TheEmblem Spring 2018 Volume 61
The Art & Literature of Hutchison School
The Emblem Art & Literature Magazine 2018 - Volume 61 Cover Artwork Front:
Abby Crain ’18, Lydia
Back:
Emma Simonton ’18, Popsicle
Table of Contents: Anne Grinder ’19, Untarnished
Editor: Samantha Tancredi ’18
Art Editor: Curry Wilson ’18
Special Thanks To: Mr. Nick Simpson Mrs. Jeanette Leake Mrs. Anne Davey Mr. Peter Saunders
TABLE OF CONTENTS 6 / Ceaseless by Samantha Tancredi 6 / Trevi by Annsley Barton 7 / Blessings by Madison Grinder 8 / My Papa Dulce by Emma Day 8 / Taylor by Frazer Campbell 9 / Delicate Balance by Alexis Angelikas 10 / Suffocating by Alex Weiss 10 / Death by Savannah Hall 11 / Glass Bottles by Madison Morris 11 / Supper by Samantha Tancredi 12 / Pope Baby by Annsley Barton 13 / God’s Plan by Macy Pisahl 13 / Holy Mary, Mother of God by Madison Morris 14 / Another World by Abigail Fonville 15 / Shattered by Ella Larkin 16 / To Fill the Silence by Michelle Lee 17 / Slave the Time by Ally Adcock 18 / Soda Pop by Madison Grinder 19 / Bittersweet by Grace Ellsworth 19 / Beatrix by Liza Dunlap 20 / Jamsie by Madison Morris 20 / A Minute Ago by Grace Goughnour 21 / Liza by Curry Wilson 21 / Dive In by Mayers Wallace 22 / Dasmariñas by Elizabeth Wood 22 / Chrysalis by Luly Amro 23 / Silent by Meggy Muller 24 / Caitlin by Lydia Herring 25 / Hurricane by Abigail Fonville 25 / The Day She Forgot Me by Grace Ellsworth 26 / A Deep Poem by Kiya Brown 27 / Catchin’ Rays by Ella Larkin 28 / Love by Savannah Hall
28 / Daffodils by Mary Woodmansee 29 / Sail by Lily Saunders 29 / Peace Lily by Mary Woodmansee 30 / Who Needs Manicures by Frazer Campbell 31 / But You Know Better by Emma Day 31 / Anne by Frazer Campbell 32 / Holey by Heidi Seuss 32 / Life’s a Splash by Caroline Robertson 33 / Commitment Night by Libby Prince 33 / Ginkgo by Alex Weiss 34 / Capture Me by Eva Leake 35 / The Absence of Solace by Sydney Short 35 / Annie by Catherine Doggett 36 / Genovia by Meredith Magness 36 / I Am From by Lulu Amro 37 / Art (official) Wave by Ally Adcock 38 / Sunday Afternoon Salad by Anne Grinder 39 / A Turn Away from Fear by Maddie Prather 39 / Lollipop Lollipop by Addie Jones 40 / Mnemosyne by Katy Gilmore 47 / Sophie by Madelyn Simcoe 48 / Tom by Curry Wilson 49 / Birthday-Birthday! by Frazer Campbell 50 / Floppy Disks by Emma Simonton 51 / The Cycle by Lillian Barcroft 51 / Plant with Red Berries by Mary Woodmansee 52 / Nick by Kelley Waggoner 53 / Ally by Caitlin Robinson 53 / Eyes on the Bird by Susan Morris 54 / Jumping by Madison Grinder 54 / Women’s March by Mary Crow 55 / Pineapple by Trinity Mans 56 / David by Annsley Barton
The
Emblem
57 / Lydia by Frazer Campbell 58 / An Elegy for You by Caroline Couch 58 / Adolescence by Taylor Houston 59 / Roll With Me by Eva Leake 60 / In the News by Meggy Muller 60 / Lazy Days by Alexis Angelikas 61 / Toothbrush and Toothpaste by Emma Simonton 61 / Growth by Anna Kate Nearn 62 / On Time by Michelle Lee 62 / Time by Savannah Hall 63 / A Farmland by Frazer Campbell
Samantha Tancredi ’18
Ceaseless
To be my own without your will you find a way down south to the end of the world as we know that in the end we cannot function as a complete unit of time of measurement of all of the things that we once were you serious when you told me you meant it but you said that you lienext to the stranger you call when you can not finish the fight until you die until you cry until you break up with the world and hide in your self consciousness will destroy you but they will not know you and promise me and you and her and him and ghosts and goblins and flam and flim and remember that life as you see it is not noble are the noble who wear His crown.
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Annsley Barton ’19
Trevi
Madison Grinder ’19
Blessings
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Emma Day ’21
My Papa Dulce
excerpt
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Frazer Campbell ’18
Taylor
That night I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t hungry the whole weekend, therefore I didn’t eat. I hardly ate anything for a week. Oliver and Levi were pretty good at making me laugh with Oliver’s constant insults and teasings followed by an ever so quiet “oof ” from Levi. But the laughter wasn’t a relieving kind of laughter but more a heavy, weighted down kind. Skip forward to the day of the service: October 21, 2017. It felt as if I woke up and everything hit me like a truck. I woke up that morning and realized I would never see my grandfather ever again. I will never hear his voice or feel his arms around me or his feet underneath mine as we danced to that old Elvis gospel music he loved so much. We would dance through their small Athens cottage that smelled of moth balls but also of Bibi’s cooking and Papa’s after shave. I wouldn’t be able to call him when I was having trouble. I would never hear him say, “Hey! Emma!” in his soft, calming voice that was so reassuring. Just knowing he was there made everything bearable. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I thought I couldn’t cry. I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, that I was out of tears to be shed. Yet as I brought myself to stand in front of the 275 people that had come to celebrate Papa’s life… I once again broke. I felt my eyes explode into a fit of tears, my mom got up from her chair along with Bibi and they both stood beside me holding my hands as I gathered myself to begin speaking. “I think that it is safe to say that there is absolutely no way to describe what Jack Caskey meant to me and what he still means to me. He was not only my grandfather, my advice provider. But also my best friend. He was always there no matter what. But I am not here to tell you what every one of you already knows. I am here to share a story. A story that without fail he would tell me every time we met. I would ask him over and over ‘tell Nate the Snake! Tell Nate the Snake!’” As I proceeded to tell the story I cherished so much I looked through the seats and spotted the one person I thought was immune to tears. I saw Olly crying. As I finished I went back to where all of the grandchildren were seated. The two boys, Oliver and Levi, stood up and we did something that I honestly would never even think about doing. We hugged; we hugged for what felt like an eternity. Making practically everybody in the T Lazy Seven ranch tear up if their eyes weren’t already a bit watery. As we slowly took our seats the cellist began playing Amazing Grace, I was once again fighting off tears as I felt two hands grab my own. As I look to my right and then my left I find that both Olly and Levi had noticed I was about to cry and both simultaneously reached for my hands. We were left like that for the rest of the service.
