Where I Belong
Ella Smith
I am from the neighborhood park,
From the sand in every pocket and all the screaming kids.
Feeling the cold wind
Rush through the jacket I was forced to wear.
I am from the 6am cartoons,
Forcing my dad to get out of bed
Anxiously waiting for a trip downstairs.
I am from -30 degree winters,
Bundled up with a red nose.
Walking to the school bus all alone,
Making fresh footprints in the powder that appeared the night before.
I am from homemade meals every Sunday,
From all the love my mom had in her body.
I am from babysitters and being alone,
Seeing my dad only a few times a month till I was 10.
I am from staying late at school every day,
And 5:30 car rides home with my mom after a long day at work.
I am from a family of food,
Where we show our love by making something.
I am from music in the kitchen,
And bumping into each other while dancing.
I am from Grandma’s house,
The wedding dress and the strudels for dinner.
My grandpa never knowing how to stay serious,
And my cousins never knowing how to sit still.
I am from a place where you can sit on the swing outside.
And just listen to the cougar that grandpa tamed,
Walking through the woods at the bottom of the hill.
I am from a family where everyone is welcome,
We hug each other with open arms.
And love each other to the moon and back.
Rose
Isabella Fordin
Standing on the edge of a rooftop, cigarette in hand, New York City towering behind her, she smiles at the camera and begins tap dancing. Her red lips, rosy cheeks, and natural curls bouncing out of her pin-up hairdo radiate 1950’s glamour. Dancing away from the edge and into the center of the bare rooftop, the woman starts hastily throwing her arms and kicking her feet as she transitions into a fast paced quickstep dance. After minutes of dancing, she twirls out of the camera’s view. Only a second later she pops back in, her face consuming the frame, and snatches the camera. She sets it on the cold concrete ground then pulls another person into the shot: her brother. She yanks him in close and they begin shagging together. I smile while I watch the home film and imagine that 65 years ago, my great-grandmother never could have guessed how her life would turn out, and yet, here we are, watching her videos together. She holds my hand while she laughs at herself on the tape.
“You were an amazing dancer, MaRose,” I comment as her younger self bows.
“Well, who do you think you got it from? Certainly not your papa or your dad.” She cracks up into a fit of laughter. At this point, each previous laugh acts as fuel for the next for both of us.
~
“Happy Passover, Grandma!” I cheer on the phone.
“Oh, Bella! Thank you for calling! How are you, sweet girl?”
Hearing the excitement in my grandma’s voice when I call her is one of the things that makes me happiest. Calling her is not like the typical grandparent phone call filled with forced enthusiasm and good-grandchild-obligations. I can talk to my MaRose for hours and never run out of interesting topics.
“Oh! I finished fixing up the beaded handbag you gave me. It looks as good as new!” This past Hanukkah, she gifted me a white and gold, hand-beaded, satin clutch. It is stunning and shines like it was picked off of a 1950s red carpet.
“Oh perfect! Have I ever told you the story of how I got that handbag?”
“Not yet!” I absolutely love when Ma shares her stories with me. The more stories she tells, the more of her I find in myself.
“Okay, well sit down ‘cause it’s quite a story. Every day after work, I walked past the Saks Fifth, and every day I stood outside and looked in through the window. I never actually went inside because if I did, I would surely buy something and we didn’t have any extra spending money. Anyway, Saks started selling this absolutely stunning hand-made handbag for $450 and I made it my goal to save up enough money to buy it. So, you know, a couple of months pass and every day on the way back from the Scholastic headquarters, ‘cause you know I used to work for scholastic right? Remember all those books they would send you?”
“Mhm, I remember. I loved those books as a kid.”
“Oh, I know you did. Anyway, I would always check to make sure they were still selling the bag. I wasn’t making any extra money fast because, you know, even though I was working hard, they didn’t think I was worth the pay.” I can feel her roll her eyes through the phone. “So, I turn onto the block where Saks is and I see a huge Saks Fifth truck unloading boxes into the store. And, you know, it’s been a couple of years since this happened so I can’t remember the details–”
(By a couple of years, she means about 50.)
“–but some time between them unloading the truck, and me walking past, the movers dropped a whole rack of the beaded handbags on the street and… they didn’t notice. I figured they can’t sell them now because they are all wet and dirty so… I picked one up and kept walking.”
