The Dome - Winter 2017

2017

The Dome a journal of art and literature

Editor Greer Gibney Faculty Advisor Virginia Watkins Special Thanks To Samantha Reagan Anna Flaherty Cover Rebecca Vandenberg ‘16 Artwork Opposite Page Sophia Sacal ‘18

The Dome 2017

Advanced Music Theory Composition Projects El Héroe y El Mar

My composition is called El Héroe y el Mar because it sounds cooler than The Hero and the Ocean. Originally, my composition reminded me of the ocean. Where I’m from, the ocean is an important part of everyday life. I see the ocean when it is a sparkling aqua blue, and nothing could make it more beautiful, but my favorite kind of ocean is right before a storm. The waves are choppy, the water is dark, and the clouds fill the sky with different shades of grey. Like the ocean, my composition has moments of being loud and dramatic, reminding me of a stormy ocean. Other moments are more lighthearted and sunny, reminding me of the ocean on a sunny summer day. With that being said, my composition is modeled after the cycles of the ocean. I anticipated writing something very slow, melodic, and maybe even sad. Then, when I started composing, it turned out totally different. Dr. Wu herself even said that the piece did not sound like me. In listening to the final product, I saw that she was right. My composition did not become a reflection of my musical taste; instead, it became a story.

James Graham ‘16

Happening

Ana Tolvo ‘17 Dawn Madness

I composed music for a flute, violin, and cello trio, based on an everyday experience. Have you ever felt like it is nearly impossible to wake up and get out of bed in the morning? I most certainly have, a lot. Every morning, when my alarm clock sounds the first time at exactly 6:45, along with the faint sunshine that creeps through the blind, I feel the madness begin. The flute, in the introduction, carries on a cheerful melody in the unapologetic way every alarm tone sounds.

Maggie Zhu ‘17

Covered her mouth.

They going to let you out.

I didn’t catch a word, they let me out for good.

I’m sorry to this day. I don’t have to be sorry.

I can forget what I did. I can forget it all now.

I didn’t understand it, you were mad with me.

You ain’t now, You came back here.

Madison Biasin ‘17

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Sophia McCarthy ‘18

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Excerpt From: Two Worlds At his locker before class, Ethan filled his backpack with books and when he looked up, he saw her. Her name was Willa, and she walked down the hall with this sort of glow. Ethan looked down back at his locker, so he wouldn’t be caught staring.

His eyes landed on the fire alarm and the whole hallway erupted in flames. Willa and the other kids in the hallway locked themselves in a classroom as flames engulfed the room. Ethan knew he couldn’t save himself before he saved the others, especially Willa.

He shielded his face as the heat made his skin tighten around his body. Ethan searched up and down the wall for the fire extinguisher. He could barely see as the room filled with smoke. He ran his fingers along the wall until he felt the glass on the front of the case. When he felt the scorching glass, Ethan used his forearm to bust through and grab the big red extinguisher.

firefighters started to storm inside. When they got out, Willa turned to Ethan, “How will I ever repay you?.”

“I know how,” responded Ethan, and he leaned in for the kiss.

“Ethan, Ethan… hello is anybody home?”

Ethan came back into focus on his friend Trevor’s face. “Dude, class started five minutes ago. Let’s go!”

Drew Pitcher ‘17

He ran down the hall to the room Willa was in, got in a powerful stance and put out the fire at the bottom of the door. When he shot the extinguisher, it kicked back and left a misty cloud of white gas that ate the flames. Ethan ran to the door reared back on one leg and kicked it, just like any badass would. Crack! “Owwwwww, Oh my… “He grabbed his heel and fell to the floor whining and rolling around like a maniac. The door didn’t even budge. All the commotion Ethan made brought a kid from the room to the door.

“You got the extinguisher!” Ethan quickly shook off his embarrassing fall, “yeah it’s whatever. Don’t thank me for saving your life or anything.”

“Yeah good job getting through that door, man.” This kid pissed Ethan off; he was ruining his chance to save Willa.