Alexis Angelakis ’18
Delicate Balance
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Alex Weiss ’18
Suffocating Savannah Hall ’18
Death
Wise and sometimes eager Following God’s orders Unfair, yet necessary The most feared on this Earth. What will happen? Will people miss you? Is heaven real? Feared because it is unknown Humans hate unfinished stories So what’s next? Memories of the loved ones? Cherished by what? Old photographs What’s left of the fabric of your brain? Love and time both precious. Death inevitable.
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Madison Morris ’20
Glass Bottles
Samantha Tancredi ’18
Supper
We sat down for supper you pour me a drink with the grum at the end of your new favorite bottle We sat down for supper and you grab my hand a little too tight during blessing We sat down for supper and you tear into your chicken like you did last week We sat down for supper and time itself stopped while your eyes daggered mine We sat down for supper and I dropped my fork but held on to my knife We stopped eating at supper and your mouth curved into evil words I had never heard before You never did like supper, to see me and be with me and when you grabbed my purple wrists, I knew I would I leave you at supper forever.
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Annsley Barton ’19
Pope Baby
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Macy Pisahl ’21
God’s Plan After hearing all of this at once, I could not even think straight. My best friend had been taken to the hospital and was unconscious? I had thought to myself. As I started to tear up, I told Emma that I was so sorry this happened and began asking more questions about it. All of my worries and cares that had gone away at the start of the trip had come back to my mind. It was almost like I snapped back to reality from my dreamy vacation. We soon said our goodbyes and hung up the call. As soon as the call ended I went up to my parents to tell them what happened. I explained to them the whole story, as they texted the other parents asking if everything was okay. Even though all of my friends were hurt, everyone was still okay. Selena (changed the name) had ended up with a concussion and Mike (changed the name), with a broken leg. Once it was time to leave the beach, after hours of fun, but also hours of worried calls from my friends, we left. That night, my family and I were talking about the incident that had happened, and my parents had realized something. They realized that if I had gone on that trip I would have been right there with them in the hospital, or in bed with big rashes and scars all over. This had scared me and made me soon come to realize that everything happens for a reason.
Madison Morris ’20
Holy Mary, Mother of God
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Abigail Fonville ’18
Another World
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Ella Larkin ’18
Shattered
After hearing all of this at once, I could not even think straight. My best friend had been taken to the hospital and was unconscious? I had thought to myself. As I started to tear up, I told Emma that I was so sorry this happened and began asking more questions about it. All of my worries and cares that had gone away at the start of the trip had come back to my mind. It was almost like I snapped back to reality from my dreamy vacation. We soon said our goodbyes and hung up the call. As soon as the call ended I went up to my parents to tell them what happened. I explained to them the whole story, as they texted the other parents asking if everything was okay. Even though all of my friends were hurt, everyone was still okay. Selena (Changed the name) had ended up with a concussion and Mike (Changed the name), with a broken leg. Once it was time to leave the beach, after hours of fun, but also hours of worried calls from my friends, we left. That night, my family and I were talking about the incident that had happened, and my parents had realized something. They realized that if I had gone on that trip I would have been right there with them in the hospital, or in bed with big rashes and scars all over. This had scared me and made me soon come to realize that everything happens for a reason.
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Michelle Lee ’19
To Fill the Silence
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Ally Adcock ’18
Slave the Time
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Madison Grinder ’19
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Soda Pop
Grace Ellsworth ’21
Bittersweet
excerpt
The railing on the playground was slick with rain. Floridian storm clouds filled the sky, ominously looming, the entire neighborhood blanketed in dim afternoon light. The air stuck to me like a second skin, the wet heat blending in with the warmth on my face. It was July 4th, and I was in an unfamiliar city – had been for about a week. The soles of my shoes dragged on the curb of the sidewalk as I tried to distract myself. I was on the shaky precipice of wanting to cry, though the tears were swallowed up by my sheer will to not embarrass myself. Several other teenagers, who I was too afraid to approach, stood in a huddled group nearby; luckily for me, they all headed past me, uncaring, through a path between two huge bushes back towards houses, leaving me alone. A muted panic clawed at me, my heartbeat erratic in my chest. She knew from her sister how I felt, and I knew how much I was dreading her response. Each second that oozed by weighed on my mind, worry creasing my forehead. My thoughts were like taffy. Hazily, I stepped from the sidewalk curb onto a blanket of damp wooden mulch chips, sizing up recreational playground equipment which was too wet to use. The sky was painted a foreboding shade of grey, lightning flickering every once in a while in the sky. I was alone, with the exception of her nearby, her eyes squinting, her mouth tugged down. A mild drizzle was starting up again, less lightning, no thunder anymore. Simply plain, dreary sky. I leaned forward, now clutching wet metal poles in my hand, then settled on boredom, and stepping back down into the damp wood chip blanket. I abandoned the playground and wandered toward the tennis courts, my shoes scuffing on concrete. In my peripheral vision, I saw her shadowing me. I knew she was there.