Oh. My. Goodness. My jaw drops and, after I fully process what she just shared with me, I explode into laughter. It makes sense; she has always been one to seize the opportunities she saw. That must be where I get it from.
~
I’ve grown up being told the same stories about myself as a baby and young child. Each family member shares their favorite that makes me sound incredibly adorable, and makes them sound like the best relative ever. As the first born child of my generation, I always have an overwhelming amount of attention on me and my experiences. After a while, the stories get old. Except for one. Everything about it brings a smile to my face. Especially the way my great-grandma recalls the events.
I was very young, maybe six months old, and she watched me every day while my parents worked. One day as she was carrying me over to my highchair, her hip dislocated. The excruciating pain made her drop to the floor and lose grip of me. In the last second before we both hit the ground, MaRose threw her arms out and snatched me back into her chest. Lying on the ground with 6-month-old me in her arms, my grandma knew she needed access to a phone. She needed help. But before she could focus on anything else, I needed to be safe in my highchair. After collecting her thoughts and devising a plan, MaRose pushed herself against the wall and assessed the situation. On the complete other side of the dining room stood my highchair. Even further in the kitchen was the phone. After several long and painful minutes ticked by, she braced herself and began moving.
She transferred me into one arm and used the other to help her rotate her body into a crawling position. With her leg dragging limp behind her, MaRose began her great journey. She staggered halfway through the dining room before her body gave out again. Even though the entire room was hardly bigger than a dining room table that sat eight, it felt like crossing the entire world. Resting against the leg of the dining table, my grandma rocked me in her arms and made her attempt at settling me. Even though her pain was unbearable and my crying was unstoppable, she took her time comforting me. Not only making sure I was safe but also checking that I was still tightly swaddled and that my hat hadn’t fallen off. She would never let anything harm her great-granddaughter, dislocated hip or not.
After several more minutes under the table, she regained enough strength to continue on. Hauling herself back on her knees, MaRose took a deep breath, shifted her weight, and advanced. The fiery pain developed into a stabbing numbness that spread through her leg as she crept across the dining room. The more pain she endured, the harder she pushed returning me to my highchair safely. Inch by agonizing inch, my great-grandma finally made it to my chair. Carefully, she raised me above her head and softly placed me in my chair.
The end of the story remains unknown to me. My entire life she has always stopped there and I could never fathom why. Why wouldn’t she enlighten everyone on how she reached the phone and called for help?
Well, if you ask her she will tell you why: “Because all that matters to me is how you end up, sweet girl.”
~
With graduation and college so close, I can’t help but think about the future. What my life will be like as an adult. Who will be in it, and who will not. This year, on my great-grandma’s 85th birthday, I really came to terms with the fact that my MaRose will not be with me forever. She will not always be around, sharing memories and phone calls. Not physically at least. But all these anecdotes of her life will live with me forever. My great-grandma embodies everything I seek: free-spirited, driven, caring, lively.
Now, please excuse me, I have to call my MaRose.
Annapolis Candle Shop
Ava Kate Wall
The bricks are new along the sides of the small building. A navy blue door invites the Annapolis walkers in. There is a soft ding of the bell, signaling that the store doors are welcoming a new customer. Upon entering, there is a familiar smell that reminds everyone of home. It envelops those who come to shop among the memories. On the shelves, there are candles with different scents, each associated with a different memory along with colors related to the feeling.
On the first shelf is a cream colored candle with a scent of firewood for the memories of making s’mores and warming up in the cabin living room by the fire. Right beside it is a blue candle that smells of tree sap. It brings back memories of leaving the Canadian lake to return home. If you glance a row below, there is a vanilla sugar aroma from the yellow candle. Nothing quite compares to making cookies with a best friend. One of the crowd favorites is a lime candle that smells like crisp, fresh air. It reminds those who catch a whiff of a time that they burst into laughter until they couldn’t breathe but finally being able to catch that one, deep breath. The fragrance of coffee and vanilla comes from a soft, orange wax for spending time with family friends, drinking coffee and eating sweets for hours. A red candle reads cinnamon on the bottom for all of the times that were harder but were all right in the end. Beside it is a greyish-blue candle that has a fragrance of evergreen. It clears the nostrils while allowing the reminiscence of all of the times it became hard to breathe and felt like the world was going to end, but it feels calming, like the release of tension. Going to another shelf, a green candle catches the eyes of everyone. The scent of a sweet fall can be smelled from a foot away. This candle holds many memories of all of the car rides with the windows down, singing along to music with a best friend.
