Outcroppings - 2018

Outcroppings Volume 39 2018

Outcroppings Volume 39 • 2018 • Brewster Academy • Wolfeboro, New Hampshire Editor in Chief: Saige Buffington ’18 Managing Editor: Duidui Yue ’18 Art Editors: Michelle Su ’18, Aaisha Al Jabri ’18 Faculty Advisor: Jennifer Metcalfe Dumont Cover Design by Saige Buffington ’18 Back Cover Verse by Mr. Joe Fernald

From the Editors: This book is dedicated to the people who helped make it possible. One of our finest issues to date, it couldn’t have been done without you - our classmates, teachers, faculty, staff and beyond. To those who opened up - thank you for letting us take a glimpse into your beautiful minds.

“To see the world, things dangerous to come, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other and to feel... That is the purpose of life.” - from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty - Saige Buffington ’18

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Table of Contents Title Page: Artwork by Shemar Joseph ’19..........1 Artwork by Aaisha Al Jabri ’18 .......................... 2 Where I am From by Tiffany Yang ’18 and Photo by Hailey Buffington ’18 ......................... 4 The Green-Eyed Monster by Jack Stockdale ’20 and Artwork by Michelle Su ’18.......................... 5 Scripter by Samuel Versoi ’18............................. 6 Artwork by Ms. Deanna Rowley ........................ 7 Used Church Salesman by Mr. Joe Fernald and Artwork by Youyun Shang ’20............................ 8 A Love Not Forgotten

by Mrs. Linda Shenton Matchett ....................... 9 Artwork by Aaisha Al Jabri ’18......................... 10 Heartstroke by Duidui Yue ’18 and Artwork by Joseph Rotondi ’18................... 11 Your Own Two Eyes and Hands

by Tom Scala ’18.................................................12 Two Days by Katherine Martin ’21 and Artwork by Hailey Buffington ’18...............13 One by Kelsie-Jean Morris ’18 and Artwork by Tiffany Yang ’18..............................14 Growing Up by Hunter Chasens ’18..................15 The Subway Parable by Robbie Enos ’18...........16 Artwork by Brendan Paul ’18 ............................17 Artwork by Ms. Deanna Rowley....................... 18 Uncle Tom’s Cottage by Mr. Brendan Aucoin and Artwork by Ms. Janis Cornwell .................19 One Sided by Grace Factor ’20 and Artwork by Brianna Brown ’19.........................20 Midnight Blessings by Saige Buffington ’18 and Artwork by Asal Al Mohamed ’19...............21 Pgs. 22-27: AP Lang Student Work Artwork by Trinity Towns ’19........................... 22 Inside by Zac Bennett ’19.................................. 23 Artwork by Zaha Al Zaabi ’18........................... 24

Burn by Brianna Brown ’17 and Artwork by Shemar Joseph ’19.................. 25 Invisible Prison by Erika Burgess ’19............... 26 Artwork by Brianna Brown ’19......................... 27 Viewer Discretion Advised Pt. II

by Nate Roberts ’18 and Photo by Maya Gomi ’18...................................28 To the Sister I Have Found

by Hannah Paul ’19........................................... 29 Artwork by Ms. Alicia Childers ’01...................30 Books by Trevor Simboli ’21 and Photo by Emily Adelson ’19........................31 My Excessive Loquaciousness

by Paul Richie ’18 and Trance by Robbie Enos ’18................................ 32 Photos by Dr. Marisela Funes, Ms. Barb Thomas and Mr. Zack Apgar ........... 33 Slavery in 3-D by Sal Fabio ’18......................... 34 Wanderlust by Ella Quinlan ’20 and Photo by Saige Buffington ’18 ................... 35 Letter to Santa by Annee Alperin ’18................ 36 and Artwork by Asal Al Mohamed ’19.............. 37 In Common With a Leaf by Rose Guttman ’21 and Photo Ms. Alicia Childers ’01..................... 38 Hello by Hailey Buffington ’18 and Photo by Joseph Rotondi ’18............................. 39 Skating by Gus Schoenbucher ’21 and Photo by Emily Adelson ’19...............................40 Hands by Tigist Murch ’21 and Photo by Abbie DiVirgilio ’19.............................41 Furby Chronicles by Brice Scanlon ’18............. 42 Laughter by Madigan Mansour ’21 and Photo by Monica Zhang ’19....................... 43 Artwork by Paxton Travis ’18........................... 44

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Where I am From

by Tiffany Yang ’18

I am from sweet smells, from acrylic paints and oil-paint palettes.