Liza Dunlap ’19
Beatrix
19
Grace Goughnour ’21 Madison Morris’20
Jamsie
20
A Minute Ago
One minute ago, she was one of the happiest women alive. One minute ago, her parents were still alive in my mind. One minute ago she had just finished her final exam for her final class, of her final year of college. One minute ago, she had picked up the phone and answered it. Five minutes ago, her parents were alive. They were flipping pancakes in the morning. Five minutes ago, they were taking care of her little siblings. Five minutes ago, she didn’t care if they had a will. Five minutes ago, she wasn’t worried about her siblings’ future. An hour ago, she would not be worried about which flight to take to get to the funeral in Baton Rouge. An hour ago, she didn’t have so many messages on her phone. An hour ago, her parents were still alive, singing “Stayin’ alive” at the top of their lungs in the car. An hour ago, she was more worried about me then them. An hour ago, she hadn’t realized what she had. A day ago, she would not have dreamed of sitting here in black. A day ago, she would not be thinking of attending a funeral anytime soon. A day ago, anything was possible. A day ago, she still had annoying helicopter parents, who hated every boyfriend she ever brought home. A day ago, she had her father quoting Star Wars when they watched it. A day ago, she had her mother going on and on about how the Stock Market was doing. A day ago, she still had her oldest friends. A week ago, she wouldn’t have ever thought of being guardian to her siblings. A week ago, she never dreamed of having kids. A week ago, she didn’t know they had so little money in their bank account. A week ago, she was so wrapped up in herself, that she forgot them, her family. A week ago she was more concerned over her phone and car. A week ago she wouldn’t have been worried about feeding three more hungry mouths. A year ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of getting married. A year ago, she couldn’t believe that my younger brother would go to Harvard. A year ago, she was still a child. A year ago, she was not as responsible. A year ago, she would never have thought of giving birth. Five years ago, she didn’t treasure what she had.
Curry Wilson ’18
Liza
Mayers Wallace ’20
Dive In
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Elizabeth Wood ’21
Dasmariñas
Lulu Amro ’21
Chrysalis
In the end, I had been coated, covered, smothered. Weighed down by the blanket of hardships that enclosed me. Although the cracks brought me light, I waited for the call. Meanwhile, the layer grew thicker, quicker, slicker. Weighed down by the gravity of time and restlessness that concealed me. It was ready; however, I waited for the sign. As time went on, the sheet became brittle, little, kittle. Weighed down by the pressure of my environment that surrounds me. Was I ready? But I waited for me. In the end, the coat broke, snapped, shattered. Nothing weighed me down. I was ready; furthermore, I flew into the new beginning.
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Meggy Muller ’18
Silent
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Lydia Herring’18
Caitlin
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Abigail Fonville ’18
Hurricane
Grace Ellsworth ’21
The Day She Forgot Me Through the passage of time, many things changed. Meemaw’s memory got even worse, and my great-grandfather, her husband, died. Meemaw moved to a nursing home, where she could be cared for. Eventually, the disease took her life away. She forgot more than names: she forgot how to eat. She forgot how to drink. She forgot how to breathe. She passed away October 14th, 2011. Memory is a strange thing: something we always seem to have, yet when it disappears, it takes everything with it. Except love.
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Kiya Brown ’21
I scream internally Outside of my body My bones break and sail in the horizon Try to ask me who are you Do you know who you are too Inside and out of my body I feel like a guest The soul is of my spirit is not my own This is how you write a deep poem You talk about the outside of your body and compare it to the outside of the outside For the many time you told me I’ll never leave and you lied This is why I wrote my deep poem Deep like the pit of despair at my feet For the one time you told me you doing too much have a seat I never understood why my eyes weren’t mirrors of my own fate This is how you write a deep poem You ask a question that don’t nobody know the answer to I know you listening to this poem like that’s so true She looks for approval in your walk She looks for a home in your heart She then went blind looking for what couldn’t exist no more This is how you write a deep poem You talk about somebody that nobody even knows Then when you begin to tell a story you make it a turn of events Redemption is a gift That has never been gifted Grace is a God that died a long time ago I couldn’t repay you for your forgiveness Because there was a point where I was too poor to pay attention I’m scared of your lies did I forget to mention This is how you write a deep poem You talk about your fears and why you can’t do certain things Deep poems make you think about life But to a poet it’s comedy We know what’s up under the murder she wrote A deep poem shows you want to listen A deep poem brings the storm that never stop For the people to throw dirt on your name But for you to grow flowers from it That’s why we write deep poems.
A Deep Poem
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Ella Larkin ’18
Catchin’ Rays
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Savannah Hall ’18
Love
Within everything Every pain Every sorrow Every heartbreak Love is what keeps us human Humane. A feeling you could never forget A look A touch A smell Any age, any time...
Mary Woodmansee ’18
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Daffodils
Lily Saunders ’20
Sail
Excerpt from short story
I softly grabbed her wrist and felt her pulse. Her heart was still beating. A sigh of relief rolled from my lips. I got my mom’s arms, wrapped them around me, and picked her up like I was holding a baby. I glanced at her face and then at my father lying on the floor. I told myself I did the right thing. I turned around and carried my mom out of the house. I carried her out of the confusion, the horror, and the bad memories of that place. The weight of her body made my arms feel numb, but the adrenaline of my fear for her life kept me going. I passed by the buzzing street lamps, the majestic palm trees, and that special boardwalk one more time. There was no sail in sight.