Potent, desirable scents are used to mask the darker, less favorable ones that emanate from the lower shelves: one for the mental breakdowns, one for the crushed dreams, another for the heartbreaks, the shattered friendships, and all of the setbacks. Despite the fact that they don’t smell as good as the others, they are still on display. Few have come in to buy them, but those who do are the most loyal customers. The people who buy the store’s candles are able to breathe in the scents and feel the memories behind them. . . the small–but significant–moments that encompass the store that they all have once shopped from.
Princess Katherine and the Bookshop Prince
Lily Tyler
“Tell me the story again mama!” little Charlotte begs.
“Ok my love, once more then off to bed!” Charlotte’s mum replies.
There once was a princess named Katherine, who lived in a charming village in the Kingdom of Eastonham with her mother and father, the King and Queen of Eastonham and her younger brother Harry. Katherine, or Kat as she preferred to be called, was quite the modern princess. She was devastated when her parents told her she must fulfill her royal tradition of marrying a prince from the neighboring kingdom on her 25th birthday. Kat did not believe in these outdated traditions and fled to her favorite spot in the village, Blackwell’s Books, after she received the devastating news.
“That’s my favorite spot too!” rejoices little Charlotte.
“Indeed!” smiles Charlotte’s mum.
This particular visit to the bookshop was like none before for Kat. She was still crying tears of both anger and sadness when she stumbled in and made her way to her favorite chair at the back of the shop. She didn’t even see the handsome stranger occupying her chair until she almost sat on him!
Taken aback Kat gasped, “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. No one is ever here but me…” she faltered as she stared at the kindest blue eyes she’s ever seen.
“No apologies needed,” the handsome stranger responded. “I didn’t realize this seat was spoken for. I’m Drew,” he declared and held out his hand for hers.
“Kat,” she managed to say, as she wiped away the tears still glistening on her cheeks.
“Well, Kat,” Drew said, “I can see that you might need this little hideaway more than I. So I’ll leave you be, unless there’s something I can do to help?” he gently inquired.
“Can you transport me to another life that doesn’t include being a princess with overbearing traditionalist parents who fail to see I’m a grown woman in the 21st century that can’t be bound by outdated traditions and can make my own decisions about who and when to marry?” Kat blurted out in one breath, surprising herself. They stared at each other for a moment. Kat blushed and then recovered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just spilled all that out to you!”
Drew smiled the most amazing smile Kat had ever seen, and said, “Well, I’m not sure I can do that, but I can offer you some tea and a walk down to the lake if you’d like?”
“And then she went, right mama?” Charlotte asks.
“Oh, absolutely!” her mama replies.
Kat and Drew walked and talked for hours. She learned he was a painter and as much of a bibliophile as she was. They chatted about books, art, life, and dreams. They even discovered they share a favorite season, the same opinion on tea, and a love for dogs. Drew didn’t seem to care about her royal status, only her passionate mind and heart. Over the course of the next two weeks Kat met Drew almost every day to hike through the forest, to ride horses through the countryside, to have tea (with sugar) and scones by the lake while discussing their favorite authors. Kat didn’t know what it was about this dashing, broad shouldered brunette, but she felt so at peace and so content just being in his presence. Sadly, Kat realized as much as she loved Drew, she must obey her family’s traditions, so she set him free. She wrote him a letter and left it under a book where they were supposed to meet at the lake.
“Dearest Drew, I’m terribly sorry for the letter, but it would be too painful face to face. I’m meeting my prince tomorrow. There’s no way out of it. It pains me greatly, but it does not sadden me as much as it does knowing that I will never see you again. Thank you for seeing my true self and for the memories that will last a lifetime. Goodbye! Love, Kat”
“Then what happened mama?” Charlotte wonders.
