConwayMania
Honorable Mention, Folio Fiction Contest
Conway
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night,shewouldbeonthatold,nowbecominggross,browncouch.Iwouldworryabouther.Whywasmymomalwayssick?WhatcouldIdotohelpher?First,mymomtoldmeshehadmigraines,whichiswhysheneededtolayinthedark.Afterafewyearsofthatlie,shetoldmethatshewasdepressedsoshewantedtosleepalot.Shewasgettingclosertothetruth.Astimewenton,hertimeonthecouchbecamefilledwithuncon-sciousness,andwhenshewasawake,mumbledspeechwithhereyesrolledbackinherhead.Istartedtorealizewhatthetruthreallywas.Thiswaswhenshebecame“LindaSpinelli”tome.Butstill,IknewIhadtotakecareofher.Isatwithherfrommorninguntilnight,hopingonedayeverythingwouldchange. Apparentlytenyearsofprayingthatmymotherwouldchangeherlifedidn’tdoadamnthing.Thereshewas,intheICUconnectedtowhatseemedlikeeverymachinethehospitalowned.Thosemachineswerekeep-ingheralive.Nobodyknewhowshegotthere.Nobodycouldtelluswhatthehellhappenedtoher.AllIknewthatmy55yearoldmotherwasonthevergeofdeath,anditdefinitelywasn’tduetonaturalcauses.Isuspectedwhathadhappenedtoher.Ihadbeenhavingdreamsaboutitforweeksbeforethisevenhappened.Iconstantlydreamedaboutherex-boyfriend,comingtoherapartment,andgivingherthevarietyofdrugsthatsheloved-coke,heroin,andherfavorite:OxyContin.Thesewerethedrugsthathegotheraddictedto.Oncethenursestoldusamanbroughtmymothertothehospital,Iknewitwastimetogotoherapartmentandtrytoputallofthepiecestogether. Shelivedinagovernmenthousingapartmentbuilding.Large,bro-kendownbrownbuildingsurroundedbymetalfencingthatpeoplehadcutthrough.Peoplesatoutsideandwatchedwhowascominginandoutofthebuilding.Itwaswhattheirlifehadamountedto.Mymomalwaystoldmeitwasforpeoplewhowerementallyillorphysicallydisabled.Shesaidshegottolivetherebecauseofherdepressionandagoraphobia.Itwasallbullshitthough.Thatbuildingwasforcrackheadsandalcoholicsandeverybodyknewit.
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Ifoundthemanageroftheapartmentcomplexandtoldherthesituation.OnceImentionedthename“LindaSpinelli”sheletoutalongsigh,apologizedforwhathadhappened,andputherarmaroundme.Shegavemethekeystomymother’sapartmentandtriedtotellmeanecdotesaboutmymother.IwantedtoshoutinherfacethatIdidn’tgiveashit.Instead,Ithankedherandwalkeduptothesixthfloor. IcouldsmellherapartmentthesecondIexitedthestairwell,thestenchofcatlitterandcigarettes.ButwhenIopenedthedoor,IwasmoredisgustedthenIusuallywasuponenteringhertinyoneroomapartment.Hermattresswasflippedover,strippedofblankets,coveredinherownwaste.ThefloorswerecoveredwithonlyGodknowswhat;Icouldbarelywalkanywhere.Theentireapartmentwasturnedupside-down.Emptypillbottlesandliquorbottleswerescatteredacrosstheroom.Myinstinctswereright.Mymotherhadoverdosed.Someoneplayedapartinit.TheywatchedheringestamixofOxyContin,vodka,andheroinandthenlefthertodie.Andweallknowwhoitwas. HemovedintoourhousewhenIwasthreeyearsold,justmonthsaftermydadleft.Mymommethimatwork,theRadissonHotel,beforehegotfired.Hewasincrediblyoverweight,greasyhairslickedback,withpinktintedglasses.Hewasalsoeighteenyearsyoungerthanmymother.SheintroducedhimasZippy,hernewboyfriend.Iknewhewasgonnafuckupmylife;hewasgonnafuckupallofourlives. IwastenwhenallhellreallybrokeloosewithZippy.Iwassittingonthecouch,tryingtohideundermyblanketwhilehewasscreamingagain.Hehadmymotherbythecollaroftheshirt,yellinginherface,toss-ingheraroundtheroom.Ididn’tevenknowwhathalfthenameshewascallinghermeant.ShewassayingsomewordsthatIdidn’tknoweither.Ourbig,bluehousesituatedbetweenthewoodsandthehighwayshookashechasedheraround.Mybrotherstayedinhisroomwithhisfriends,gettinghigh. Mymotherfinallystoppedyelling.Shesankintothecorner,cryinginfearofwhathewoulddotohernext.Hegrabbedheragain.Icouldn’t
Conway
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beartolook.Icalled911andpleadedtotheoperatortosendsomeoneasquickaspossible.Iknewitwasgoingtotakeforeversinceourtowndidn’tactuallyhavecops;we’dhavetowaitforthestatetroopers.Ihidunderthetable,myhandscoveringmyears,rockingbackandforth,justwaitingforsomeonetosavemymother. Thefightgotsoloudthatmybrotherfinallycamedownstairs.Heraceddownthestairwell,pastthewallsthatwerefilledwithholesthathehadcausedinotherfitsofrage.IheardmybrotherscreamingatZippy,tellinghimtogetthefuckawayfromourmother.Iheardglassshatteringfollowedbyashriekfrommymother.Iranintothelivingroomtofindmybrotherwithabrokenwinebottleinhishand,swingingitaroundlikeaweapon,threateningZippy.Hehititagainstthetelevision,causingboththescreenandthebottletoshatter,leavingshardsofglasseverywhere.Zippypickedmybrotherupbythethroatandthrewhimintothewall.Hewasonlyfourteen,justalittleover100pounds,tryingtodefendhimselfagainsta300poundman.Zippyheldhimagainstthewalluntilmybrotherfinallygavein.Hecouldnolongerbreathe.Hecollapsedtothefloor. Atthatmoment,thetroopersshowedupatourhouse.TheymadeZippyleave.Theytoldhimtopackanovernightbagandtocallandfindsomewhereelsetostaythatnight.Nohandcuffs,noarrests,butIstillhopedthathewouldbegoneforever.Ihopedthatmymotherwasgoingtobestrongandfinallymoveusoutofthishorribleplace.10:00AMthenextmorning,hewasback. ThiswaswhenIsawmybrotherbeginningtochange.Michael,fouryearsolderthanme,becameangrierandangrier.HehidinhisroomgettinghighwhileItookcareofourmotherandthehouse.JustafewmonthsafterhisfirsttruealtercationwithZippy,itwasapparenttoallthatDavidhadchanged. Weallcalledit“Downtown”asajoke.HigganumCenter.Ithadanythinganybodyinthattownwouldneed:twopizzaplaces,adrugstore,andthreepackagestores.Davidandhisfriendsusedtospendmostnightswalkingaroundthere.Therewasnothingelsetodointhatfuckingtown.