Mary Woodmansee ’18
Peace Lily
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Frazer Campbell ’18
Who Needs Manicures 30
Emma Day ’21
But You Know Better
Frazer Campbell ’18
Anne
Although it has been a year you are the same, though you promise yourself “a new beginning,” you are unchanging However your surroundings have claimed to have changed you, that you have improved ... But you know better than to believe their lies, you know you have not changed you know that after all you have endured if you have changed …. it was for the worse Instead of becoming the person everyone expects you to become Instead of evolving … you devolve, though the rest of the population hasn’t realized it you have, you noticed it, you accepted it, embraced it our world, our kind has devolved devolved in such a way that we claim we are evolving But you know better than to believe their misconceptions you refuse to be deceived. so maybe you have changed, leaving the misconstrued in years past maybe maybe you have evolved, in realizing the devolution of mankind, accepting the fact we are bound to fail we as a race are destined to decimate to decimate and return return to the beginning we are already determined to repeat history to repeat our mistakes.
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Caroline Robertson ’21
Life’s a Splash Excerpt from memoir
Heidi Seuss ’18
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Holey
Then there was less singing, and a hushed silence came over the craft. We started inching up like a worm towards the sunlight. I knew what was next--the plunge! The craft would dive dramatically into the pool of waters circling clockwise at the bottom of the waterfall. My stomach would fly away into the wind and never come back until we reached the bottom. The craft inched over the peak and rushed down the waterfall. My eyes sprung open as my body became paralyzed with fear and I felt like a mummy enclosed in a tomb. Water sprung and leaped over our craft, some losing its energy and falling onto our clothes. The craft landed with a whoosh at the bottom and a last wave of shivering cold water was on top of us.
Alex Weiss ’18
Ginkgo Libby Prince ’21
Commitment Night Excerpt from memoir
That night while walking back to the rooms I cried and thought about what the night had taught me. I stared at the green trees full of leaves, with the dark, starry night sky in the background, and realized how God has created all of the things I was looking at. I again started to cry harder than I already was. One of my favorite Bible verses, Psalms 19:1 says, “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handywork.” When we got back to the rooms, I was completely exhausted from all of the crying and emotions I had gone through. I knew in my head that for some reason this night had changed me, and it changed me for the best.
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Eva Leake ’19
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Capture Me
Sydney Short ’21
The Absence of Solace
Excerpt from memoir
At this point, I was extremely self-conscious; what if I was not cool enough, or what if this new sets of peers were extremely judgmental? What if no one liked me? I knew that I could and would not start thinking this way, because if I did, it truly would be a miserable three weeks. I neglected all of the strange personas I had thought up, and decided to be myself, with a bit more of an outgoing touch for an embellishment to my personality.
Catherine Doggett ’19
Annie
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Meredith Magness ’18
Genovia
Lulu Amro ’21
I am from Inspired by George Ella Lyon
I am from rulers, from Nike sports bags and olive oil. I am from the stacks of books in every room. (Piling, miscellaneous, the different colors somehow match). I am from apricot trees, the sweetest fruit of all whose seeds I push into the soil with my foot so new ones will grow. I’m from discipline and traveling abroad, from Feasal Amro and Yoseph Alawawdah. I’m from the trouble-makers and freedom fighters, from “Focus” and “Don’t let anything get in your way.” I’m from lanterns, shining every night on a special month. I’m from Memphis and the Amro clan, pita bread and mint tea. From the years my father lost because of his search for a perfect life following destruction. Pretty pictures and lost letters hidden in cabinet drawers, preserving a life that will never be again.
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Ally Adcock ’18
Art (official) Wave
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Anne Grinder ’19
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Sunday Afternoon Salad
Addie Jones ’18
Lollipop Lollipop
Maddie Prather ’21
A Turn Away from Fear Excerpt from memoir
Nothing feels familiar as my foot grips the gas, and my other leg shakes nervously to the side. I have control of everything: my dad, my mom, my sister, and my life. I grasp the wheel tightly as if it were my job, and step on the brake to stop before I turn. Then I remember to put on the blinker without anyone reminding me. “Blink, blink” the sound ricochets through the car walls and yells at my nerves to go, go, go. I go out and turn the wheel towards the neighborhood with houses on both sides, but as I look at everything it feels strange because I was not used to this new perspective of the road. I was surrounded by trees bursting with green, orange, and red colors, and bright green bushes, houses that my parents had driven me by every day, but it was different. Ahead of me was just a dull gray road split by two lemon yellow lines, and a couple of wide speed bumps with an arrow in the middle all echoing for me to drive towards them. As I move down the road, confidence begins to build up inside of me. Then I see my first obstacle...