Kat was devastated. But being an honorable princess, she went home, got her rest and woke the next morning to meet her prince. She still felt anger toward her parents, their traditions, and her duties, but she hoped in time she would discover peace. Kat strolled into the parlor, dreading the sure to be obnoxious, royal snob she would be sharing her life with and cooly greeted her parents and the visiting King and Queen of Westershire with a tight smile. The prince, who had been staring at the fireplace, turned around slowly and just smiled. Kat was shocked and confused, certainly a little bit mad, but also a tad giddy.
“It was him, wasn’t it mama?” Charlotte bounced excitedly.
“I don’t understand! I believed that I was to meet Prince Andrew today?” Kat asks.
“You are. Much like you dislike Katherine, I dislike Andrew,” Drew explained.
“But, why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Kat pushed, still feeling a bit deceived.
“Please don’t be mad Kat,” Drew pleaded. “I should have told you, but honestly I didn’t realize who you were at first either. I ran from my village the day I met you as I wasn’t happy about marrying some snooty princess either. I needed to be alone. Then I met you. I got caught up in your amazing personality. I didn’t tell you that I was a prince because I wanted you to know the real me, not Prince Andrew of Westershire. I was going to come clean yesterday but I found your letter. Please forgive me and make me the happiest man by marrying me,” Drew finished with tears in his eyes.
Kat, overcome with emotions and the realization that maybe sometimes dreams DO come true, smiled broadly and exclaimed, “Yes!”
“I love that story mama!” Charlotte beams.
“Me too, sweetie!” Kat grins, hugging her daughter tight.
Untitled
Braden Stantz
“That land-mine blew up one of ours!” Bullets pinged off the metal shell of the tank as explosives blew craters in the surrounding area. But, through the dangers of shrapnel and oncoming gunfire, the Mark IV Landship tank kept pushing towards the German line. The name of this tank was Blackjack, with its scrappy crew consisting of 4 British soldiers: Jack, the grizzled veteran who had been fighting the Great War for the past 4 years who was the captain of the crew. Harry, a pessimistic man in his early 20’s who was responsible for tending to the functionality of the tank. Oliver, the extremely young but timid man who tended to the weapons on the tank.George, the driver who had previously been a chauffeur before he had been brought into the war. They had been deployed to push east on a counterattack towards the advancing German line in the Second Battle of the Marne.
The tanks were sent in as the first wave to clear a path for the infantry. As the commander blew the whistle, the rumble of the tanks moving forward broke the silence of the eerily calm battlefield. Soon, the bark of machine guns and booming of field guns rained down from the German Defensive Line down onto the advancing counterattackers. As bodies fell and metal burst into many different pieces, the British approach didn’t stop. At the head of the charge was Blackjack, until one of the tracks was suddenly blown off, immobilizing the tank.
“Go fix the track! Without it we’re sitting ducks!” George directed towards Harry. Harry, not too pleased with the idea of having to get out of the tank, protested, “Are you insane? That’s a death wish!” Jack barked back at Harry, “ This is what you signed up for, now go fix the track! That’s an order!” Harry clambered out of the tank, keeping his head down as bullets whizzed past his ears. “Shit.” Harry exclaimed, “Oliver! I forgot my tool kit! Come bring it out to me.” Oliver grabbed the tools and peaked out of the side of the tank. Suddenly, Oliver drops the tool box as a bullet lodged itself in his chest. His body fell lifelessly into the mud as Harry grabbed the tools in a panic and repaired the track. As he climbed back into the tank, Harry caught George on his way out frantically yelling, “OLIVER!” Harry grabbed him before he could climb out, “He’s gone, George! We have to keep moving!”
George hopped back into the driver’s seat and proceeded to push forward into the German foothold. Once they broke through into the German frontline, German troops started to pour out of bunkers and started to charge towards Blackjack. George, panicked and afraid, cried out, “There’s too many of them! We can’t take them all!” Jack searched the surrounding area and spotted a German bunker abandoned as the Germans had been pushed deeper into their territory. “You boys take these guns and hold out in that bunker until our second wave can push through. I’ll take the Germans from here.” He handed them two Lee-Enfield rifles as he pulled a grenade from his own belt and kept it in his hand. Harry looked up at Jack, “But sir-” Jack cut him off before he was finished, “No ‘but’s! Do as you are ordered!” Harry looked up at him one last time before he and George sprinted to the abandoned bunker. They solemnly watched as Germans started to overrun the tank. An instant later, the two soldiers watched as Blackjack went up in flames.