I am from the ropy hot pink touch I am from the flower sea, the wild sunflower I am from no-cellphones-meal and double eyelids, from Sue and Ming.

I am from logical thinking and major in business.

From being emotional and loving entertainment.

I am from a coastal city.

I’m from Shenzhen, seafood and dim-sum.

From the scars my mother got on her hand.

Above the piano is a picture frame There’s a family picture there, Grandparents are sitting at the front.

Sometimes I dream about that moment The whole family in a beautiful garden, underneath the sunshine.

by Hailey Buffington ’18

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by Michelle Su ’18

The Green-Eyed Monster

by Jack Stockdale ’20

I am consumed with the curse of jealousy!

It is too true an evil. Gone she is, And what’s to come of my despised time?

How will I ever live without her?

It is silliness to live, when to live is torment!

I have lost her to that cocky thief; She is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted By spells and medicines.

He fills her head with empty promises; And I dare think he’ll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her, too!

Maybe I’m better off with someone who is faithful to me.

I’d rather have a girl who “sees suitors following, and does not look behind.”

This aching curse has been gnawing at my heart for far too long!

O beware, my lord, of jealousy: It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feed on!

- Found Poem from Shakespeare’s Othello

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Scripter

by Samuel Versoi ’18

“Mrs. Edmunds moved to heaven,” he said, and then again, “Mrs. Edmunds doesn’t live here anymore. She moved to heaven.”

I was confused, uncomfortable, and even a little scared. I couldn’t understand. What he was trying to say? I tried to respond.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. He spoke again, but didn’t seem to continue the conversation.

“Luke, I am your father,” he said with the biggest, and happiest smile I had ever seen. ”That’s the best Star Wars quote. I love that movie too,” I responded. .The conversation went on like that for a little while longer. I was confused, but I wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. There was something so special and honest about the way he smiled.

He was genuinely happy to get to talk to me. I had seen him walk over to other tables before, and people would face the other way, and ignore him until he left. I continued to respond to the things he said. Although the conversation wasn’t fluid, or coherent, it was still somehow a conversation.

He left after a while, still smiling like he had when I first responded to him.

I learned later that his name was Will, and a disability he had made it so that he could only talk in script. He could only repeat things that he had heard before. Our conversation made a lot more sense to me after I learned that. Even though he could only talk in script, he was still able to make people smile, and communicate to people in his own way. He was never negative, and always spoke with a positive tone. He really was just trying to make people smile, laugh, and be happy, even if he couldn’t communicate that directly. .Your years in high school are some of the most formative times in your life. It almost seems like each day you learn a lesson, or a piece of information about yourself or someone else. One of the most important lessons I learned, if not the most important lesson, was acceptance. And I learned that lesson in an unexpected place, the lunch room. .My old school has an integrated Best Buddies program. When I first got to the school I was surprised, even shocked, to see people with extremely severe disabilities roaming through the halls unattended. To me they seemed unfocused, dazed and confused. They just seemed to stare blankly, stumbling through the halls with no purpose. I saw them for their disabilities, and nothing more. It seemed like a waste of time to have disabled people as a part of our school. I even began to question why they were being educated at all. It was an ignorant, and scornful state of mind, but it was my honest to God opinion. .Meeting Will face to face changed my opinion of our Best Buddies program, and I soon understood just how important it really was. I stopped seeing people with disabilities as just their disabled selves, but rather people just like everyone else. They might have had a hard time doing the things they wanted to do, but they still had goals, passions, and aspirations. Meeting and befriending Will over my years in the lunch room took a veil from my vision. Instead of seeing him, and dreading the possibility that he might come over, sit down at my table and spew gibberish, I looked forward to our little chats each and every day. I learned to stop judging people by how they appeared, and started to judge them for who they were as individuals. A lesson that I value immensely to this day.

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by Ms. Deanna Rowley

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Used Church Salesman

by Mr. Joe Fernald

“You are going to love this place I’m telling you this is a fully loaded house of the holy.