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Katy Gilmore ’20
Mnemosyne
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In Tripp Travis’s opinion, nobody could truly understand the phrase, ‘hell on earth’ until one had experienced the pains of listening to one of Professor Grayson’s monotone, lengthy, and quite frankly utterly dull lectures whilst sitting in a dimly lit room in which the heating was broken at 8:30 am on a Monday. It is important to bear in mind that it was also mid-November in Champaign, Illinois, meaning that because the heating system was not working in the language building of the university, students had begun bringing blankets in to class to escape the cold. Swaddled in a blanket and listening to the drone of Professor Grayson’s voice discussing something or other about allusions to the Muses in modern literature, Tripp was fighting his body not to fall asleep in the middle of class. A task that at the moment seemed more difficult than running a marathon. His eyes were glazed over and he could feel himself beginning to give into his body’s wish for sleep, until he felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. Even though he already knew who was calling, he pulled his phone out of his pocket anyways. He looked at the familiar caller ID image of a smiling girl with luminous dark eyes and matching dark hair. He pressed ‘decline’ and put his phone back in his pocket. Just as Tripp was reaching for his headphones to drown out Professor Grayson’s words, he finally said something that sparked his attention: “For a final grade before Thanksgiving Break, you’ll have one last assignment due by the end of next week. “You are to do a presentation about one of the significant figures of ancient Greek literature that we have discussed so far this semester. Your subject will be listed at the top of the rubric you are about to receive. Follow the guidelines on the rubric and come see me during my office hours if you have any questions.” “Fantastic,” Tripp sarcastically mumbled under his breath as he thought about the vast amount of work and research this project would take. He heard the girl sitting beside him let out a small laugh. After a couple seconds of waiting, his rubric was finally handed to him. At the top it read, ‘Tripp Travis- Mnemosyne.’ After a quick google search on his phone he found that Mnemosyne was a Titan and the personification of memory. He felt some tension leave him as he realized that this project wouldn’t be too bad considering that he could have gotten a much more prominent Greek mythological figure like Zeus, but he was still dreading the presentation portion of the assignment. He shoved his rubric and blanket back into his back pack and headed for the door. As he was walking down the stairs to exit the building he let himself wonder why he had chosen to take ‘An Introduction to Greek Literature’ and why Greek literature needed an introduction. Out of all the electives he could have chosen as an English major, he chose the one with the notoriously boring professor just to pay homage to his home town of New Athens, Illinois. He continued to weigh his life choices as he stepped foot into the brisk, fall air and shivered as he began to reach for his gloves in his backpack. He felt someone tap his shoulder and turned to see a girl standing next to him. “See you later, Tripp,” She said with a smirk and proceeded to walk away with a bounce in her step. “Uh… okay,” Tripp called dumbly after her, too confused to say anything else. He had absolutely no idea who she was but she felt vaguely familiar for some odd reason, like an old, forgotten memory. She had long red hair (that was far too fluorescent to be her natural color) and had looked at him with intense blue eyes, a description that didn’t describe anyone he was close to. Of course, over the last few months at the University of Illinois he hadn’t exactly gotten close to anyone yet. Still, even though he couldn’t remember meeting her before or even remember what her name was, Tripp couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that he actually knew her.
He shrugged to himself and headed back to his dorm to begin researching Mnemosyne. *** Voicemail left at 8:42 am on Monday November, 14: “Hey Tripp, it’s…well you know who it is that’s been calling you every other day by now. Please call back, I miss you. Dad does too, even though he won’t admit it. Please.” *** Tripp had to admit, he was actually a little disappointed that his project had to be on Mnemosyne. Even though it was easier considering she wasn’t a Greek goddess of much importance, that fact also made his research process less interesting. His research was interrupted when a ding sounded from his mailbox. He opened up his email and laid eyes on the most recent email he had received. He felt nervous. It was from the College Board about a scholarship he had applied for in September that he had almost managed to forget about. It was a scholarship that would cover all of his tuition for the rest of his time at the University of Illinois. This scholarship would guarantee that Tripp could graduate college and not have to worry about dropping out because he couldn’t afford the tuition. Part of him didn’t want to open the email for fear of what it might say. He opened the email and read, “Dear Mr. Travis, we regret to inform you that unfortunately you are not one of the winners of…” he stopped reading at this point. He didn’t need to read the College Board attempting to be apologetic and congratulating him on at least being a finalist. He felt tears beginning to form at the corner of his eyes. It was stupid really; it was a stupid scholarship and he shouldn’t be this upset about it. He needed to pull himself together. But it wasn’t really about the scholarship. No, he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown because of a sum of money, he’d figure out how to pay for tuition some other way. No, his being upset was a buildup of many things. College was supposed to be a fresh start for him; he was supposed to be able to forget everything from before and completely start over. Things were supposed to be better. He was supposed to be thriving in all of his classes, not barely being able to stay awake during them. He was supposed to have made new friends to forget the people of his life before college, not to be fantastically lonely and spending all his free time in his dorm room alone. He was supposed to be making a new start for himself, not remaining stuck in his past. He felt like he was stuck in between two phases of his life. He felt like a dog chained to a fence; chained to the past when he was trying to move forward. He needed to get out, to go somewhere. He didn’t care where exactly, but he couldn’t stay in this stuffy dorm. *** He found himself at a CVS near the university, staring at a shelf of various brands of chips. He tried to focus on deciding between Lays and Doritos and not let his thoughts drift back to the scholarship and the shape of his life at the moment. This internal debate wasn’t working so instead he closed his eyes for a moment and focused on the song playing dimly over the speakers. “Desmond has his barrow in the market place…” *** “…Molly is the singer in a band.” Tripp must’ve been the only kid in the world that liked going to bed. Not that he actually liked the fact that the day was over and therefore fun was too, but he loved when his mom sang him to sleep. And he loved his mom more than anything. Every night his mother would manage to somehow get him and Daniel both into bed, even with all their youthful hyper-ness, an impressive feat considering she was also pregnant with Beatriz at the time.