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Theyallprettymuchlivedatmyhouse:fiveofMichael’sfriends,whowouldsneakthroughthewindowsandstayatourhousemoreoftenthannot.TheyweredoingtheirstandardwalkaroundtheCenter,aroundmidnight.FrombehindtheaptlynamedHigganumDrugCenter,theonlypharmacyformiles,cameagroupkidsarmedwithknives.TheycorneredMichaelandallofhisfriends,threateningthem.MybrotherhadsoldthemLSDandap-parentlytheyweren’thappywiththeproduct.InHigganum,thatwasasin;youdidn’tfuckaroundwithpeople’sdrugs. Matt,whowaslikeasecondbrothertome,wasbeingchokedbyoneoftherival“gang”members.HewrappedthestrapofhisbackpackaroundMatt’sneckandwouldn’tletgountilMattwasontheground,gasp-ingforair.That’swhatsetMichaeloff.Hewasstillonlyaboutfourteen,100pounds.That’swhyhecarriedaroundRojo–theredleadpipethatlivedinhisbackpack.Mybrotherexpectedaneventlikethistoariseandheknewhewouldneverbeabletodefendhimselfonhisown.MichaeltookRojoandhittheringleaderwithit,inthehead.Onequickblowandhewasontheground,screaminginpain,bloodeverywhere. Theinfamousstatetroopersshowedup.TheyknewMichaelandallhisfriends.Thiswasn’ttheirfirstruninwiththem.Theyhadnochancethistime.Davidwassenttojail,waitingformyfathertocomebailhimout. Afewmonthslaterthetrooperswereatmydooryetagain.Iprettymuchknewallofthembythen.Thistime,however,theywereaccom-paniedbysomeothermen.Twomeninsuitswithbriefcasesandalotofpaperwork.TheywerefromDCF.Thedaywefearedformonthshadfinallycome.DCFcametotakemybrotherawayfromtheunstableenvironmentthatwasourmother’shouseandbringhimtolivewithourdadandhisnewwife.Hisnewwife,Sharon,hadcalledDFConmymotheroncountlessoc-casions.Shewouldcallmymotherandthreatenher,sayingthatshewasnogoodofamotherandshedidn’tdeservetohaveusanymore.Finally,theyweren’tjustthreatsanymore. Behindourhousewerewoodsthatspanned20acres.Mybrotherescapedouthiswindowandtriedtorunintothewoods.Hedidn’twanttobetakenaway.Thetrooperscaughthimanddraggedhimdownthehills
Conway
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andpulledhimbackintoourhouse.Hetossedabunchofhisshitinagarbagebag,andwaspulleddownthestairsforcefullybythetroopersandtossedintothebackofacar.Wewereonlyallowedquickgoodbyes,andthenhewasgone.Wedidn’tknowifwewouldeverbeallowedtoseehimeveryagain. MybrotherandIhadnevergottenalong.Iknewhewaspartofthereasonmylifewassuchamess.Butthatnight,Icriedwhenheleft.MymomandIpackeduphisroomandcleaneduptomakesuretherewasn’tanythingillegalthatthetrooperscouldcomebackthatnightandfind.Mymothercried-shethoughtshewasafailure.IcriedbecausemyfamilywasbeingrippedapartandIwasstuckinthemiddle. Later,Icriedforanotherreason.Whydidmydadwantmybrotherandnotme?IbegantothinkbacktothefirstmemoryIhadofmydad.Actually,itwasthefirstmemoryIhadofmylife. Iwasabouttwoyearsold.Ilaidonthecouch,buryingmyheadinthebrownfabric-thebeginningofthesickcouch.Itriedtokeepmyeyesclosedtight,butIwouldsneaklittleglancesasoftenasIcould.IwantedmymomanddadtothinkthatIhadfallenasleepandthatIdidn’thearwhatwasgoingon.EvenifIwasasleep,didtheyreallythinkIwasgoingtostayasleep?Iwasfivefeetawayfromthemandtheywerescreaming.TheyweretooinvolvedintheirfighttoknowIevenexisted,soIjustkeptpretendingtosleepincasetheydideventuallynoticeme.Evenwithoutmyeyesopen,Icouldfigureoutalmostexactlywhatwasgoingon. Theyfoughtallthetime;yellingwasaconstantinmylife.Ihadneverreallyseenmyparentsgetalong.Idon’thaveasinglememoryofmymomanddadtogether,laughing,enjoyingoneanother’scompany. Mymotherthrewthekeysatmydad’sfaceandshovedhimatthedoor.Hesaidhewouldfightforus.Whatlittleattemptshedidmakeweredeniedbythecourts.Apparently,TomReynoldswasnotafitparent. Fifteenyearslater,Ifinallymovedtotheupper-middleclasstownthatisBerlin.Imovedinthecutelittlehouseattheendofthecul-de-sacwithmydadandstep-mom,whowerenowapparentlytheperfectparents.Thecourtsneverdecidedtotakemeawayfrommymother,butonceour
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onlyhouseholdincomewasfromdrugdealing,Idecideditwastimetogo.SoImovedinwithTomandSharonReynoldsandbecameamodelcitizen:spentthesummersdoingcommunityservice,gettingstraightA’s,workingatleasttwojobsatatime.Iwantedtobetheirperfectchild.AfterafewyearsoflivingwithTomReynolds,anamethatcomesoutmucheasierthan“dad”lately,Istartedtorememberthatmydadwasn’talwaysthisperfectfa-therandhumanbeing.Whathappenedtothatguywhousedtodrinkuntilheblackedoutandwouldsmokeajointafterputtingmetobed? HestartedgoingtothesamerestauranteveryFriday:PuertoVal-larta.AMexicanrestaurantontheBerlinTurnpikethatwasactuallyprettylegit.Mydadbecameapartofthatfamily.Hebecamea“Rodriguez”oncetheownerstartedreferringtoTomandSharonashisparents.IconstantlyaskedmydadifhewantedmetoteachhimSpanish.Iwasdesperatetobeinvolvedinthislife.Hetoldmeheknewthewordscerveza,carne,andmas,andthatwasallheneeded.HehadanewfamilynowandIwasn’tevenneeded. HewouldstumblehomedrunkeveryFriday,reekingoffajitasandtequila.Finally,Iturned21andIwaslegallyallowedtojoinmyfather.Iwouldsitatthebarbesidehimandtakethefreetequilashotsthatwerecon-stantlybeingthrownourway.IusedtohateFridaysbecauseTom’sdrunkenasswouldcomeandyellatmeforsomeabsurdreason,usuallycallingmedumborsayingthatIwasn’tgoingtosucceedinlife.Butnow….Iwasrighttherebesidehim,conversingindrunkenwordsthatdidn’tmakesensetoanybodywhowasn’t6deepbythen. Hewasnolonger“TomReynolds:World’sBestParent.Superhero.Savethelivesofhischildrenoneatatime.”HewasbacktotheTomReyn-oldsthatthecourtsdeemedwasnotafitparent15yearsearlier.Justthistime,hehadhiswife’smoney. Inolongerhadtoimpresshim.Wewereequals.JusttwodrunkIrishpeopleatabartalkingabouttheYankees.
Conway
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Erin JonesForty Years
FortyYearsandElainecanstillseeherfirstpetstumbleintothekitchen,woozywithDiphacinone;(maybethetincanlookedlikeasnack,andNico--theMaltese--gulpedtheratpoisondownwithsatisfaction)andshecanstillrememberinquiring,petting,atthemomenthestartedkickingout,asifchasingatabbyinhisdreams,butsheknewitwasoverwhenthegreenfoamfromhismouthspilledontolinoleum.
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Amanda GamacheNaked in the Snow
Second Place, Folio Fiction Contest Iwaslyingnakedinthesnow,butdidIevertellyouthatItriedtokillmyself?Nojoke,Idid.TheboyIlovedstoppedtalkingtome.Hehadkissedme,heldmeclosetohim—grippingmyhips,pullingmecloseenoughtosmellhiscologne.Itwasn’treallycolognethough.Itwassomecheapstuffhegotinaspraycanatthegrocerystore.Hehadrunhisfingersthroughmyhair;evenliedtomeandtoldmeIwasbeautiful,verybeauti-ful.HeevensaiditinSpanishtomakeitmoreromantic.Thenhewentonvacationwithhisgirlfriend.Toldmehe’dbebackinaweek.Ididn’tsayanything.Iwaitedthesevendays.Hecamebackanddidn’ttalktome.Istoppedhimbeforeheleftworkoneday,hesaidhewasbusy.He’djustbeenbusy,reallybusy.Idrankvodkathatnight.IcriedsohardthatIfeltthedeathacheinmystomach.Ididthedeathrollupthestairs,draggingmyselflikeacrocodilekillsitsprey.Iendedupinmybathroom.Iwasalone.Therewasasmallpieceofglassonthetiles.Ididn’tknowhowitgotthere,butItookitupandranitalongmyarmonce,justalittleways,justatesttoseeifitwouldwork.Itdid.Myskinpartedbutitdidn’tbleed.Itwasjustred,adeepred. Then,mystomachheaving,Imadethebigcut—the‘let’sfinishthis’cut.Itwashighuponmyarmwheretheveinswerethickerandcarriedmoreblood.Ithoughtit’dbeoversoonerifIcutmyselfupthere.Itwasn’ttoolongofacut,maybethreeinches.Itdidn’thurt.That’swhattheyaskedme.Whywouldyouhurtyourself?Ididn’thurtmyself.Imademyselfhappy.Thecutdidn’tbleedmuch,justparted,displayingthatsamedeepred.Itkindofoozedtoo,ayellowreddishcolor.Ihadfailed.Iwasn’treallybleedingatall.Thatsentmybodyintothedeathspirals.Iheldatissuetomyforearmandmademywaytomybed.Ilaidtherecryingandeventuallygotaheadacheandcriedatthatpain.Mymothercameinandlieddownnexttome.Sheheldmeforawhile,andthenaskedwhyIhurtmyself.Ididn’t,Isaid.Ididn’thurtmyself.
Gamache
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Iquitworkthenextday—mydadwouldn’tletmegobacktothatjobwithhim.Iwentbacktomytherapistthatnight.Therewerelotsoflongstares.Shehadstringybrownhairandalongnarrowface.Ihadseenheroutsideofthepracticeonce;Iwasworkingasaninventoryspe-cialist—whichbasicallymeantIcouldcount—andshewasthereintheGuilfordCVSlookingatfacewash.IwaslyingonthefloorcountingsomegenericbrandwhenIsawherandmethereyeswithmine.Ismiledandwasabouttospeakwhenshewalkedaway.That’swhenIknewshedidn’tcareaboutme.Ihadbeenseeingherforoverayear.Shekneweverythingandshedidn’tcareaboutme.IfeltlikeIhadbeenraped.Ifeltlikemymindhadbeenraped,likeshehadstuckinherfingersandrippedmymindapart,writingmyembarrassingthoughtsonherpadtolaughatlater. Whydidyoudoit?Sheaskedme.Isatlamely.Hereyebrowspushedtogethermakingherlookolder.Ididn’tevenknowhowoldshewas.Ididn’tknowanythingabouther.Mybodyfeltheavy,limbsachingandallthat,whileshewentonaboutthedangersofcuttingyourself.Accidentscanhappenyouknow.Butthat’swhyIdidit. Iwenttomyothertherapistlater,liketenminuteslater.Andsheprescribedmeahigherdoseofantidepressants.Sheexplainedtomehowmybrainwaswrong,thatitwasjustchemicallywrongandthat’swhyIhadallthesethoughts.DidIthinkaboutsuicidealot?Whyyes,eversincetheytoldusnottothinkaboutitintheseventhgradeit’sbeenallIcanthinkabout.Don’tthinkaboutbananas.Whatareyouthinkingaboutnow?Bananas,guaranteed.ButhowmanytimesaweekwouldIsayIthoughtaboutit?Whyeverydaylately.Moreanti-anxietypillstoo,shesaid,ahigherdoseoughttodoit.Shedidn’tcareaboutmeeither.Iwenttothepharmacyandtheydidn’tevenmakethepillsatthatdose,andtherereallywasnowaytobreakthemupandtakehalforsomethingsincetheywereslowreleasecapsules.Shegavemetwobadprescriptions,couldn’tevendoherjob,andthiswasthewomanthatIwassupposedtobegettinghelpfrom.Thiswasthewomanthatwassupposedtocareaboutmywellbeing.Youwouldthinkshe’dknowwhatshewasdoing.Ifeltraped.Myhead,mymind,Ifeltmen-tallyraped.