Ethan went in the room and gathered everyone, shouting, “We have to go. This whole place is going down!” He grabbed Willa by the arm and led the group through the hall smothering every last flame like a navy seal. They exited the building, just as the Page 8

Sophia McCarthy ‘18

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Know Yourself God hath given everyone a purpose. One that makes them unique.

His handy work can be found in all of us.

Born from parents who are different; not the same.

Against conformity to the majority Against the mundane, hollow sameness Look inward. Let the you inside shine, Let the you inside be heard and seen.

Waiting its turns to emerge, It can get lost in the masses Nuture, revel, shout this spirit Let it out.

Cheer, scream, yell Don’t hold back, As you never know when that final moment will come.

Have fun, Celebrate you Matt Koopman ‘17

Be. Future self be brave, I want to have the courage to do what I’m scared of.

Future self be smart, I want to make the correct choices to be the best self I can be.

Future self be happy, I want to smile and laugh everyday until it hurts.

Future self be loving, I want to have a family who I can take care of until the day I die.

Be brave.

Be smart.

Be happy.

Be loving.

Eddy Suriel ‘18

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Madison Biasin ‘17 Page 11

James Graham ‘16 Plunging Into the Unkown

What does it take to “plunge into the unknown”? To push yourself so far out of your comfort zone that you can only stand and look around, thinking of how far you’ve come and how amazed you are at what you’ve become?

Sam thought only about this as he used all of his remaining strength to push his paddle into the churning river again and again, as the sky turned a beautiful shade of deep red and light orange while the sun began to set. He wiped sweat from his furrowed brow, took a big gulp of water from his canteen and called, “Juan!

The sun is setting already, we should look for a place to settle for the night!”

Juan, who was a good ten feet ahead of Sam, slowly stopped his paddleboard and turned to face the rest of the crew, which now consisted of only three members since the rest had to fly back home. Juan was in his mid-forties and he had a slightly wrinkled face, with sparkling brown eyes and a toothy grin that never went away, even when he was asleep. He was born in Mexico, and had agreed to guide Sam and his crew in their quest to follow the Colorado River as it began once again to flow from a dam in Arizona Page 12

towards the Sea of Cortez for the first time in years. Juan was a humble and kind man, and the mere sight of water flowing through the dry and cracked land had made his heart burst with joy and gratefulness.

“I can see an opening a quarter of a mile from here, so let’s take that and rest there for tonight,” called out Juan. We had been paddling for more than ten hours today, same as yesterday and the past two weeks. Sam’s back, arms, and legs ached with exhaustion and all he wanted to do was lie in his bed at home and watch a movie with his wife and kids. Just thinking of his family brought a smile to his lips and that was enough for him to keep him going for the rest of the night.

When they finally reaching their somewhat-safe resting place, Juan set to tying their paddleboards together so they wouldn’t float away in the middle of the night. In the meanwhile, Sam prepared for the three of them mosquito nets made from thick t-shirts that they couldn’t use because of the extremely hot weather. Half an hour after they settled, Sam finally lied down on his makeshift bed and found that he couldn’t fall sleep, even though his mind and body were beyond tired.

Sam’s thoughts began to drift and he found himself thinking what would happen if he could go explore the river by foot, just for a while so he could calm down and go to sleep. He knew he shouldn’t, for there were thieves out there who would not hesitate to bring him harm and there were also night animals that could potentially see him as prey, but curiosity had gotten ahold of him.

Even as a child, Sam had been exceptionally curious, always using his imagination to turn his ordinary back garden into a mix of jungles, volcanoes, deserts, and basically anything his young mind could think of. Whenever Sam showed interest in something, he immediately had to explore everything about it or else the tug in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him rest. It was this tug, this feeling of wanting to know everything that got him out of bed and into the dark waters of the river.

The moon was full that night, perfect for guiding oneself through the dense and high grass that covered most of the Colorado River.