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She had a short repertoire of songs that she rotated through to sing to the two boys every night, but this particular Beatles song was chosen more frequently than the others. Genevieve Travis may not have had the best voice to anyone else, but to her sons she might as well have been an angel. Something about her voice managed to sedate the boys and finally get them to sleep after a long day of playing. So every night she sang to them, “…and Molly says this as she takes him by the hand…” *** “Tripp!” he saw a hand waving in front of his eyes, snapping him out of his daydreaming. “What— uh— who—” he stuttered intelligently. “Why’re you staring off into space like that? What’s on your mind?” It was the girl from earlier, the girl who for some reason said briefly spoke to him after Greek Lit. She looked at him with piercing eyes that gave him chills. “Uh… I don’t know who y— I mean I’m not sure who—where did you come from?” Tripp was having trouble speaking today apparently. He was confused, simply put. One minute he had been standing in the junk food aisle contemplating things much too deep for a CVS and the next he was being stared down by a beautiful girl with really scary eyes. “What are you talking about, silly?” she reached up as if to place a hand on his forehead, “Are you feeling okay?” “Who are you?” Tripp blurted out as he not so gracefully stepped away, out of reach of this mystery girl. “You’re kidding right? It’s me, Nemmie.” He must not have looked any less confused, because she continued, “C’mon, It’s me. Nemorah Marie Lane.” “I—I don’t think I know you, sorry,” Tripp managed to get out. “Wow. You must be much more stressed out than I thought,” Nemmie’s expression shifted to one of concern, “We walked here together, remember?” “No, I don’t think we did,” Tripp was starting to get a little annoyed now, “I came here alone.” “No, you didn’t,” he turned to walk away but she placed a hand on his forearm to stop him. She spun him around so that he was staring into those eyes again. Suddenly he remembered. They had come to CVS together. He had gone for a walk after reading the email, in hopes that moping around would make him feel better. She had run into him amidst his trying not to break down and he had broken down and told her everything. She had suggested that they go get something to eat to get his mind off of things, and being broke college kids, they had ended up just going to the nearest convenient store to get cheap junk food. How could he have forgotten? “Right,” he said, “of course we came here together.” “That’s right,” she said, rubbing his arm soothingly, “now I hate to cut our time together short, but I’m afraid I have to go if I want to get to my next class in time, but we’ll see each other soon. I’m sure of it.” With that, she kissed him on the cheek and fled the store; leaving him with a bag of Doritos in his hands that he hadn’t even known he’d picked up. *** Tripp liked the campus best at night. There were never that many people out partying, so the campus was pretty quiet, almost surreal, but Tripp found it tranquil. He had decided last minute to venture to the campus library to find a book or two for his Greek Lit project. It had only been a couple of days since he had gotten the assignment but he wanted to get a head start on it. He was strolling to the library enjoying the peaceful (although quite cold) night when his phone began to vibrate. He knew who it was. He declined the call and continued walking.
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He hadn’t been doing all that much in the past few days. He had mostly been sulking about his lost scholarship, attending classes, and studying. The usual. As he was walking up the steps to the library he stopped in his tracks when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. “Tripp! Wait up!” he turned to see Nemmie speeding towards him. Despite the fast pace she ran to catch up to him, when she reached him she didn’t appear to be out of breath in the slightest, “I thought you said you’d wait for me at the dorm so we could go to the library together. Why’d you leave without me?” “I… don’t remember saying anything like that,” Tripp countered. “Of course you do,” a look Tripp couldn’t exactly place flashed across her face and she gently but firmly placed a hand on his shoulder, fingers barely brushing the skin of his neck. He felt a tickling sensation behind his eyes, and then he remembered. They had continued to run into each other over the past few days after the CVS incident. They had started planning to hang out more, including this library date that Nemmie was fixated on. He had begun to become infatuated with her incessant talking and sharp gaze, and she had begun to become accustomed to his constant staring off into space and getting lost in his own mind. Why had he forgotten all of this? “Well come on then,” Nemmie tugged at his sleeve, “let’s go in.” He followed her through the large, oak doors and into the familiarity of the library. For the rest of the night, they attempted to work. Really, they just talked and joked and laughed for a few hours with books spread open on the table in front of them until they were kicked out of the library at closing time. Tripp found himself pouring his heart out onto Nemmie. He told her about how he felt like nothing was going right for him in college; at least, not how he planned it would go. He told her about how he couldn’t seem to really get close to anyone here in Champaign because he couldn’t let go of his old life in New Athens. He told her how he felt like he was somewhere in between the two cities, in between two lives. He told her how he felt like the intermission between two acts of a play and how he didn’t know whether he was ready for Act II to start yet. Tripp had never been one for talking about feelings, but the words seemed to flow out of him and cascade onto Nemmie. She listened with open ears, nodding the whole time. She never shared anything with him though, and dismissed any questions Tripp asked her, but he didn’t mind. He even told her about certain events from his past he had tried with all his might to forget. Memories he had tried to lose but still stuck to him like glue. Memories he hadn’t told anyone about since he arrived in Champaign. He told her that. He told her that he didn’t want these memories; he didn’t want to remember his life before Champaign because when he did he felt like he was drowning. He told her he felt like he was trying to swim up to the surface but his old life was pulling him down. At some point he started to cry. He was embarrassed and tried to excuse himself to the restroom but Nemmie caught him by the sleeve before he could stand up. He told her he was sorry and that he shouldn’t have told her all this considering that they met just a few days ago. She asked him, “What if you could have different memories, brand new ones? Would you want them?” Tripp nodded and felt another tear fall down his cheek. She took his hand. *** Voicemail left at 10:16 pm on Thursday November, 17: “Hi. It’s Beatriz. You know, the sister I think you’ve forgotten you have. Anyways, Dad’s smoking again. I thought you might like to know. Or maybe not. I’m not actually sure you care anymore. Please call back. Sophomore year sucks. I miss you.