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Igothomeandtrudgedupthestairs.Iwantedmybed.Ifeltnauseous.Mydadcameinmyroomafterafewminutes.Why’dyoudoit?Ishrugged.Itwasnoneofhisbusinessreally.Maybeifhehadn’tthreatenedphysicalrepercussionstomywrong-doingsasachildIwouldhavegrownupandnotbeensoafraid,soafraidofhimoranyone.MaybeIwouldhaveopenedmymouthinhighschool,incollege.SaidIdidn’twanttoleavehome,maybeIwouldhavegrowncourageous.Maybe.ButIwaitedforhimtohitmealways.Tocallmeanameworsethanthelast—whatwasIthistime?AdipshitIthink.Heoughttochokeme.Hedidalmosthitmeonce.IhadbeengrumpyandfightingwithmyGramabecauseshemisplacedmyanti-anxietypills,andwhenIfoundthemIyelledather.Shehadputthemwellwithinreachofthedog.Ididn’twanthimtogetthem.Shewassomadshewentoutside,thebreathsteamingfromhernostrils.Mymomwaslyinginthehospitalbedinthelivingroom.Shehadfallendownsomebleacherstairsandbrokenbothofherfeet—andnomyfatherhadn’tpushedher.She’sjustclumsywhenitcomestofeet.She’salwayshurtingherfeet.Thistimeshediditgood.ButIwassittingtherenexttomymomandmydadcamein,faceasmaroonashisshirt.Goapologizetoyourgrandmother.Youhavenorighttotreatherthisway.Iheldupafinger,notthemiddleone,theindexone,thegivemeamomentone.Iwastoomadtomakeanykindofsincereapology,andIwasn’tsorry.Sheshouldn’thavetouchedmypills.Whenwewerelookingforthemshesaidshedidn’tknowwhatapillbottlelookedlike.Mydadsaidtoher,whatkindoffuckingidiotdoesn’tknowwhatapillbottlelookslike?Heshouldhaveapologizedforthat.Ididn’tsaythattohimbecauseassoonasIputmyfingerdownhechargedatmelikeabull,headdownandeverything.Idodgedthatattackandhastilywasmakingmywaytowardsthedoorwhenhegrabbedmyarm.Hedidn’thurtmyarm,butIsawhisotherhandraisedandballed.Iscreamednottotouchme,buthisteethstayedgrittedandhiseyesmadandlocked.Mymotherscreamedfromthebed.Idon’trememberwhatshesaid.Idon’tthinkIheardthewords,justhervoiceasheletgoandIranoutofthehouse.ItwasMarch,andIdidn’thaveajacketormypurseoranything.Iwalkeddownmydrivewayinsocksandcalledmyfriend.ShepickedmeupandIleft.
Gamache
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Myparentsdidn’ttrustmeanymoresinceIslicedmyselfsomyGramacametostaywithme.Oneparticularlybadmorning—afterIhadbeenstaringathispictureallnightonmyphone—Iwascryingsteadilyandmyarmwasaching.Itdidn’tsting;itached.ItfeltlikeIhadtorntheliga-mentsorsomethingbecausewheneverIflexed,itached.NotthatIreallyknowwhattornligamentsfeellike,butIsupposeIcanguess.MyGramaheardmeandcameintomyroom.Stopit,sheyelled.Thenshestarteddancing,chantingaboutdevilsbeinggoneorsomething.IscreamedwhenIrealizedshewasactuallyperforminganexorcismonme.Theoldhag,oldcrazedreligioushagwasnutsenoughtobelieveinallthatnonsense.Iwant-edtothrowmybiologybookather.Readthatoldhag,readaboutDarwinandthentellmeaboutAdamandEve.Iscreamedathertogetoutbutsheignoredme.ShejuststompedandwavedherarmslikeHitler—handsflexedwithstiffstraightmovements.Herboobsswungaround.Itwasdisgusting.AfterawhileIletherdancewithoutcomplaint,butIcouldneverstopcry-ing.Shegavemeawoodencrossandkissedmyforehead,toldmeIwasfreeofallthisnow.WhenshewentbackdownstairsforanapIburntthecross. Sheleftafteraweek.Myparentstoldmetotakethesummeroff.ItwasJune,afterall.Ineededabreak.Imetaboy.Hewasn’tgreatlook-ing,buthewasn’tbad.Hishairwascuttooshortandhisclothestoobigandsortoftacky,butIlethimkissmeandholdmyhand.Istilllovedtheboywhocausedmysuicideline,butwhatcouldIdo,really?Afteracouplemonthsthisnewboytoldmethathelovedme.Ididn’tsayitbackatfirst.ButthenIdidinaspurofthemomentkindofthing.Idon’treallyknowifIlovedhim,butIsaiditsoItriedtomakeittrue.Hewassodifferent,almosttoodifferent.Hedidn’tliketohearaboutmytherapistsandrubbedmysuicidelinewithhisthumbbutneveraskedaboutit.Ilovedmysuicideline.Iwasproudofit.Itwasanicescar,protrudingandwhitelikeastrangesliver.Ilikedpeopletoseeit,toquestionintheirheadsifIwasoneofthose.Youknow,those,thosepeopleyouavoidbecausedeepdownyoudon’twanttoheartheirsorrows,realunhappinessrightthereintheflesh.You’dratherwatchHamletorRomeo & JulietorTitanicorsomeotherfictionalthingandfeelthatsadness,feelthatkindoflongingthenempathizewithsome-
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onereal,physical.Youdon’twanttohearthepaindayafterday.Yousaygetoverit,talktosomeoneelse.Or,likethechampionyouare,youavoidthatpersonaltogether.I’moneofthose,thepeoplewhoyouwouldwriteofftogotoatherapistorgotoamentalhospital.Ilikebeingthat,Ilikeseeingthelingeringquestioninpeople’seyes. Onedaywhenweweresitting,swelteringinhisapartment,ItoldhimItriedtokillmyself.Yeahright.NoreallyIdid.Hejustnodded,strok-ingmysuicideline.Ididitbecauseofboy,youknow.Ilovedhimbeforeyou.Henoddedagain.Icouldseethatgleaminhiseye.HewaswonderingifIwouldtrytokillmyselfwhenheleftme.HewaspicturingmesomadlytormentedbymyloveforhimthatIwouldhangmyself,or,orcoulditbepossiblethatI’ddosomethingmoredramatic?Cutmywristsinatubfullofrosepetals;overdosesurroundedbyhispicture.Iwasinsultedbythesegleamsofthought,butIlikedhimtothinkthem.Ithadbeenayearandwedidn’treallyspeakofit,andevenafterthisyearIwasn’tsureifIlovedhim.IknewIlovedhim,butIdidn’tknowifIwasinlovewithhim,thewayJulietlovedRomeoorIsoldelovedTristanorHelenlovedParis.Wehadgottenintoafight,andinmyrage—whichisreallyjustanagitatedstateofcrying—IfinallytoldhimthatIalwaysthoughtaboutsuicide.Hepromptlybrokeupwithme.Saidhecouldn’tbewithsomeonelikeme.Saidhewouldn’tbethecause.Saidhecouldn’tdealwithit.Notanymore,hewantednopartofit. WhenIhungupthephoneItookoffmyclothesandgrabbedmydog.Iturnedontheshower.Ineededtheheat.Isteppedin,puppyinmyarms,andthenmylegsgaveout.Wellnotgaveout,buttheystoppedwork-ingatleast.Isliddowntothetubfloor,myfacebeingpeltedbytheshower.Iheldontomypuppyandcried.Helickedmycheekcontinuously,neverreallyutteringawordofprotesteventhoughhehatedwater.Icrieduntilmycheekswentnumbandmyteethfelttinglyandmystomachwassore.WhenIstartedbreathinghard,fast,Iturnedoffthewater.Ineededtobecold.Iwantedtofeelsnow.Ilayonthebottomofthetub,myfeethighup,restingontheshampoowrack,thepuppylyingbesideme.Iletthewaterturncold.Iletitsheatgoaway,andintheblissfulcoolnessIfellasleep.
Gamache
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Folio 2010
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Iwokeupbecausethedogwasshivering.Iwrappedhiminatowelanddriedhimoff.Tearswerestillpouringoutofmyeyes.HeleftmeandIwentbackandlayonthebottomofthetub.WhenIputmylegsupagainmyshampoofelldown.Itfell,bouncedandsomehowknockedanakedglassbabyoffalowshelf.Thebabyshattered.Itookapieceofglassandfingereditcarefully.Itsedgesweretuggingatmyskin.Itookitandlookedatmyselfinthemirror.EventhroughthefadingfogIwasahideousshit.Ishouldhavenevercomeoutofthewomb.Ifingeredtheglassagain.Iimag-ineditrunningdownmyarm.Itwouldbealongenvelopinglinethistime.Itwasstilltoohotinthebathroom.Ineededsnow.Iopenedthewindowabovethetoiletandcrawledoutontotheroof.Therewasstillalightlayerofsnowthathadn’tmelted,andhereIwaslyingnakedinit.Icouldseemyneighborsstaringatme,atmybreastsandmycrotch.Thesnowwasbliss-fullycold.MyfingerswerenumbingasIfingeredtheglass.MyarmswerenumbingasIpasseditbackandforth.Istartedtoshakealittleasmytoeswentnumb,andthenthebackofmyheadbegantothrobfromthesnow.Ohthebeautifulsnow.Ikeptplayingwiththeglass.Iwasoneofthose.IwonderedifanyofthemthoughtI’dlienakedlikethis,playwithmytoy.IclosedmyeyesasIfellasleep.