George sat and stared at the floor, the horrors of war reflected in the look on his face. Harry picked him up off the floor, “come on, we have a battle to win. There will be more of them coming soon.” Each soldier picked up their rifle and stood at the door, waiting for the next wave of German troops to come surging in. George, a hopeless expression across his face, looked up at Harry, “I can’t do this anymore. We’re gonna die here.” “Pull yourself together George. We’re not gonna make it out of here with that attitude.” As the words came out of Harry’s mouth, two sets of footsteps approached the bunker. “They’re here, be ready to fire,” Harry whispered to George, trying not to alert the advancing soldiers. As soon as the footsteps entered the door, each man took aim at their target, Harry hitting his target in the torso, while George had his target in his sights but froze. The German soldier took advantage of this and knocked George’s rifle out of his hand and wrestled with him on the floor. Harry ran over to the two, knocking the soldier unconscious. Relieved, both British soldiers took a deep breath and Harry extended a hand to George. But at that moment,time stopped when a German bayonet plunged through Harry’s back and out his chest. George watched in terror as Harry fell to the ground, struggling to breath. At that same moment, George took the rifle which he had dropped earlier and this time, pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the German soldier in the stomach as he hunched over in pain. George, in a fit of rage, finished the job by putting a bullet in the German’s head. He then ran over to Harry and picked him up in his arms.
“Don’t die on me! Hang in there,” George said, tears rolling down his cheeks. Harry’s labored breathing only made this harder for George, as they both knew how this was going to end. “It’s ok. I’m ready to go. I feel that I died honorably for my king and country.” George could barely let out a response, all he could say was “please don’t die on me,” over and over until eventually Harry stopped him. “I’m proud of you George.” Those were Harry’s last words before he let out one last breath. As the voices of the second wave of British soldiers entered the stronghold, George looked down at his hands. They were covered in the blood of his lost brothers. Yes, he may have won the day, but was it worth all that he lost?
Hiring a Psychic To Write Fortune Cookies Was Probably A Mistake, In Retrospect
Arden Henley
Dear Mr. Johnson and Board of Directors,
I am writing to you today because a number of restaurants across the country have filed complaints about our most recent fortune cookie shipments. Specifically, the messages printed on the slips of paper inside the cookies, many of which were written by our newest hire, one Ms. Grismelda Vandersmitch, were considered quite alarming. In her interview, Ms. Vandersmitch claimed to be a practicing psychic, something we did not take seriously until several restaurants sent us her messages. I have sampled a few below.
- Whatever it is you’re running away from, run faster.
- Good fortune awaits you. At least, it disguises itself as good fortune.
- Never leave a friend behind. Unless that friend’s name is Barry.
- Love waits in the most unexpected places, if one only knows where to look. Avoid root vegetables.
- There is no origin point. You are not from Chicago. No one is from Chicago. Chicago is elsewhere now.
- The old man outside your apartment building speaks the Truth.
- She does not sell seashells by the seashore. She sells something much, much scarier.
- The one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people-eater knows where you live. And it’s hungry.
- Ignore the advice you’ve been given. Leave the cannoli. Don’t make eye contact with the cannoli. The cannoli is more powerful than you realize.
- It is raining. Look again.
- The creature that lives in your shower drain is displeased with your new shampoo. Appease him now or regret it for eternity.
- It Is Happening Again. It Is Happening Again. It Is Happening Again. It Is Happening Again. It Is Happening Again. It Is Happening Again. It Is Happening Again. It Is Happening Again.
- Thank you! Come again soon. 🙂
Ms. Vandersmitch’s work reflects poorly on this company, and I would like to have this issue addressed before the restaurants riot and/or Ms. Vandersmitch takes detrimental psychic action against this company. Whichever happens first.
Best wishes,
I Wasn’t Myself
Zoe King
I hate you.
I wasn’t myself when I told you
I am yours.
Now I am aware
That you intended to hurt me.
I was wrong to think
You were afraid of love
In your grasp.
My salvation should remain
Mine.
You never warned me of
Your faults
I forgive you for
Absolutely nothing
Your betrayal means
I suffered endlessly because of you.