As Sam began to look closer, he noticed tiny crustaceans clinging to the sides of the tall grasses, and scooped a handful of them into his hand to examine them. As they began to crawl around in Page 13

the palm of his hand Sam couldn’t help but giggle at the giddiness of it all. As he looked up to the night sky, the sight of such an inconceivable number of stars quickly made him feel small and unimportant. It was a strange feeling, and one that Sam had never experienced before during the entirety of his life.

He took a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill up with the fresh air of the Colorado River and slowly made his way back to his crew, silently grateful for his curious mind and extreme spirit, which had propelled him to undertake such a life-changing experience.

Sophia Sacal ‘18

Ethan Labi ‘17

A female secretary in front of a boat replica.

Happiness flowing through her as she writes, Hair perfect as she works, Never been bothered.

Snow covered Rockies peer through the window Towering over the barracks.

Details seem to be important, Except when they're not given Henry Giordano ‘18

Henry Binder ‘19

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Sawdust Brother I know that I am an adult because I know what is happening. He didn’t hide the truth or sugar-coat it. My dad sat me down on the couch and told me. A book sat half open in his lap and with a finger holding his page he seemed eager to escape back into the story of Bobby Orr. However, my thirteen-year-old mind conjured a question per second.

“Kate called here earlier today. She was looking for Matthew,” I said to my dad. His eyes left his book because I had captured his full attention. “Where is Matt, and why does his wife think that he is here?” I asked.

“Your brother is staying with us for a little while,” he said.

He explained that drugs can control a person no matter how long one has been sober. For the one thousandth time, he told me that our family has an addictive history and that I must not be a moron.

Though as I lay wide awake at three in the morning, an addictive history isn’t what seems to hold my brother so tightly around the neck. He is sleeping in the room above me. When he was a kid, it was his room; then I was born, and it became my room; then he moved out because he accidentally had a kid of his own. I am sleeping in the new edition. Through the ceiling made of splinters, I can hear his box spring creak as he tosses and turns.

Lying alone in the darkness, welcoming the demons from the outskirts of his mind, and attempting to fall asleep is unimaginable to me. He is brave.

Suddenly, there is a groan of springs and two thumps of tired feet on the floor. I hear his clad feet trip over each other in the hallway and down the stairs. There is a scuffling in the living room and then the front door slams.

Maybe he went outside for a cigarette; maybe he just needed fresh air because sleep was unattainable; maybe nothing good ever happens at three AM. I am unconvinced that his actions are innocent. I fall asleep imagining demons flowing through his bloodstream.

The next morning, I wake to the sound of two small boys running around. I get out of bed and go to see them. I am glad that they are back with their father.

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To my surprise, it is my dad who greets me and not Matthew.

“Morning, James,” he says without turning to face me. His shoulders are wide and strong but they slouch as he digs around in the pantry. He finds what he was looking for, a bottle of cheap olive oil, and walks over to the stove. Even with his rough, gray chin and the purple rings around his eyes, he still has a skip in his step and a smile on his face. I follow him and nod in the direction of the boys – silently indicating my question. He shrugs. I walk over and sit down between the two boys.

“Hi, Mac. What’s up?” I say to the older boy. He’s missing his front tooth.

He holds up a small silver car and says to me, “We’re playing Monopoly.” Then he turns to his little brother, “No, Arty. You have to wait to roll until I’m done with my turn.”

After his brother’s turn ends, Arty grabs for the dice. He giggles, and his small, fat hands chuck the dice as hard as he can into the air. Mac squeals with laughter and throws himself to the ground.

The boys and I hunt for the dice; Arty is the first to find them, and when he does, he opens his tiny mouth and hollers in his threeyear-old excitement.

The boys’ laughter fills the house, and suddenly our day is defined by more than just Matthew’s absence.

A delicious smell wafts from the kitchen, and Arty abandons Monopoly to investigate. He runs to his grandfather’s side by the stove and grips his jeans to pull himself up onto his tiptoes. He cranes his neck and gazes into the massive pan. French toast, Arty concludes.