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Galen KnoxCake Box
“Shewasalwayslikethat,”theoldmaninsisted.“Allflightyanddepressiveandshit.” Isquintedhard,tryingtomakeouthisfaceinthebrightsun.Cot-tonstucktomyskin,sweatcooledonlybythebreezefromtheopendoor. “Welldon’tjuststandthereandaskdumbquestionsboy,comeoninside,sitdownorsomething.Andputthatcrapsomewhere,”hebarked,tappingthecoffeetablewithhiscaneashepassedthenearbyLa-Z-Boy.AsIsteppedin,Iplacedmy“crap,”agreetingcardandastalecake,onthetablenexttostacksofoldmagazinesandanumberofyet-unfinishedalcoholbottles.Itriedtositoppositefromtheoldman,takingpositionontheendofacouch.Hecontinuedtomillabout,neversitting. “So,howdidyouknowMs.Cuthbert?”Iasked.Probablyagoodplacetostart,Ithought. “Wewere,oldfriends,that’sall.Forawhilethough,wewerecoworkers.Thatwasnice,”hetrailedoff,tappinghiscaneagainsttableandchairlegs,staringoutthewindows.FromwhereIwasevenhismailboxwasobscuredbydistortedlightbouncingoffthepavement.Iwipedmyforeheadagainstmysleeve. “Thisplaceislistedasherlastknownaddress.Yourhome,thatis.Doyouactuallyexpectmetobelieveyoutwohadnothingtodowitheachotherbesidesaprofessionalrelationship?”Iasked,pickingatthemypants,hopingthesweathadn’tvacuumsealedthemtomylegsyet.Regrettably,hecontinueddithering,passinghishandsoverthemantlepieceandstoppingtoglanceatpictureframes.Icouldn’ttellifhewasreminiscingorjusthadneverbeentherebefore. “Oh,ohright.Shemovedoutyearsago,Ithink.Ormonths,allthesametome.Iactuallyboughttheplacefromher.Neededaplaceaftercom-ingbackintothecountry,andsheneededabuyertohelpherleave.I’dsayit’smoreofthatprofessionalrelationshipshit,yeah.”Ashespoke,heclosed
Knox
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Folio 2010
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hiseyesslowly,openingthemonlyinthelastwords.Hesworemorewhenhemadeeyecontact.Ipeeledmycollarawayfrommyneckandlookedaroundtheroomforadoorintothekitchen.Kitchenshadfridges,whichcontainedwater.Ifeltstupidforhavingatieonintheweather,butnotasdumbasIdidfornotknowingwhothehellthisguywas. “Thisisn’toneofthose‘sorryforyourloss’visits,isit?Ifso,Iain’tgivingyouanywater,andIm’akeepthecake.”hesaid.Hewassizingmeup,grindinghisteethvisibly. “Ohlordno,Ijustwasintownandhadn’tvisitedherinyears.Thoughtacake,youknow,itbeingtodayandall.” “Ain’therbirthday.Youoneofherkids?Buggersneverremembershit.” Iwasalittlecaughtoffguard,figuringhe’dfallforthat.Guesshedidknowher.Thehousewasdecoratedlikeshestilllivedtherethough. “I’msorrysir,perhapsI’mbeingstrange.Woulditbeaterribleimpositiontoaskforsomewater,perhapsasyoutellmehowyouandMs.Cuthbertmet?”BythetimeIworkedupthenervetoaskIwasaudiblypanting.Itwasalmostworsethathedidn’tseembotheredbytheheatatall.Justwatchinghimpace,andstaringoutthewindowsatthecrispedgrassmademethirstier.Hepointedhiscanetothebackoftheroom,atadoor-waythatescapedmynoticeuntilnow. “Waterpitchersinthefridge.Tapsfinickytoday.GrabmeabeerandI’lltellyouaboutit,”hedirected.Littlemademefeelmorelikeachildthanpouringmyselfwaterandhandinghimbeer. “Thebeerwasn’tinthefridge,areyousurethat’salright?”Iasked,answeredbytheoldmanbeforeIfinishedspeaking. “Nah,it’sfine.ColdbeerisforsissiesandAmericans,”hesaid.Iwasn’tsureifthatmeanthewasn’tAmerican,orifhewasjustbeingaprick.Itwasboth,Isuppose.Asthecoldoftheglassnearlystungmyhand,Icouldthinkofnothingbetter.Itwassorefreshing,evenifitwasgritty.Ipretendedhisbeerwascoldtoo,justsoIdidn’tpassoutfromthinkingaboutit. “Istillrememberthatdaylikeitwasyesterday,”hecontinued,“tobeclicheaboutit.Itwasbriskautumn,youknow,thekindwhereyoucan
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smellthecold.Leaveshadanydamncolortheypleased,andwentwherevertheyfeltlikeit.Wewereinhighschoolthen,gymclassIthink.Icanstillrememberthetasteofherlips.” Ifitwasn’tsoneededtosurvivethesweat-boxofalivingroomIwasin,Iwouldhavespitoutmywater.Therewasatleastacouplethingswrongwithhisstory.NamelythinkingofMs.Cuthbertinthatway. “Wait,so,youknewherbeforethesurgeries?Ifyou’renotlyingyou’reabouttheonlyonewhodoes.That’s...”Iwasinterruptedbyhissmile.Itwassnakelike,predatory,mademefeellikeIjustmadeagravemistake. “SoyouknewLisathatway,huhboy?Youareoneofherkids,eh?Adoptedorfromherclasses?”heasked,laughinginthewayonlyoldmenandmurdererscould.Iguessthat’sallitwas.Iletsomeinfosliptohim.Hewasstartingtocreepmeout,though. “Well,eitherway.LisaandImetonthefirstdayofgymclassmysophomoreyearofhighschool.Treesbustling,shimmeringlake,allthatcrap.IguessIwenttoaniceschoolorsomethingiftherewasalake,butIcouldhavejustimaginedit.Eitherway,Irememberseeingherfirstonaswingsetinoneofthosescenes.Youknow,outofplace,youngwomanonaswingset,windandfallingleaves,singlecrackoflightpouringinfromtheskytoilluminateonlyherandallthatrot.Iknewaroundthennothingwasevergoingtohappenbetweenus.Itwastooperfect.Andloandbehold,I’mtalkingtoherkid,whoInevermetbefore,inwhatusedtobeherlivingroom,andnotaoneofusknowwheresheis,right?” “That’saboutthesumofit,sir.So,whatwasshelikebackthen?Iheardshewas...” “Shepassedwell.Thebob-cutwasn’tflatteringthough.Totalwasteonsuchabombshellofaredhead.Shetalkedamileaminute,andnexttonoonecouldkeepup,saveme,orsoIlikedtothink.Alwaysnervous,protectingherselfwithstrangeticksandwelltimedexcuses.” “Excuses?” “Yeah,youknow,leavingtheroomforthebathroomratherthanansweringaquestion,thatkindofstuff.Washardtopinherdownthough.IguessIluckedoutthatfirsttime.”
Knox
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“Soyoutwo,actually?” “Nah,never.Ifuckingwish.Igotasoftpairoflipsoneortwiceinthefirstdecade,andnothingforthenextbunch.Hell,didn’tgetsomuchasa‘heyhowareyou’forthemiddlebunch.Ithinksheonlyrememberedmebecauseeveryoneelsediedormovedawaybythen.Bestforlast,eh?”helaughed,thencoughed,swigginghisroomtemperaturebeerintheconsid-erablyhigherthanthatroom.Ishiftedinmyseatabit,thesunandawk-wardnessofdiscussingtheoldman’sloveaffairsmakingmeuncomfortable.Igavehimapolitesmileandalessthanpolitesarcasticlaugh,sippingatmywater.Morethanhalfofithadpouredoutontothetablefromcondensa-tionbythen.Hewalkedtothebarrenfireplace,restinghisbackagainstthemantle. “Greatblueeyes,too.Likecrusheddiamonds.Prettysureshestillhadthosewhenyouknewherthough.Irememberoneday,snowuptoourwaists,andallIcouldmakeoutwasthoseeyesandalockofthathairagainststeelgrayskies.Shewasanice-queenforawhile.Alltoothygrinsandnoaffectionforanyone.Well,notformeanyway.IthinkIwasboff-ingoneofherfriendsoutofdesperationatthatpoint,”hefinished,withalaughlikesandpaper.Mywaterwasempty,andthecondensationtauntedmefromitspuddleonthecoffeetable.Mygreetingcardgotalittlewet.Ithinkatthispointit’dbebettertobuyheranewonewheneverIfindher. “So,tothepoint,”Iinterjected,beforehecouldtellmeanotherfragmentofastory,“youdon’tknowwhereMs.Cuthbertwent,right?” “Istoppedstalkingheratleasttwentyyearsago,boy.Didn’tgetmenowhere.ThoughifIknewwhereshewasrightnow,Iwouldn’tbedrinkingfuckingsandandtalkingtoamouth-breather,”hebarked,suddenlyflop-pingdownintotheignoredLa-Z-Boy.“Sowhatnow?Justheretotauntmeintorememberingandrunningoffwithoutlettingmewhineatyou?Orareyougonnatalksome?” IfoughttheurgetojusttellhimIwastheretotaunthim,andleave.Itwastempting,butIthinkIwasmoretakenabackbyhissudden
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emotionthananything.Icouldseethegriponhiscanewastighter,shakierthanwhenIwalkedin.Ithinkhewasactuallystartingtosweatnowtoo. “IfigureI’djustletyouwhinesomemore,ifIfindMs.Cuthbert,I’llletherknowyoucarethough,”Isaid,smiling.Hetightenedthegriponhiscane.Itfelttoorudetoleave,butmessingwithhimseemedlikeitcouldhelpmegetaneasierexit.Besides,Iowedhimalittlemoreattentionforgivingmewater,atminimum.Iactuallydreadedthethoughtofgettingbackintomycartoleaveatthispoint.WhydidIbuyleatherseats?Asmythoughtstrailedoff,Inoticedtheoldmangetstrangelycalm. “I’msureshe’saware,”hestatedplainly.“Itwasn’tallonesided,youknow.Lisahadhertimeschasingafterme.Iwasjusttoobusybeingfarfarawayatthetime.Funnythingis,IwasusuallyfarawaycauseIwasrunningawayfromher.”Hechuckledandwheezed,restinghiscaneonthetableinfrontofhim.“TherewasoneoccasionwhereIhadtakenhertoacharityorsomething,asafavor,Iguess.Iwasseeingsomeoneelseatthetime,andLisagotprettysmashed.Shespenthalfthenighttryingtotellmemyfiancewasnogoodforme,andthatIdeservedbetter.Iwastoomuchofagentle-mantopayanymind.Fuckingstupid.” Ididn’treallybelievehim,buttherewassomethingaboutthewayhestaredidlyatthetablewhilehetalked,handsfoldedoverthelapoftoo-tightkhakislacks.Iopenedthecakebox,andgesturedatitwiththeprepackagedplasticknife.Hedenieditwithatimidhandwave.Afterwhatseemedlikeaminuteofwatchingthemomentgrowstale,IdecidedIshouldsaysomething. “So,youmentionedtherewasadecadeorsowhereshewouldn’teventalktoyou.Um,what’dyoudo?” “That’spresumptuous.” “Well.” “Nah,it’salright.Justlikebefore,Iwastryingtogetawayfromher,andshesuddenlydecidedtonotbeabitchforonce.Ididn’tevenknowshewasintown.Itwasspring,warm,thesnowwasmeltingjustabitandthestreetssmelledlikesewagebecauseofit.Iwasinthelocalpub,beingabrat,
Knox
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andyellingupastormabouthowIdidn’tneedher.Moreprecisely,abouthowIwantedkids,soIshouldn’tevenpayheranymind.” Icringed,apparentlyvisibly.Hestoppedhisstorytogivemeasym-patheticnod. “Thatwoulddoit.Sohowdidyougetintouchwithhersincethen?” “Iwaitedayearortwo.Triedtofindoutwhereshemovedto.Wrotebutneversentapologies.Untiloneday,abouttwentyyearslater,bychance,wewereworkingatthesameschool.Wehadaprofessionalrelation-shipfromthenon.” ItookitfromhislonggazeintothedistancethatIshouldn’tbringupthatIneverheardofhimbefore.Imean,Imightof,butneverinanywaymoreinterestingthananamewithoutaface.ImighthavementionedthatIwaskindofbored,andonlymorbidlycurioustohavehimgoon.Imighthavetoldhimstoriesaboutmymother,andhowwecametoseparate,andwhyIcalledherbyhername.Imighthave.ButIdidn’t.