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He does too. Nobody blames you but yourself for what happened you know. Call back.” *** Tripp fell asleep at the library that night. He dreamed that he and Nemmie had met in high school. He dreamed that she had been the cheerleader to his quarterback, the prom queen to his prom king. He dreamed that they had graduated and they had chosen to go to the same school together. He dreamed that they had made plans to get married after college was over. Tripp would be an English teacher at some high school and Nemmie would be a doctor at some clinic and they would have a happy life together. He dreamed that he was still close with his father and sister. He dreamed that he didn’t have to ignore them to forget about his past because that past wasn’t true anymore. He dreamed that there had never been an accident. He dreamed that night never happened and he and Daniel never went out to that party. He dreamed that it wasn’t his fault. He dreamed that he didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore, but rather floating along a steady current. He dreamed that his past wasn’t dragging him underwater anymore, and that Nemmie was reaching a hand out to pull him up to the surface. When he woke up, Nemmie was still holding his hand. He thought he might still be dreaming. He had that tickling sensation behind his eyes again. He met her gaze and saw in her eyes that it wasn’t a dream. Nemmie had promised him new memories and she had followed through. They were high school sweethearts, and they always had been. He gave into this new life, and he gave into Nemmie. He began to fall back asleep. Before he finally drifted, he realized Nemmie was whispering in his ear. Something he didn’t understand, something in another language, maybe Greek? He leaned his head on her shoulder and focused on her stroking his hair as he fell back asleep. *** Friday night was their anniversary. Three years together. That had to be impressive. They shared every memory since November of sophomore year of high school. Nemmie had made reservations for them at a fancy(ish) restaurant down the street from the university. He had been worried about the cost when she told him, but she promised to pay for it. The restaurant was nice, it was little fancier than a family establishment. It was run by a nice little Italian family that had immigrated a couple years ago. It was the kind of restaurant that had photos of the city that the cuisine is from all over the walls; it made it feel homier. Tripp suddenly felt overwhelmed with happiness as he sat there holding Nemmie’s hand across the tablecloth. Why wouldn’t he be happy? He was with the girl he loved, who he had been in love with for three whole years. He looked back on his life and just remembered love and happiness and Nemorah Marie Lane. Nemmie smiled at him across the table and gripped his hand a little tighter. They had just ordered dessert when a man came up upon the little make-shift stage in the corner with a guitar in hand. Tripp wasn’t really paying attention to the man; he was more focused on memorizing the way Nemmie’s red hair looked in the candlelight. Then the man started playing a particularly familiar song. “Desmond has his barrow in the market place…” *** The day of the first funeral Tripp ever went to was too sunny. Birds were chirping, there was a light breeze, and flowers were blossoming. Tripp was mad at the weather for remaining so happy when he was so sad. How could it be such a nice day outside and Tripp be feeling so bad inside at the same time? When they lowered his mother’s casket into the ground Tripp remembered his favorite song his mother used to sing to him when
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he was younger. He didn’t know why, it wasn’t like it was necessarily relevant to the situation at hand, but for some reason that song started playing in his head. He thought of the lyric, “how the life goes on.” He didn’t know how life was going to go on after this; he didn’t know how it could. Stupid cancer. He looked to his right and saw his sister crying. He wanted to hold Beatriz and tell her it would be alright but he also wanted to tell her to knock it off at the same time, must be a big brother thing. Luckily his father was holding her for him so he didn’t have to worry about it. His dad was crying, too, only silently rather than the sobbing that Beatriz was doing. Tripp wasn’t crying; he just felt numb. He looked to his left and saw Daniel standing there stoic as a statue, as per usual. Tripp wondered if Daniel felt the same way about him as he did about Beatriz, always wanting to protect the younger sibling but also to tell them to toughen up. If he did then it would confirm that it was a big brother thing. That was the night that he suggested to Daniel they go out. He suggested that they go out and try to forget. Daniel was twenty-one, he could maybe get them in somewhere, or at least get them alcohol. Daniel said no, he said that mom wouldn’t have wanted them to do anything illegal on the night of her funeral. He said he knew about a party on the rich side of town that he could get them into. So they went. Tripp didn’t drink, he was too nervous for that, but Daniel did. Daniel drank much more than Tripp thought was smart, especially since he was driving home. Eventually Tripp had to drag him into the car to get him to stop drinking and come home. He decided that he should probably drive considering that Daniel was in no position to do so. They were almost home when it happened. Tripp was turning left and the drunk driver in the truck barreling towards them didn’t realize that his light had gone red. The truck hit the car. Tripp hadn’t technically been driving the truck that killed his brother, but he might as well have been. If only he hadn’t convinced Daniel to go out with him that night. If only he had called dad or someone to drive them home. If only he had taken a different route home. If only he had seen that truck. If only he had been a better brother. So within the span of a few days, Tripp had already attended his second funeral. *** “Tripp,” Nemmie’s stern voice cut through his thoughts like a dagger. Tripp felt like he had been in a deep slumber only to have been woken up by someone dumping a bucket of cold water on his face. “Who are you?” Tripp tried to growl, but he was still so tired. He wanted to be angry, he didn’t know this girl and yet she had completely rewritten his life, all of his memories. But he felt so weak. “You know who I am,” she spoke softly, too softly, “it’s me, Nemmie. I told you I could give you new memories. Isn’t that what you want?” Tripp looked at her, really looked at her. He felt like he was seeing an angel. Her hair glowed in the flickering candlelight and it fell perfectly around her face. Her high cheekbones reflected shadows onto her pale skin in the light. Her eyes stared straight into his head, into her thoughts. She traced his palm with her fingers. He wanted to give in. “I can take away all those ugly memories, I can rewrite your life anew,” she coaxed. She kept stroking his palm. Tripp really wanted to give in. His bones and muscles felt weak, his vision was blurring, and he just felt so tired. He wanted a different life. He wanted different memories. He wanted memories that he wasn’t the villain in. He was drowning again, and Nemmie’s hand was just in reach, all he had to do was reach out back and he would be able to breathe again. His phone rang. Nemmie’s eyes widened a bit and she reached to hit decline but Tripp picked it up before she could reach it. He