He falls back onto his heels, but does not release his grandfather’s pants.

My dad teases Arty and wags his leg like he is twisting and shouting. Arty laughs so loud that even the old house is surprised. His feet trip over each other. He follows the hand that is connected to the dancing leg. My dad shouts and jokes as he picks Arty up and turns him upside down like he is shaking the kid out for loose change. Arty squeals, and small white teeth gleam in his wide smile.

My dad runs into the living room, still clutching Arty, aims at the couch, winds up, and with “a one, and a two,” he tosses the kid Page 17

onto the couch. “Now let this old man cook, wouldn’t ya?” he says as he heads back into the kitchen.

My dad has three seconds of peace in the kitchen because, when Arty gets back on his small feet, he is back by his grandfather, holding on to the side of the large jeans. With a sigh of defeat, my dad scruffs Arty’s messy hair like a father does and finishes cooking with extra weight on his left side.

After breakfast, I help my dad prepare the boys for a baseball game. We dress them, brush their hair, tie their sneakers, find their favorite caps, and corral them into the car. Once buckled into their seats, Arty turns to his older brother and gently pokes him on the shoulder. “Mac, is dad coming with us?” he whispers.

“Hope so,” Mac whispers back. He turns and looks to me with eyes as clear as rain drops. I swiftly shut the car door between them and me – before they can turn the question to me.

“Have fun!” I yell to them, as the car starts and stand on the lawn to wave. I turn and mosey back inside. Innocent and naïve, those round eyes absorb my mind. How lucky he is. Of all the horrors that flirt with our lives, the worst thing of all is their grandfather’s company replacing their dad’s. Everyone should have a real dad.

Two or three days pass, and Matthew finally comes home. He doesn’t come stumbling in during the inky hours. He waltzes back into our home at eight am on a Sunday. The front door casually swings behind him and with his feet, he slings his work boots next to my tennis shoes. He pads into the kitchen. My dad leans against the counter with a blasé façade, but the redness of his face gives away his anger. His hands tightly grip the side of the counter top, as if he is holding himself there. Matthew makes himself a bowl of cereal, sidesteps our white-knuckled dad, plops down next to me at the table, and crunches away without any regard.

My dad sighs “Matthew –” Matthew, nose still facing his cereal, sharply says, “I know, Dad. I know.”

“Matthew. Wash your bowl when you’re done,” says my dad, without moving a muscle.

“I know, Dad.” Page 18

“No, you don’t. You come home, eat something, and leave your dirty dishes wherever the hell you please,” he says. He wipes his hands on his jeans and takes a deep breath. He begins taking clean dishes from the dishwasher and slamming them into the cabinet.

The china clinks loudly, as if it’s threatening to break. Without pausing or looking at either of his sons he says, “You’re not a kid anymore, Matthew.”

“I know, Dad,” Matthew repeats.

My dad exhales and turns to face Matthew. He raises his hands like he has something to present, but then they fall to his sides. His face is a deep red, and he gently raises one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He breathes in sharply and raises his other hand to his face. He rubs his eyes like he hasn’t slept in weeks. “No, Matt,” he says, “You don’t know. ‘Cause you’re way too spaced out to know.”

Halfway between his mouth and the bowl, the milk-dripping spoon is idle in Matthew’s hovering hand. He doesn’t look at me or at our dad. He stares at the flakes swirling and sinking in the greyish milk. My dad takes his hands from his face, and his bloodshot eyes meet mine. For a second, I am a little more than just a fly on the wall. Slowly, he walks toward Matthew and rests his hand lightly on Matthew’s shoulder. “We love you. But you aren’t getting any better here. Just get out.” A gold coin hangs from a thin chain around Matthew’s neck. He picks up the coin and holds it tightly in his fist, like a leash connecting him to his son. “Remember this,” my dad says, “And remember your kids.” He lets the coin fall, and it thuds against Matthew’s hard chest. Our dad storms out of the room, and Matthew looks down at the bowl of gray milk. I gaze at the coin on his neck. It is a small circle with a triangle engraved into it and an eight in the center. The eight months that Matthew had been demon-free.