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Rob ScucciWhat Would Jack Kerouac Do?
Thispoemisshit.I’mreachingtoofaronceagain.Anotherclusterofmundanemetaphors.I’llhidemyselfbehindtropesandallusions,ahalf-bakedversionofmyself.I’mapussy,concealedbehindfalsediction.Thoughtsareseldomimportantandoftenpremeditated.Ican’tthinkonmyfeet,onlyonpaperwithfancyfivedollarwords.Afictionalmelodywithafamiliarhook.
Thetaleofthetorturedsoulcomplex.“Woeisme,”andsuch.Doyoubelieveanyofthis?Isurehopeyoudon’t.
Unrequitedloveisforsuckerswholackpersistence.Keepdreaming,youjerk-offs.Clichésexistforareason.“Niceguysjustplainneverfinish.”They’retoobusybeingpushovers.I’mapushover.I’mapoet.
Scucci
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Iventagainstallconventions;abittertwenty-somethingwhoprobablydrinkstoomuch.Iprobablysmoketoomuchpot.Let’sgetabstract,man.Gotomars,dude.Ijustquitsmokingcigarettes,I’mtiredoflookingcool.Youmightcallthis“inspired,”butIcallitpathetic.I’mpathetic.I’mapoet.
I’msureIhaveexcitingproseinventions.Aboutinaneeventsthatyouhavenocarefor.Luckilyforme,floweredlanguagecanmakethemundanesoundlikesuchwonderfulbullshit.Thesewordsarefromnowherespecial.Theymeannothingtome.Mysenseofselfwillneverbreakpasttheconventionsoffiction.Alwaysonestepbehindmyideal,I’llneverbegoodenough.
Ihopeyouhatethispoem.I’llbegladsolongasIneverinspireyou.Findyourownway.Stopdependingontheadviceofothers.Fuckingvultures.Nobodybecomesanybody.Weallrotinthesameground.It’sallahungrywormconspiracy.
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Ican’tmakemyselfnumbanymore,butIcanpretend.Icanpretend.Graphitegivesmesolace.Ihopeitgivesyounothing.Ihopethesewordsneverlast,tornoutofwhateverpaperback.Anewtissueforoldpoets.I’mapoet.Thisismyart,andIcan’tgetovermyself.
Scucci
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Michael BonaldoMemorial Day
JackreturnedfromthePort-O-PottyandsatnexttoAbbyonthetailgateoftheirTrailblazerwithoutsayingaword.He’dopenedthetail-gatesotheycouldwatchtheparadefromtheshade,andAbby’sfairskinwouldn’tburn.ThoughthebackofJack’strunkwasn’tparticularlycomfort-ableitwasbetterthandealingwithasunburnedwifeforthenextweek.Thecrowdwasbeginningtogatherandpeoplewhohadn’tseenoneanotherforawhilesaidtheirusualhellosandengagedinmindlesschit-chat.Jacklookedintothesmallcrowdofaroundahundredandrecognizedalmosthalfthepeoplethere.TheGreens,whosedaughterhadgonetohighschoolwithJack,weretalkingtotheSmiths,wholivednextdoortoJackandAbby.TheFitzgeralds,whoownedthelocalgarage,satinfoldoutchairstwosizestoosmallfortheiroversizedbodiesandheldaconversationwiththeiryoungestdaughter. LittleoldladiesdressedintheirSundaybeststrolleddowntheroadwiththeirhusbands,sellingpoppiestohelpraisemoneyforthelocalVFW.Jackreachedintothebackpocketofhiscutoffcargopantsandpulledouthiswornwallet.Hegrabbedacrispfivedollarbill.Hewouldrefusetotakeapoppy.He’dmuchratherjustgivethemoneythantaketheworthlesspieceofmetalwireandcray-paper.“Youdon’thavetogivethemafiveyouknow,”AbbysaidtoJack. “Iknow,”Jackreplied,“butit’sgoingtoagoodcause.” EversinceJackhadgottenbackfromIraq,notmuchmatteredtohim,notevenmoney.Jackfoldedhiswalletbackup,leanedforward,andputitintotherearpocketofhisshorts,whereitfitsoperfectly.Helookedtohisright,hopingthattheparadewouldstartatanyminute.HeandAbbyhadbeencampedoutintheparkinglotoftheoldfirehouseforthepasthalfhourandhewasgettingrestless.Helookedtohisleftandsawtheswarmofpeoplemigratingtothenearlyfulllot.Poorbastards,hethoughttohimself,they’llhavetostandfortheentireparade.Thoughhewashappythathewasabletohaveasomewhatcomfortableseatfortheparade,Jackwishedhe
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couldbeoneofthem.Hewishedhecouldbeoneofthosepeoplewhoshowedupjustinthenickoftimeandnotforty-fiveminutesearly.TheMarineCorpshaddistortedhissenseofbeingontime.Ifyourtenminutesearly,you’refiveminuteslatetheyalwayssaid.JackhadalwaysgottenpissedwhenAbbywouldtakeanhourandahalftogetready.Howcouldittakeanyonethatlongtogetready?Hecouldbereadyinfiveminutesifhehadtobe.Hisheartbegantorace.Hiseyesdartedbackandforth.Hecouldn’tconcentrateonanyoneparticularthingformorethanafewseconds. “Youallright?”Abbyasked. “Yeah,I’mfine,”Jackreplied. “Youlooklikeyouwanttobesomewhereelse.” “I’mjustreadytogetthisparadestarted.There’satonofstufftodoathomebeforetheparty.”JackandAbbydecidedthatsinceJackwasnowacombatveteranitwouldbeappropriatetohaveaMemorialDaypicnic.Theyneededtogethomeimmediatelyaftertheparadetostartsettingup.Therewasmacaronisaladtomake,zititobake,fruittoslice,andJackhadtogetthegrillstartedandmakehisspecialcocktail.Twopartsvodka,onepartlightbeerandacouplepacketsofCrystalLitepinklemonade.Jackrefusedtotellanyonewhatwasinitbeforetheydrankitbecauseheknewtheywouldnevertryitifhedid.Butoncetheytriedittheywerehooked.Jackwouldn’tbedrinkinganyofhiscocktailtoday.HehadgoneoutandgottenakegofSamSummerforthisoccasion. Jackheardthewhiningsirensofafiretruckandknewtheparadewasheadinghisway.Theparadeproceededlikeanyotherparadeinanyothertowninanyotherstatethroughoutthecountry.Thelocalfiredepart-ment,ledbyAbby’suncleWarren,whowasdressedinhisover-starchedblueandwhiteuniform,crestedthehillandbegantheirdescenttowardsanewsetoffamilies,includingJackandAbby,thathadnowgrowntoafewhundredpeople.TheprocessionoffiretruckshadallmadetheirwayoverthehillandpastthePresbyterianChurchwhenthelocalmiddleschool’smarchingbandappeared.Thepre-teenmusiciansplayedthe“StarSpangledBanner”,“TheMarineCorpsHymn”,andseveralothersthatJackknewthetunesofbutwasn’tsurewhatthenameswere.