I will never tell you
I love you.
[Now, for the second message, read from the bottom to the top.]
Burnout
Bennett Gillespie
A storm of blackened smoke obscures your eyes
And yet the flame you carry’s shining bright
The fire eats away at orange skies
But you hold on, to share its guiding light
While others fill their days with little sparks
To gain the quiet lives for which they yearn
You sacrifice your soul to make your mark
While flesh is left behind as fuel to burn
Yet after everything you sacrifice
All mortal efforts kneel to the divine
A chilling wind replaces ash with ice
Even the brightest lights must cease to shine
As fast as it appeared it fades from view
Yet from the embers hope will burn anew
Down From The Heavens It Rains Light
John Nickolas
From the clouds to a nearby tree or roof, a lightning bolt takes only a few thousandths of a second
to split through the air.
The heat from the electricity of this raises the temperature.
the surrounding air crackles,
suddenly energized.
silence:
the hunter lines up
his shot; sitting there,
waiting patiently for his prey to come in sight.
One last breath before a quick squeeze, followed by a deafening
crack.
The compressed air explodes outward from the channel, forming a shock wave of compressed particles in every direction.
It was the Norse god Thor, the Greek god Zeus, and the Roman god Jupiter who wielded the mighty bolt of lightning to keep man in his place.
the attraction of positive and negative charges in our atmosphere act in an opposing manner, leaving us with a striking beam of light;
lightning.
- Science Reference Section. “What Causes the Sound of Thunder?” Library of
Congress, 19 Nov. 2019, www.loc.gov/everyday-mysteries. Accessed 24 Feb. 2021.
- Vavrik, R. James. “The Science of Thunder.” National Lightning Safety Institute,
www.lightningsafety.com/nlsi_info/thunder2.html. Accessed 24 Feb. 2021.
- Robertson, Bill. “Science 101.” Science and Children, vol. 43, no. 8, 2006, pp. 56–59. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/43173998. Accessed 24 Feb. 2021.
List or Exorcist
Arden Henley
NOTE: The following is a transcript of season 211, episode 4 of the hit HGTV show List or Exorcist? The season was taped shortly before both Kelly and Dan disappeared under mysterious circumstances from a house in Atlanta.
(KellyJo and Dan stand on the sidewalk of a suburban neighborhood, close enough together that we think they’re married, but far enough away from each other that we suspect they might be having problems.)
KellyJo: Welcome to List or Exorcist, a show where we flip and resell haunted, possessed, and demonic houses. I’m Kelly Joan David Foster Wallace Daumier.
Dan: And I’m Dan.
KellyJo: And today we’re going to renovate this three-story beauty in Savannah’s Olde District.
(KellyJo and Dan walk up to the front door of the house, which opens itself. A noose drops down from the ceiling, and the walls begin to ooze blood.)
KellyJo (cont.): Wow. Look at these high ceilings.
Dan: The pipes need a little work.
KellyJo: Why don’t you get your team of white guys with one token white woman, and I’ll go see an interior designer who looks uncomfortable and agrees with everything I say, and we’ll get started!
(Several aerial shots of Savannah. A time lapse of the house overnight, during which time a pale face can be seen in the upstairs window, staring down at the camera. Cut to KellyJo walking into the torn-up foyer, where Dan is standing with his hands on his hips.)
KellyJo (cont.): This place looks amazing!
Dan: Hey KellyJo, look at this. I found out what was wrong with the pipes. A decomposing corpse had been built into the drywall!
KellyJo: Great! That puts us back under budget.
(Montage of before and after photos of the house. This accompanies KellyJo’s voiceover.)
KellyJo (VO): After a few days of carpeting the upstairs to cover the bloodstains, moving the failed science experiments out of the basement, and selling the collection of dolls in the attic, our house was ready to go on the market. It sold for $666,000, and a family of four who had moved across the country for their dad’s job bought it. They moved out again two months later after a series of paranormal encounters.
(Cut to KellyJo and Dan standing in a green space presumably somewhere in Savannah.)
Dan: Well, KellyJo, was this house a List or an Exorcist?
KellyJo: Since we have legal coverage and plausible deniability, it was a List!
(They high-five. Roll credits.)