Leaving his bowl on the table, he gets up and goes to collect the few things he brought with him when he moved in with us. I wash his bowl and mine in the sink, and then I retreat to my bedroom.

The next few nights, our house experiences a rediscovered peace.

There is no groaning box-spring, no stumbling feet, and certainly no screaming.

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As I lay in bed at three AM, twelve days after the last time I saw my brother when he was crunching cereal in the kitchen, the phone rings. I close my eyes to pray that it is not from him. I beg God that it is just a wrong number, a confused woman in Hawaii, and not the local hospital, or police. I pray, I hope. Eventually the phone stops ringing. I am afraid, because my brother is like sawdust, delicate and light enough to flit away in the wind. He is tough and impossible to caress. No matter where he is, his kids still grow up.

Even without their father, they are growing out of little boys and into naïve men who love baseball and Monopoly. My sawdustbrother: he is cascading to the dirt while the world around him gets built up into castles.

Samantha Reagan ‘16

I Think I Love You Some people engulf cities, and Roberta is one of them. She claims that she comes from a small town where everyone knows everyone, and there are fields of grass and gardens with bright blue hydrangeas, cut and trimmed to perfection. Nothing is ever too busy, and everything is in full bloom as far as the eye can see. I wonder if that small town that she comes from has some sort of magical power, because the minute she stepped off of the Megabus at the Port Authority, the dirt stained red tiling on the wall brightened up.

Roberta said that the one thing she wanted to see here was the skyline from the pier. She had looked it up online, and the pictures were “wild.” When we arrived there, though, it was more than wild. In the twilight, the sky was a mixture of pinks, purples and blues that reflected against the East River AND matched Roberta’s outfit exactly. It was in that moment that I realized that she engulfed the city, the same way that the evening sky engulfs a skyline. She was glowing, and I was overwhelmed and wanted to curl into a ball, but I was loving every second of it. She turned to look at me, and must have seen this in my face because she asked if everything was okay.

I said“I think I love you.”

She put her hand on her hip and raised her eyebrow and said, “you think?”

And then she laughed and kissed me and said, “you are the weirdest boy I’ve ever known, but you know what? I love you too, I think.”

Greer Gibney ‘17

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Dalia Banevicius ‘17

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Ethan Labi ‘17

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Excerpt From Closing Time: A One Act Play B picks up her backpack and begins to rummage through it.

A: We need to come up with a better name than Chocolate Shake Saturday.

B: (Shrugging) I think it works.

hah!

She picks up the slinky, and notices that it is tangled beyond repair.

B: Dammit. (Handing the slinky to A) You’re good at puzzles.

A: Those things are impossible to fix.

Carrie Babigian ‘16

A: What are you looking for?

B: There’s a slinky somewhere in here.

A: A slinky?

B: Y’know, (Singing) What walks downstairs, alone or in pairs, and makes a slinkity sound? A spring! A spring! A marvelous thing...

A: I know what a slinky is. Why do you need one right now?

B: Slinkys are cool. They walk down stairs. Also, I don’t know.

I’m bored.

A: Okay, then talk to me! Have a conversation like a normal person!

B: I knew you were going to say that. Don’t be so predictable.

A: I stopped writing because you asked me to, the least you could do is talk to me.

B dumps out the contents of her backpack across the table.

B: I don’t have to be polite with you, we’ve known each other too long. Besides, we never have anything to talk about anymore – Ah Page 24

Lucy Ewert ‘16

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Excerpt From: To Say Something In A Room of Silence Opening my acceptance letter was like getting a ticket to Anywhere-But-Here's Ville, an escape route laid out, stamped, posted and paid for. I remember, it was April when Christine and I retreated back to my house from one of those ridiculously stressful Thursdays that we seemed to have too many of. It’s funny –– after a fall semester of nothing but worrying about applications to other high schools, I had apparently forgotten that I had applied at all.