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Asthebandpassedhefelttherumblingofattackhelicoptersthatnodoubthadflownovermultipleotherparadesthatmorning.Helookeduptowardsthecrispblueskythatwaspartlyscatteredwithperfectlyformedcumulusclouds.Hescannedtheskyfromleftandright,tryingtofigureoutwhichdirectiontheywerecomingfrom.Beforehecould,hesawthemcomingdi-rectlydownthepathoftheparadeandinstantlyheknewtheywereCobras.ThesamekindthathadsupportedhismissioninFallujah.Jackclosedhiseyesandsattheresilently,thedistinctthump,thump,thumpingofthero-torbladesreverberatedthroughhistruckandhislegsbegantotremblewiththevibration.ExplosionsinthenotsofardistanceshookthesurroundingbuildingsasbitsoflooseconcretefellfromaboveandlandedonhisKevlarhelmet.Theacridsmelloffreshlyburntfleshstunghisnostrils.ThesoundsgrewinintensityasthejetspasseddirectlyoverhisheadandJackcouldfeelatinglingrunningthroughouthisbody.Theordersofhissquadleadertellinghimtogetdownechoedthroughhisears;therewasa500poundbombabouttobedetonatedafewblocksfromhisposition.Allatoncethevibrationended,thejetpassed,andthebandfadedintothedistance.Eeriesilence,thesamesilenceJackhadexperiencedafterafirefight.Asilencesoquietthatthevoicesinhisheadsoundedlikeshouts.Heopenedhiseyesandreleasedhisvicelikegripfromthebumper.Jackpretendedtoglancearoundcalmly,thoughifanybodycouldseehisdilatedpupilstheywouldsurelyknowthathewasanythingbutcalm.Heknewhecouldn’tbeherenow.“I’llberightback.Igottagotothebathroom,”JacksaidtoAbby. “Ok,”shereplied. JackhoppedoutofhistruckandweavedhiswaythroughthecrowdtowardthePort-O-Potty.Hegotabouthalfwaythereandlookedoverhisshouldertoseeifanybodywaswatchinghim,andwhenhewassuretheyweren’t,hemadeahardrightandwalkedtothebackoftheabandonedfirehouse.Hepickeduphispace,eachstridelongerthanthenext,hopingthatnoonewouldcatchhim.Hereachedthemiddleofthelongbrickwall,satonthegroundfacingthemotionlessforestfifteenfeetaway,restedhiselbowsonhiskneesandplacedhisforeheadinhishands. wasthefirsttimeJackhadexperiencedanythingthisintensesince
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hisreturn.HehadmovedbacktoConnecticutwithhiswifewhohadalreadyrentedoneofthefewapartmentsintheirrusticNewEnglandtown,andliferesumedasithadbeforeheleft.Hehadstartedschoolinthespring,andasfarasJackcouldtell,everythingwasnormal.HehadmetwithacounselorattheVAandaftera45minutequestionandanswerperioditwasdeterminedthatJackdidn’thavePTSD,andthatthefeelingshedidhavewerenormalforwarvets.Hetoldhimselfthattodaytoowasnormal.ThatitwasnormaltohavetriggersthatremindedhimofbeingIraq.Hejusthadn’tbeensurewhattheywereyet,orhowbadhewouldreactwhenhewasreminded,butnowheknewatleastone. JackreachedintohispocketandpulledoutanunopenedtinofCopenhagen.Hedughisnailintothesideandsliditaroundtheedgetobreaktheseal.Jacksnappedthetinbetweenhisfingers,openedthelidandpinchedthefineblackgranulesbetweenhisthumbandforefinger.Heplaceditintohislipandsatthere.Jackcouldinstantlyfeelhisbodystarttorelaxasthenicotinewoveitswaythroughhisveins.Hesatthereforafewminutes,decompressing,knowingthatifhetookanylongerAbbywouldgetsuspiciousthathereallyhadn’tgonetothebathroom.Jackstoodup,spithisCopeout,andbeganwalkbacktothecrowdedmassofpeoplewearingred,whiteandblue.Ashearrivedbackathistruck,Abby’sfather,whowasstandingbesideAbbyasked,“Whenareyougoingtorideintheparade?” “Maybenextyear.”Jackhadbeenaskedthisquestionbyafewpeo-plewhentheyfoundouthewasn’t.Everytimehewasasked,herespondedwiththesamestockanswer,thoughhehadnointentionofeverridingintheMemorialDayparade,oranyotherparadeforthatmatter.Jackdidn’tfeelrightridingintheparade. “Comesitdown,”AbbysaidtoJack.JackwalkedovertothebackofhistruckandtookhisseatnexttoAbby.Helookedatherandsawthefake,forcedsmilethathehadbeenaccustomedto.Shehadknownthathehadn’tgonetothebathroom,buthecouldtellthatshedidn’twanttodiscussit,atleastnotatthismoment.“Perfectdayforaparadeandpicnic,huh.Wesureluckedout.” “Iknow,right,”Jacksaid.“Ijustcan’twaittogetthepartystarted.”
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Jackknewthatoncehispartystartedandpeoplewerehavingagoodtimehewouldn’thavetothinkaboutIraqforawhile. “You’renotgonnadrinktoomuchareyou?”Abbyasked. “Me?Drinktoomuch?Ofcoursenot.”JackandAbbysatnexttoeachotherforthenexthalfhourinacomfortablesilence.Hesattherewatchingalltheveteranspassintheirconvertiblesthinkingtohimselfhowluckyhewasthathedidn’thavetofightinanyoftheirwars.TheWWII,VietnamandKoreavetsweretherealheroestoJack.Theyweretheoneswhohadfacednonstopfightingformonthsonend.Theyweretheoneswhohadwatchedhalfoftheirplatoonsgetkilled.Theyweretheoneswhohadcomehomejusttobecalled“BabyKillers.”AllJackhadtodowasre-allyonlyonemonthoffighting.Hehadneverwitnessedanyofhisfriendsgetkilled,thoughhehadseenafewoftheirdeadbodies.Hecamehometoparadesandopenarms.Jackwasjusthappythathewasalivetothrowapartyinhonorofallthosewhocouldn’tbethere.Theparadewounddownwhenthelaststatetrooperdrovehiscruiserupthehilltothecommunityschoolandthepeopleinthecrowdgathereduptheirbelongingsandheadedhome. “Ready?”Abbyasked “Yep.”Jackopenedthedriver’sdoor,jumpedin,andturnedtheignition. Jackwalkedintothekitchen,pasttheoverfullgrocerybagandstraightintohisbedroom.Heneededtochangeoutofhisparadegarbintohispartyoutfit.Hewalkedovertohisdresserandopeneduphisshirtdrawerandpulledouthisfavorite.Theshirtwasdrabolivegreenwithhisunitlogoonthefrontleftchestandabloodywarriorholdingadoublesidedaxeontheback,abovethephrase:“Peoplespendanentirelifetimewonderingiftheymadeadifferenceintheworld.Marinesdon’thavethatproblem.”Heknewthebloodywarriorwasn’treallyappropriate,buthedidn’tcare.Itwasthephrasethatmatteredmosttohim.
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JackwalkedbackintothekitchentohelpAbbyunpackthegrocer-iesandsawhisMother-in-Law,Janet. “Hisweetie,”Janetsaidwithherusualsmile. “Hey.Ididn’tevenhearyoucomein,”Jacksaidashekissedheronthecheek.HewalkedovertothetableandhelpedAbbyandhermotherun-packthegroceries.Abbyhadinsistedongoingalloutfortheparty.Forher,thatmeantthattherewouldn’tbeyournormalpicnicfood.Therewouldbemacaronisaladofcourse,buthermacaronisaladcamefromsomefancyrecipefromtheFoodNetworkandconsistedoffoodsJackhadneverheardofbefore. “Jack,onceyou’redoneunpackingIneedyoutostartsomewaterboilingforthemacaronisalad,thenIneedyouto…” “Woah,”Jackinterrupted.“Ihavestufftodotooyaknow.” “Yeah,butthisstuffneedstobedonenow.”Whyisherstuffsomuchmoreimportantthanmine,hethought.Buthedidn’twanttostartanargumentthisearlyintheafternoon,sohekepthismouthshut.JackandAbbyweren’tacouplethatarguedalot,butsincehisreturnfromIraq,hefeltlikeshewouldnaghimabouteverylittlethinghedid,ordidn’tdo.Heknewthatshewouldprobablybeonhiscaselaterforonethingoranother.Hemightaswellsavehimselfalittlebitoftroubleifhecould.Hereluctantlygrabbedapotfromunderthecounter,filleditupwithwaterandcontinuedfollowingAbby’sordersuntilthefirstguestsarrived “Igottagetthegrillstarted.Peoplewillbeshowingupsoonandthey’regoingtobehungry,”Jacksaid. “Whataboutalltherestofthefoodinhere?”Abbyasked. “Listen,it’snotmyfaultyouchosetodoallthefancyrecipes.Itwouldn’thavetakensodamnlongtomakeifyoujustrealizedthatpeoplewouldbehappywithhotdogs,hamburgersandsomeothernormalfood,notallyourfancyshit.”Hegrabbedapintglassoutofthecabinet,turnedhisbackandbeganhiswalkoutside.Jackwalkedthroughthelivingroomandtowardthesmallsectionoffencedinyardthat,althoughitwasforeverybodyintheapartmenttouse,nobodybutJackandAbbyeverdid.He
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openedhislittleshedthatcontainedallhisoutdoorequipment,grabbedabagofcharcoal,alighterandthetapforhiskeg. Bymid-afternoonthepartywaswellunderway.Peoplewereenjoy-ingthemselves,catchingupwithfriendstheyhadn’tseeninawhile,playingboccewhiledebatingwhoseballwasclosertothepoleen.Jackmannedthegrillwithhisconstantlyfullglassofbeer,talkingtoLarry,hisbrother-in-lawaboutthenewtattoothathewantedtoget.“I’vebeenthinkingofexpand-ingthetattooonmyleg.Makeitafulllegsleeve.AllMarineCorpsstuff,whadyathink?”LarrywasacopnearthelocalcasinoandafewyearsolderthanJack.Hewasalsoabitofaredneck,soJackfiguredafulllegtattoowouldbecooltohim. “Thatwouldbesweet.I’vebeenthinkingofgettinganewonemy-self.”Larryturnedaroundandpointedtoaspotonhisleftshoulderblade.“Somethinglikeashieldandallthenamesofmybuddieswhodiedwhileonduty.” “Howmany?”Jackasked. “Oh…Probablynotasmanyasyou…four.” “That’smorethanme.OnlythreepeopleIreallyknewdied.Iknewabunchmorethatdied,butonlyknew‘emalittlebit.” “Yeah,butyoustillknewthem.” “True,butit’sdifferent.Youknow.It’slikeifacopfromanearbytowndied.Youprobablymethimafewtimes,butyoureallydidn’tknowhim.” “Yeah,you’reright.”Larrytookaswigofbeerandafteranawkwardsilenceasked“Howyoudoingtoday?Itmustbetough” “I’mdoingallright.”Jackturnedaroundandflippedoveracoupleofburgersthatdidn’tneedflippingandthrewacoupleofmorehotdogsonthegrill. Asthesunwasbeginningtosetmostoftheolderguestshadleft,andJackwasrefillinghisglasswhenAbby’sunclestoodup.Warren,whohadhadafewtoomanybeers,wasoneofthoseguyswhoalwaysneverknewwhentokeephismouthshut.Hewouldalwaysmakeinappropriatecommentsatinappropriatetimes.