There’s Jesus up there in the corner.

I just love the woodwork, and the sad, contemplating eyes.

Check out the holes in his hands!

And how ’bout the craftsmanship on that Mary? In Italy they call that a Pieta. Translated that means something, like the lamentation.

Hey over here! You gotta see this. Stained glass windows telling the story of the crucifixion. Little old lady donated them in ‘loving’ memory of her husband who worshipped here.

They can stay or go. Your call.

Could even strip them down and sell ’em off, Catholics up the street might need a set.

Right now the pews are empty, but I think I mentioned before, we’ll throw in a set of bibles with the purchase and sales agreement.

Oh yeah, you asked about the confessionals.

I know the whole forgiveness thing doesn’t work for you guys, but here they are.

Space is a little tight, but you could always take the booths and turn them into dark closets.

Well, I have to be back here in a few hours to show this place to some Lutherans and then the Unitarians.

Why don’t we take a ride across town?

Baptists are selling a place that might be more in your price range”.

by Youyun Shang ’20

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A Love Not Forgotten

by Linda Shenton Matchett An excerpt from her novella “Let Love Spring”

England, Highlands Hospital, March 1946 Prologue Perspiration trickled down the sides of Chaz’s face as he gripped the letter and stared at the looping script on the page. Not that he had to read the words. He had memorized them months ago. The two-year-old paper crinkled in protest as he tightened his hold.

January 1944 Dear Chaz: The moon is full and lights up my room with an eerie blue glow. It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, and I’ve barely slept. I miss you desperately. What are you doing? Are you safe? Are you looking at the moon, too? Today’s casualty list included two more lads from the neighborhood. Giles and Vincent Thompson. Can you believe it? Two different battles, but they are both gone. Mrs. Thompson is beside herself with grief.

Mother says I should only send you cheerful, newsy letters, but our relationship is deeper than that. We’ve always been able to talk about everything, the good and the bad.

Food is dearer than ever, so even if one has points for an item, it’s impossible to find. But I shouldn’t complain, since you are probably eating tinned meat and haven’t seen a fresh vegetable since you went away.

Work is good. I enjoy what I do, although I can’t tell you anything about it. All very hushhush. But as much as I love my job, I love you more, and I can’t wait to become your wife.

There. I’ve said it. I want to marry you. I know you didn’t propose before you left, because you didn’t want me to feel beholden, but that doesn’t change how I feel. I’ll wait for you forever. Hurry home, my darling.

Your best girl, Allison “Chaz! I’ve been looking for you. Are you going to sit out here all day?” The sound of boots crunching on the gravel grew louder as the owner of the voice approached. “You’ll be fried to a crisp.”

Shoving the missive into his pocket, Chaz turned toward the voice and squinted at the figure hurrying across the circular driveway. cont. on pg. 10

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cont. from pg. 9

“Come inside and have some tea.” Hospital orderly, Ian Kellogg, had to shout to be heard over the thundering surf. “The quack said sunshine would do you good, but you’re already red as a beet. Besides, you can’t avoid the lads forever.”

Chaz bit his lip. Forever. She said she’d wait forever. But who was she?

Ian’s shadow blocked the sun’s glare. Hands on his hips, he tilted his head, his usual mulish expression painting his face. “We’ll play chess. You like that.”

“Don’t coddle me. And I’m not avoiding the lads.”

“Sure, you’re not. And I’m Princess Elizabeth.”

Heaving himself to his feet, Chaz stiffened his spine. The scar tissue on his back pulled against the healthy skin and shot knife-like pain across his shoulders. He winced and swayed against the chair. He was lucky. At least he hadn’t lost a limb or damaged his face during the plane crash.

A crash he didn’t remember.

by Aaisha Al Jabri ’18

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Heartstroke

by DuiDui Yue ’18

Nights began to fall into pieces As days grow short Winter start to crawl like monsters When words paused to sound As every inch of my skin burns My hands stringed tight Made every scream a louder noise The roads turn blurred

by Joseph Rotondi ’18

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Your Own Two Eyes and Hands

by Tom Scala ’18

Every morning I would stop in and visit her, making sure nothing was out of the ordinary. For most of the summer nothing was, but this one morning would prove to be an unforgettable exception.