I had forgotten my keys, and we had to go downstairs and ask the tenants to let us in. I live in one of those big Park Slope brownstones on Garfield Place. They’re all pretty much the same (except for one singular pink house across from mine), and so are the families that live in them. There are usually two parents who have two or three kids, a dog and maybe a cat, and they all have tenants on the ground floor who end up getting their mail. Our tenants, Ashleigh and Jakob, are really nice, really young, and they’re always home. When I rang their doorbell, Ashleigh answered wearing nothing but a pair of men’s boxers and a red kimono.

Greer Gibney ‘17 Excerpt From: Room 203 “You’re in 203,” said the landlady, gesturing towards the label on the door, with the last digit blotted out by some unknown black substance., “Just so you know, we take care of the water, unless we don’t feel like it, or if the stars tell us we shouldn’t take care of it. And we take care of utilities when someone whose horoscope is Aries dies that month. So, check the obituaries if you’re gonna leave your lights on all night. Also, ignore any dripping noises you hear in your sink past three a.m.”

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It’s Complicated I don’t care much for the past or the present Or at least I tell myself this But I wonder regularly what's in store I could be a completely different person I could be the same It's impossible to know exactly Whenever I look into the future I see a better version of myself The person who lurks beneath my skin hidden from the rest of the world In this person lies all my potential However, in order to become this ideal self I must wade through the setbacks of my own mind I want to know what I did to change the trajectory Or what I didn’t do, Leaving me broke and clueless The thing that has been holding me back Why is it so hard to follow instructions Why does the world move together, yet still I stand alone Is it really everyone else, or is it me?

Michael Melvin ‘17

Gwynne Domashinski ‘16

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With These Words With These Words I Learn New Information Read With Dedication Thoughts in my mind that are racin’ With These Words…

I receive inspiration Because I’ve learned to Cherish Respect them or they will Perish With These Words…

I’m told a story Like Finding Nemo, I’m lost without Dory With These Words...

Surrounding me are endless letters Becoming my hopes, wishes, and dreams.

Realizing I can live forever With These Words…

Malik Harvey ‘17 Alex Barnovsky ‘19

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Taylor Rathbun ‘16

Excerpt From: The Only Light Left

There are those few moments between when you turn the lights off in a room and the time when your eyes adjust to the darkness. For those few moments, everything is black. You stumble your way around, feeling with your hands for your bed, a book, a hand. In those few moments, you can no longer see the furniture or those shoes you left on the ground jutting out in all directions, going out of their way to make you trip, to bump your head, to whack your elbow. Those few moments make you feel like you’re in a black box that has been sealed shut forever. So how do you find the light again? How do you talk yourself out of the fear and convince yourself that it will be gone in a few seconds? Can you wait? Or do you let it consume you, before you let the light back in?

Anna Flaherty ‘17 Opposite Page Photo: Jacob Shaffleburg ‘19

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Never Forget Where You Came From Everything’s starting to blur together, the faces, the names, the places, it’s been a short amount of time for this much moving, they just want what’s best for me, the different schools, different rooms, different people, it’s been a hell of a ride.

This is it, I’m where I want to be, I love the place and the people, I feel at home here, I don’t want to leave, but this isn't forever, I’ll be gone next year, I won’t have a room here, I won’t recognize the faces in a couple years.

I didn't grow up in this country, the norms, the people, the food, everything’s different, I love where I’m from, but compared to here it’s nothing, I grew up in a third world country, the economy’s crumbling, the people are changing, the places I remember are unrecognizable.

my roots, my family, my friends, my favorite foods, people call it paradise but to me it’s the usual, it’s normal for it to be hot everyday, for people to be walking around in shorts and a t-shirt, drinks in hand and phones in the other .