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“Everybody…Everybodylistenup…Ijustwanttotakeaminuteandremindeverybodywhyweareheretoday.So…here’satoasttoJack.Wecouldn’tbemoreproudofyouforallthatyou’vedone,andwearesohappythatyouarehomesafeandsound.”Warrenraisedhisglassandslammedbacktherestofhisdrink.Everybodyelseraisedtheirglasses,tookasipandclapped.Jackraisedhisglassandswallowedeverylastdrophehadjustpoured.Hewasneveronetolikeattentionespeciallythisday.Jackdidn’tthinkthisdaywasforhim.Itwasforalltheveteranswhodiedwhileserv-ing.IfpeoplewantedtopraisehimonVeteransDaythenfine,hewouldacceptitandmoveongracefully.Buttodaywasadaytorememberthefallen.AndforJackitwasadaytorememberMorgan,BrianandByron,hisfriendswhohaddied.Allofasuddenthefeelingsthathadbeensuppressedbynearlyagallonofbeercameswellingupthroughhisbody.Itstartedinhislegswithaslightweakeningoftheknees,keptmovingupwardsthroughhischestandrightintohiseyeswherehispainalwaysseemedtoescape. Jackpouredhimselfanotherandwalkedintohisapartmentandstraightintohisbedroom.Hesatontheedgeofhisbed,flippedopenhisphoneandpulleduphiscontactlist.Thereitwas.Leon.LeonandJackhadbecomefriendsduringtheirfirstdeployment.Theyweren’tinthesamecompany,butwhiletheywereonshiptogethertheybecamebondedthroughacommonloveforpoker.TheywouldspendFridaynightthroughSundaymorningplaying,onlygettingawaytoeatandusethebathroom. WhileinIraqJackandLeondidn’tseeeachotheroften,3or4daysiftheywerelucky.Butiftheycouldvisiteachother,theydid.Theypassedtimebyplayingpoker,talkingaboutwhattheywoulddowhentheygotbackstatesideandevenoccasionallydrinkingsomebootlegwhiskeythattheyhadsmuggledbackintotheirbattalionbase. Jackhitsendonhisphoneandthelineontheotherendbegantoring.Eachtimethephonerang,Jackgotmoreandmoreanxious.“Hello.”Leonfinallyanswered. “Hey,it’sJack.” “Ohman,what’sgoingon?”Leonasked.Leonhadadistinctive
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southerndrawlthatwasevenmoreprominentnowthathehadbeensta-tionedinLouisianaaboutamonthago. “Nothin.IjustcalledtosayhappyMemorialDay.”JackthoughtitwasoddtosayhappyMemorialDaywhenitmadehimsosad. “Youtoo.Whatareyouuptotoday?” “I’mhavingalittleparty,whataboutyou?”“Nothingmuch,gettingsettledindownhere.” “Howhaveyoubeen?”Jackasked,hopingheknewwhathemeant. “I’mdoingprettywell.Today’stough.IkeepthinkingaboutBrianandByron.” “Iknow.IkeepthinkingaboutMorgan.Especiallytoday.”MorganStraderandJackhadbeeninthesamesquadbuthadgottenseparatedwhentheywereambushedinFallujah.Jackhadendedupseveralbuildingsawayandcouldn’thelphimwhenhewasshotinthehead.“Everybodywantstosaythankstomeandallthatshit.That’sallfine,buttheydon’trealizewhatthisdaymeanstous.It’stoughseeingeverybodyhavingagoodtimeandwhatnotwhenallIcanreallythinkaboutisIraqandallthememoriesitbringswithit.”Jackcouldfeelhimselfstartingtobreakdown.Hetriedtoholditbackbutknewinsidethatthatwasthereasonhecalled.“Allthesepeople,andnobodyevenknowswhattodayisfor.Ijustwish…”hisvoicetrailedoffintosilence.Hetriedtotakeadeepbreath,buthisnosewascloggedandhehadtobreathethroughhismouth.“Allthesefuckingpeople…”onceagainhisvoicewentsilent.Tearsstartedtoflowdownhisunshavenface.Jackrestedthephoneonthebedashisneckwentlimpandhisheadfellforward. Severalsecondspassed.“JACK,”Leonyelledintothephone. “Yeah,sorry.I’mhere.It’sjusttoughman,youknow.”Jackdidn’tknowwhatelsetosay. “Iknow.Ithinkaboutthoseguysallthetime,”Leonsaid.Jackwipedthetearsfromhisfaceandtriedtocomposehimselfbeforehebegantospeakagain. “Oh,man.Sorryaboutthat,I’vehadafewtoday.”Jackfeltembar-rassedandbetterallatthesametime.
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“Noworriesman.Sometimesshitgetstometoo.” “Allright.Well…listen.Igottagetbacktomyparty.I’llcallyouinafewdaysthough.Alright?” “Yeah.Definitely,”Leonsaid.“Later.” “Laterman.”Jackturnedhisphoneoff,stoodup,andputitbackintohispocket.Hestrolledovertothebathroomtocomposehimself.Hewantedtomakesurenobodyknewhewascrying.Hestoodatthesinkforafewminutes,andwashedhisface.Everytimehelookedintothemirrorhesawhisdeadfriends.HeimaginedMorgan’sbodylayinginapoolofbloodonarooftopwithasingle,smallholeinhisforehead.HerememberedBy-rons’bodylayingfacedownjustoutsideofadoorwayinthe“HellHouse”ofFallujah.Asinglebullettotheheadalsodidhimin,justlikeithaddonetoMorgan.Helookedintothemirroronelasttimeandsawhisownface.Hemouthedthewords“Imissyou,”intoit,driedhisfaceandleftthebath-room. Hewalkedoutside,backintohisparty,andranintoAbby.Shewasthelastpersonhewantedtosee.NomatterhowwellhethoughthehadcomposedhimselfAbbyalwayshadaknackforknowingwhensomethingwasbotheringhim.“Hey,”Jacksaid. “Everythingallright?Youwereinsideforawhile,”Abbyaskedinanunexpectedlypleasantvoice. “Yeah,Leoncalled.HewantedtosayhappyMemorialDay.” “How’shedoing?” “He’sdoingwell.Whereareyougoing?”Jackquestioned. “Weneedmorecups.Doyouknowwherethereareanymore?” “Inthecupboardabovethesink.” “Ok.Thanks.”Abbyturnedaroundandheadedinside.JackwonderedwhyAbbydidn’tsayanythingtohimaboutthewayhelooked.Maybeshe’sjustreallycaughtuptryingtomakesureeveryoneishappy,hethought.Jackcontinuedhismarchbacktothegrill.Therewerestillafewburgersleft. AstheendofthenightcameonlyafewofJack’sbuddiesfromschoolwerearound.Hisschoolhadquiteafewveterans,andaloungethat
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wasonlyforthevets.Jackhadbecomegoodfriendswithafew.Theysataroundafireoneofthemhadbuilt,one-uppingeachotherwithstoriesaboutIraqorAfghanistan.JackbrokeintotheconversationwithastoryaboutFallujah.“Mysquadgotcalledtoassistanothersquadfrommycompanythathadgottenambushedandhadgottentrappedinside.Wehadtosupportthemandfightourwaythroughthebuilding.IthinktherewassomethingliketenPurpleHeartsandtwoNavyCrossesawardedfromthatfirefight.TwoNavyCrosses!That’showbaditwas.Oneguydiedandtwomorealmostdied.Ifthetwothatalmostdieddiddie,theyprobablywouldhavegottentheMedalofHonor.That’showfuckingbaditwas.”Jackdidn’twanttotelltheothersthatthatwasalsothehousewhereByronwaskilledandthathehelpeddraghislifelessbodyoutthefrontdoor. Behindthem,Abbyquietlycleaneduptheemptycupsandplatesofhalfeatenfood.Shefoldeduptheunusedchairsandwentbackinsidewhereshewasmostlikelyabouttocleanthekitchen.Eachstorytheguystoldkeptgettinglouderandlouderwitheachbeerthattheydrank. Aroundoneinthemorningthelastofthecrewleft.Jackwalkedbackinsideaftertheusual“gethomesafe”speechandpeeredintothebedroomtoseeAbbyclutchingherpillowsoundasleepintheirbed.TheoutsidelightshonethroughthewindowandJackcouldseetheblanketswrappedtightlyaroundherbodylikeacocoon.Hestoodthereformo-ment,restinghisheadagainstthedoorframeandwonderedwhatshewasdreamingabout. Hewalkedintotheyardandpouredhimselfanotherbeer.Heliftedthekegfromtheicetogaugehowmuchwasleft.Only4or5left,hethought,Icanfinishthisbeforethenightisdone. Jackwalkedbacktohischairandslumpeddowninit.Heem-bracedtheheatradiatingfromthefireandenjoyedwatchingtheembersfly-ingupwardstowardthestarrysky;itremindedhimofthenightjustbeforehewentintoFallujah.Thatnighthehadbeensittinginafoxholejustnorthofthecity.Heandtherestofhisbattalionsatandwatchedasplanes,heli-copters,andartillerydroppedsomuchammunitiontheywonderediftherewasgoingtobeanythingleftforthemthenextmorning.Theywatchedas