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looked at the picture of Beatriz he had as the caller ID image. It was a picture of her before the funerals. She was much happier then, when she was eleven. His mother had said they looked exactly alike when she was born. They had the same dark eyes and hair, the same dorky yet endearing smile, and the same tan complexion; according to his mom at least, Tripp had never really seen it. Tripp wanted new memories though. Or maybe he didn’t. He didn’t want to lose his good memories with Beatriz, with his mother, with his father, with Daniel. He looked back up at Nemmie and he thought he really, truly saw her for the first time. He realized that she wasn’t quite as beautiful as he had thought she was, or rather, maybe she was too beautiful. Artificially beautiful. Unnaturally beautiful. He realized that her hair was much too red, and it hadn’t been the fire making her hair glow, it was just the way it was. It glowed so bright it almost blinded him. And her eyes, he had though her eyes were a deep and intense blue, but really they were empty. They were still blue, just a strange fluorescent shade of blue, like a neon sign outside of a Vegas casino. They held no emotion; they just stared right at him, right into him. Her cheekbones that he had thought of as sharp and beautiful now made her cheeks look hollow. She was no longer tenderly stroking his hand, but instead she was gripping it tightly, her nails digging into his palms. She smiled at him, making her face distort in a hideous way, it terrified Tripp. This wasn’t the Nemorah Marie Lane he had been tricked into loving. “Let me give you new memories Tripp,” she snarled at him. Tripp realized she wasn’t trying to pull him up to the surface. No, Tripp was still drowning, but Nemmie wasn’t trying to save him. He had thought that she was his lifeboat, pulling him to safety and helping him breathe again, but she was an anchor. She was trying to pull him further into deep, treacherous waters. In that moment he realized something monumental: his past wasn’t holding him back, he was holding himself back. He didn’t need a new past to move into the future, and he didn’t want one. He had bad memories, very bad memories, but he had good ones too. Memories that weren’t worth giving up just to erase the bad ones. Memories of camping with his father. Memories of playing tag with his siblings. Memories of his mother singing him to sleep every night as a kid. Tripp still felt weak, but he had to fight back. “I don’t need your fake memories,” Tripp managed to mumble, and ripped his hand out of her grip. The last thing Tripp remembered was Nemmie’s fluorescent blue eyes and a gut-wrenching scream. *** Tripp’s presentation on Mnemosyne, titan and personification of memory, hadn’t gone as smoothly as he had hoped, but he somehow thought he knew more about his presentation topic than anyone else in the class. As he was exiting the building, he made a split decision. He took out his phone. “Hey Beatriz, It’s me…I know it’s a real shocker I’m calling…yes I’m coming home for Thanksgiving… yes I miss you too…” Tripp ended the call with a smile on his face, thinking about his sister’s elated tone when talking to him for the first time in months. He kept this happiness up as he walked to his next class whilst wondering whether he’d have to contribute to the cooking at Thanksgiving this year and thinking about what a disaster that could be. He felt himself forgetting about the events of the previous week or so and beginning to focus on what bright aspects his future held. He thought about how he was going to begin to mend his relationship with his sister and possibly his father. He thought about how he would find another way to pay tuition without that stupid scholarship. He thought about how maybe he could get a job at that Italian restaurant or the CVS close to his dorm. He thought about how he was going to try to make some real friends here in Champaign other than the occasional acquaintance he sat next to during lectures. He thought about maybe dropping out of “An Introduction to Greek Literature” (that thought made him particularly hopeful). He continued to daydream and walked on with a skip in his step. When he reached the lecture hall he had been heading to he slumped
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into his chair and pulled out a notepad and pencil before continuing said daydreaming. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to his right to see who was trying to get his attention. “Excuse me, but do you happen to have a pencil I could borrow?” said an all too familiar voice coming from an all too familiar girl. Tripp had a brief moment to think, Oh God before the red-headed girl placed a hand on his bare forearm. He felt a tickling sensation behind his eyes and suddenly in the room everything seemed to be brighter, including her blood red hair and deep blue eyes. “You didn’t really mean to send me away did you?” Nemmie said with a bittersweet smirk as she leaned in to kiss him. The last thing Tripp saw was her emotionless eyes before the blinding light.
Madelyn Simcoe ’21
Sophie
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Curry Wilson ’18
Tom
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Abby Brown ’21
A Practice To Remember
Excerpt from memoir
I started my journey to the expansive field, passing two baseball fields and not one, not two, but three football fields. The temperature was rising, and I could already see the heat waves hovering over the fields shimmering and distorting my view. I approached the lacrosse field where three coaches waited for us. Nervous anticipation coursed through my body bringing questions and doubts into my mind. What if I’m not good enough? What if everyone laughs at me? What if I’m too weak?
Michelle Lee ’19
Empty
49
Emma Simonton ’18
Floppy Disks
50
Lillian Barcroft ’21
The Cycle
They saw the world through rose colored glasses They saw the world in pink satin sashes They saw the world without all its grey Oh how they wish to remember those days I saw the world in a dark colored haze Oh how I wish not to remember those days I saw the world with bandages and scars Those days seem so very far We still see the world from different views As we sit in the same wooden pews We wait for some sign to appear As we notice the future is not so clear Waiting Remembering And then forgetting
Mary Woodmansee ’18
Plant with Red Berries
51
Kelley Waggoner ’18
52
Nick
Susan Morris ’18
Eyes on the Bird
Caitlin Robinson ’19
Ally
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Madison Grinder ’19
Jumping
Mary Crow ’21
Women’s March
Excerpt from memoir
I waited, and waited, and waited, and still there was no sign of movement at all. I was hopping back and forth, switching my weight from one foot to the other, looking around like a meerkat for someone with news, itching to go ahead and move! The energy continued strong as ever, but now there was an added sense of apprehension and tension in the air. After over a long, pressurized, and energized hour, people started yelling real words, and I strained my ears to listen for the pin dropping in the room.
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Trinity Mans ’19
Pineapple
55
Annsley Barton ’19
56
David
Frazer Campbell ’18
Camille
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Taylor Houston ’19
Adolescence
Caroline Couch ’20
An Elegy for You Excerpt from poem
Your memory still lingers there i didn’t tell anyone the extent of Our histories the memories We made i remember backstage, We were bathed in blue light You held my face, and told me i was full of meaning You wiped my tears You can’t now 58
Eva Leake ’19
Roll With Me
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Alexis Angelikas ’18
Lazy Days
Meggy Muller ’18
60
In the News
Emma Simonton ’18
Toothbrush and Toothpaste
Anna Kate Nearn ’19
Growth
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Savannah Hall ’18
Time When I ask you to slow down, you speed up When I ask you to speed up, you slow What is it with you? Time defines all matters of life: Death and Love You take away and you introduce The Ball Drops in a Blink of an Eye Moments, Hours, Days, Weeks, Years, Decades, Centuries Life Revolves around you
Michelle Lee ’19
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On Time
Frazer Campbell ’18
A Farmland
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