This place is my home, And I will not forget it, This place shaped who I am, I learned the le I will love it unconditionally, not because I have to, but because I want to.

Simran Chatani ‘17

Ione Bartlett ‘17

The islands are vacations for you, but to me it’s my home, Page 32

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Excerpt From: #39 They say that there are two kinds of people in this world, and that one can tell which kind a person is, not by the way they lived, but by the way they die.

3:15 am, the second sighting. The tall slender man stood in the isle of a lonely pharmacy, wearing a tailored black suit, black oxfords and a black tie, the same as always, when a middle-aged policeman in his uniform brushed past, tired from his night shift.

Perhaps it was the malfunctioning of the heating in the place, perhaps it was the 3 cups of coffee the officer consumed throughout his night, perhaps it was the inexplicable contrast between the man’s black suit and the white shelves and colorful snacks, but the officer paused in his footsteps.

3:20 am, the lights were very bright, almost disturbingly so.

There was a single employee reading a magazine at the counter, but the officer chose the self-checkout, regardless. As his fumbling fingers struggled to push his change into the coin slots, the automatic doors opened, along with all the pores in the officer’s skin, as his body tensed to release the entirety of its adrenaline. The first piece of metal shattered his left collarbone, and as his left shoulder collapsed under the great weight of his head, the second piece of metal tore apart his jaw, splattering the blood and the bone as it penetrated his throat. The sound of rushing footsteps was now apparent, and the contrast between red and blue seemed almost more mesmerizing than that of white and dark. The tall slender man was walking away before the lights even began to dim.

Ieva Pranckeviciute ‘16

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Yuze Zhang ‘16

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The All Star “B-61!” “B-61!” “B-61!”

I have never been the All star in sports I have never been the straight A student I have been working towards the top, ever since my first science test, ever since the first time I stepped foot on the field, “A-17!” “A-17!” “A-17!”

Summer for me is not the norm I get up at an early hour to work all day But it’s hidden No one knows my true story “A-13!” “A-13!” “A-13!”

Many of my peers do not know the real me, Many don’t know, I work 12 hours a day carrying golf clubs, so I can order pizza at night, That one of my best friends is in eighth grade who asks me for advice on how to win his girlfriend back, That one of my co-workers and best friends committed suicide, At age 13, That both of my bosses are drunks, That my summer days are spent on a bench for 12 hours a day, That I wear a bright yellow polo and long black shorts almost all summer, That I enjoy this crazy life

Chia, Sean, hair grows like a Chia Pet, Big Ed, Ed, Who is a teacher and caddies So his son can go to college, Tom #1, Tom Tully, Caddy Master who enjoys sports and making people laugh, Tom #2, Tom Raabe, Caddy Master who has 2 daughters and works everyday for them, This is my crazy family I am not Mary, I am not Molly, but I am B-61, A-13, and A-17 I can proudly say Berkshire is not my home, My home remains in the western suburb of Chicago at a Caddy Shack, With a bunch of guys Who I can call my brothers, I never would have thought, I could be really good at caddying There are 200 caddies working at the club and I am ranked 13 I am an All star.

Molly O’Neill ‘17

Brothers, Casper, Jack, white as a ghost, Cindy, John, nose of Cindy Loo Who, Puppy Dog, Mark, Begs like a puppy dog, Page 36

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Fear It stops us from thinking we can be great.

Holding me back from putting myself out there.

It’s like a dark cloud that never leaves my side.

I feel latched to a wall, Unable to break free.

This dark cloud I cannot shake.

When will the sun shine through?

Forever hesitant, I stand Thinking, Doubting, so unsure, Mikayla McEwen ‘18

As I wait for it to pass me by.

I realize that it won’t; I must stand up and face it.

But am still not sure what it is.

I find the courage deep within To face this thing they call fear.

Alonde Legrande ‘17

Lucy Ewert ‘16

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The Dome Berkshire School 245 North Undermountain Rd. Sheffield, MA 01257-9672