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whitephosphorousilluminatedtheskyandraineddownoninsurgents.Theywatchedasbuildingsandcarswereblownup,andlistenedsotheycouldhearthedestructionseveralsecondsafterithappened.Hedrapedhisarmoverthesideofhischairandsatthere,minddriftingbetweentwoworlds.Hethoughtofthemorningheenteredthecity.Howtheearlymorningsunhadn’tyetburnedoffthefog.Howwhenheexitedthebackofhisarmoredvehicleitallseemedlikeitwasn’treal.HowtheAK-47andM-16roundscrackinginsporadicvolleysafewblocksawayseemedtoofarawaytoohurthim.Hestoodupandshookhisheadtoclearhisthoughts,asifhecouldjustshakeawaythememories,andwalkedovertothegateinthewhitefencethatledtotherestofthecommunalbackyard.Jackwalkedalongthestonewallthatbarricadedtheyardfromtheroad.Hefollowedthewallasitturnedleftattheedgeoftheproperty.Thewallcontinueduntilitranintothetreeline,wherethebackyardendedandthewoodsbegan.Jackfollowedthetreelinebehindthehouse,hishandsinhispocketsfidgetingwithhiskeys.Hewalkedaroundthehouseandintothegravelparkinglot,continuingbackaroundthehouse,pastthegrillthatearlierhadbeenthecenterofattention,butnowaswasleftopenandunused,onlytoendupatthefire.Bynowtheflameshaddieddown,buttheemberswerestillredhot,evenhotterthanbefore.Hechuggedhisbeerandpouredhimselfanother.Againhesatbackdowninhischair. Jackflippedhisphoneopenandpulledupthecalllog.Thelastcall:6:38–LeonSheely.Hesattherethinkingabouthowgooditfelttotalktosomeone,notthattheyhadmuchofaconversation.WhydoIalwaysdothistomyself?hequestioned.Jackwashalfwaythroughhisbeerwhenheheardthescreendooropen.Heclosedhisphoneandputitbackintohispocketwhileheusedtothesleeveofhissweatshirttorubthewetnessoutofhiseyes.Hedidn’twantAbbytoseehimlikethis.“Jack,”Abbywhispered. “Yeah,”Jacksaidback. “It’salmosttwoo’clock.Whatareyoudoing?” “Nothing.Justsittinghere.”Heheardthedoorclose.Abbywasonherwayover.Shewalkedupbesidehim,grabbedachairandpulleditclose
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tohis.Shesattherebesidehimandrubbedhisback,justlikeamotherwoulddotoachild. “What’sthematter?”sheasked. “Nothing,why?” “Becauseyou’vebeenouthereforoveranhour.” “SoIguessyouweren’tsleeping?”Jackasked.Hedidn’twanttolookather. “Wellit’skindahardwithyouandallyourbuddiespracticallyscreamingatthetopofyourlungs.”Jackhadn’trealizedhowloudtheyhadbeen.ButthenagainAbbywasalightsleeperanyways.ThenAbby’stonechanged.“Whydon’tyouevertellmethestoriesyoutellyourbuddies?” JacklookedupatAbby.Heturnedhisbodysoherarmcouldnolongerreachhisback,tookadeepbreathandsaid,“Becauseyouneverasked.” Abbysatthereforabriefmoment,silent.“Well.I’maskingnow,”Abbysaid.“Iwantyoutobeabletotellmewhateveryouwantto.” “Noyoudon’t.Youdon’treallywanttoknowwhathappenedoverthere.” “Yes.Ido.Iwanttohearthesethings,”Abbyreplied. “Icanseeitinyoureyes.Youdon’treallywanttoknow.” “Ijustwantyoutobeokay,that’sall.” “Youwantmetobeokay?SoI’mnotokaynow?HowamInotokay?” “I…Idon’tknow.Ijustdon’tthinkthatanybodycanbeokayoncethey’vebeenoverthere.” “I’mfine.I’mthesamepersonthatIwasbeforeIleft,Ijustneedalittletimetoreadjusttobeingbackinthestates.That’sall.” “Ijustthinkthatyouneedsomebodytotalkto.Youhaveallthesefeelingsandalltheseemotionsboilingupinsideyou.It’snothealthyJack.” “WhoamIgoingtotalkto?NobodyhereunderstandstheshitIwentthrough.” “TherearepeopleattheVA.They’retrainedtohelpyouthere.”
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“I’vebeentotheVA.Itdidn’thelp.ThosepeoplehaveneverbeenthroughwhatIhave.Allthey’regonnagivemeissomepsychoanalyticbullshit.Howdotheyknowwhatit’sliketogetshotat?Howdotheyknowwhatit’sliketohaveyourfrienddie,andyoucan’tthinkaboutitrightthen? Jackplacedhisheadinhishandsandtookadeepbreath.WhenhelookedbackupatAbby,tearswereflowingfreelydownhisface.Abbybentforwardandwrappedherarmstightlyaroundhim “We’llgetthroughthis.We’lldowhateverittakes.”
Bonaldo
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John DenverReverend Nathan Zillionaire
ReverendNathanZillionaire Bulthuis NathanBulthuis NathanZillionaireNathanZillionaireBulthuisDavidNathanielBulthuisNathanZillionaireBulthuisChineseTrigonometryTeacherDowntownChicagoClarkandBelmontScitzo-Effective10MillionDollarsCashFromGeicoElmhurstIllinoisHillsideIllinoisSSISSDIMedicareNPNehemiahPsalmsNPNativePrideNPNewPlantsScitzo-EffectivenathanbelieverburgundyNathanZillionaireMeditationArtistChristianReverendProfessionalMusicianHeavenPromoterCrowCrowCrowZillionaireBooksMinisterZillionaireChristianityHeavenSSISSDIMedicareChineseTrigonometryTeacherJesusChrist391726761550793917TrillionYearsFromNow.
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Denver
Folio Staff, Denver, CO 2010(Left to Right: Mike DeSanti, Heather Frodsham, Paul Johnson,
Jared Emerling, Peter Cunningham, Andrzej Dutkanicz)
*A Note on John Denver*The author of the poem on the opposing page is named John Denver (no
relation to the late singer). Though largely ignored by the literary mainstream, Denver’s impact on American poetry is impossible to overstate. Born in 1900,
he is the author of over seventy books of poetry and a dozen novels, and he has directly inflenced writers as diverse as Charles Bukowski and Toni
Morrison. The staff would like to thank Mr. Denver for submitting his poem “The Reverend Nathan Zillionaire,” (from his chapbook, Gumballs!) for
publication. It is our honor to include it in this volume of Folio.
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Special Thanks
WETHESTAFFWOULDLIKETOTHANK... JeffMock,TimParrish,RobinTroy,VivianShipley,TomDorr,JoshGister,JerryDunklee,JeffreyVoccola,GreyJacobik,JohnCavaliere,IllianneCoronafromtheStudentCenter,BriannaMarron,BobandGayleEmer-lingfortherides,coffees,andmunchkins,DanSharoh,TheCoenBrothers,AdamatPourHouse,ThatguyPeteconfusedintogivinguphisdouble-breastedjacket,TheColoradoSymphonyOrchestraforbringingtheNewWorldtolife,MayorBigBlueBear,JackGilbert,BarBar,Sci-FiBurlesqueatBender’s,AdamNesteruk,WillShortzandtheNYTCrossword,MexicanFood(therestaurant,notthegenre),LorettaLynn,GhostandNimbus,EveryoneattheCaptain’sHouse,CalvinFrodsham,PizzaontheEastCoast,JulesBakesandElliotPepMcGuillicuddyMurderfaceMurderfaceMurder-faceFutureCar,BigWheelMatt,CharlesEverett“TheVirginiaWoolfman”Taylor,EveryonewhoreadatthemonthlyFolioevents(youknowwhoyouare),GayEnya,Shaw’s,KyleTegler,Mr.andMrs.StephenJohnson,OhHell,AllofOurParents,MagicalRealismandtheMarquez/Borges/CalvinoTriumvirate,TomDorragain,TheSouthernNews,Delaney’s,Thealltoooftentakenforgranteddurabilityofleather,CatStevens,Beer,KentuckyStraightBourbonWhiskey,XhenetAliu,TheReverendNathanBulthuisZillionaire,Thatsuper-friendlydudeattheConventionCenter,PaulineLefevreandalltheotherFrenchetteswecomeacross,thestaffofFoster’sRestaurant,SamCalkins,FederalReserveChairmanBenBernankefordoingthebesthecandamnit,theDancingStatuesinDenver,Bob,alltheDwarvesexceptSneezy(heknowswhy),Newcastle,Guinness,DogfishHead,MillerHighLife,JeffBridges,Ourselves,andallthewriterswhosubmittedtheirhardwork.Thanks.
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Bonaldo ~ BozzutoCaycedo-Kimura ~ CoffinConway ~ Cunningham
DeSanti ~ DutkaniczEmerling ~ Frank-Hutchinson
Frodsham ~ GamacheGurge ~ HallidayJohnson ~ Jones
Knox ~ KomosinskiLewis ~ Litrenta
Miller ~ PascarellaQuesnel ~ Schaffrick
Scucci ~ SmithSpaziani ~ Sullivan
Turso ~ WalshWillborne ~ Williams