My uncle, “Big Tom,” had made it very clear to me, “Little Tom,” that it was my responsibility to check in on her every morning. He assigned me this job because he left for work earlier than I, and had less free time.

No big deal, right? Just pop in quickly each day, see if she needs anything, then I would be off to work. Well, let’s just say things did not occur strictly in that order on this very special day.

When I arrived that morning I realized the others were crowding her, staring, seeing if they could help.

This was a bizarre circumstance and none of them seemed too sure of what was happening or what they could do. I quickly realized that I was the only one who could be of any assistance. I found myself in an uncomfortable situation, and in an incident that I would not consider quite “up my alley.” Pressed for time and unable to contact any backup, I knew I had to take action quickly. I moved everyone away from her, deciding that personal space was a good first step. I looked at her, and her eyes told me things that can’t be put into words. I proceeded to stand her up and guide her to a more comfortable spot.

Helping her to her feet, I evoked loud screams of agonizing pain that all mothers are likely familiar with. It became so real for me. She was going to have her baby today, and I would be the one to help her.

Though I had heard of “the water breaking” before, I could never imagine this happening until I saw it with my own two eyes. To be frank, I would be okay with never seeing it again. Kneeling at ready position, my trembling hands outstretched, and offering all my comfort, I waited. What was to come was in her complete control.

She began to push, started to squeeze, grunting, and grinding her teeth. It was finally going to happen! A million thoughts were racing in my brain. If only I had time to think - what was I to do? I had to do something, yet could not pinpoint what that exactly was. “Big Tom” had never mentioned this in my job description, yet I knew I could not let her do this alone.

Something started to emerge from the inside of her. It was small, dark, and covered in who knows

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what. It was coming out slowly, heightening both the suspense and discomfort of the situation. She was shrieking and screaming! She needed my help now!

I could not just kneel there and watch a moment longer; I had to do more.

I was hesitant, without the slightest clue of how to approach her. “I got this, I know I’ve got it”, I tried to convince myself. I grasped the hoof with an unsteady hand, gripping it tightly. I gave a gentle tug; she gave a slight push, and out came a tiny brown baby goat!

I will forever treasure this special delivery at our family’s farmhouse. Though I cannot say I hope to deliver a baby goat ever again, I now am confident that I am capable of handling whatever frantic situations that come my way in the years to come. The gift of life is the most precious thing on earth, and I could never imagine the indescribable experience of physically delivering a life into this world until I did it with my own two eyes and hands.

by Beth Hayes ’81

Two Days

by Katherine Martin ’21

Two days trudging along the same trail The sweat stains on my t-shirt were clear, like the bright shining moon against the rich black of night.

My lungs pushed harder each breath struggled, trying to free itself from the prison inside me, Every so often we came upon a flat stretch But it wasn’t long before the earth rose once more And I found myself back in the evil dance of trudging continuously upwards. a soft breeze blows against my grimy skin.

I shiver, but not because I am cold encompassed in beauty, mountains tumble over mountains I smell sticky pine, the familiar scent tickles my nose.

I hear rustling leaves twisting, turning over one another in the gentle breeze And listen to the birds sing their different songs somehow join perfectly together in unity.

by Hailey Buffington ’18

I finally feel free, everything forgotten As I gaze upon the vast beauty that has been bestowed upon me by the graciousness of mother earth’s touch

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by Tiffany Yang ’18

One

by Kelsie-Jean Morris ’18

ONE The unconditional love, The pull, the distress, the pummel of his hand.

TWO My hesitant rejoinder, The robicund and angst of his eyes...

THREE His ideas of an innocent noble sacrifice, The purple, the blue, the black and yellow.

FOUR The tearful vindication spoken in roar, The guilt, the discomfort, and imprisonment of my mind.

FIVE The embrace that would happen over and over again, The memories ZERO

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Growing Up

by Hunter Chasens ’18

The bright blue sky bleached the dark earth with a butterfly-ish innocence that could only be brought on by great worldly ignorance; not the ignorance of an adult who refuses the knowledge of the world, but the ignorance of a child first feeling pain; of that first discovery of imperfection in what would have otherwise been a perfect world without vice.

A smile played on my face; the same smile I held since birth. Even when crying and throwing tantrums I knew no real pain. The basking trees rustled around me like great tall sentinels standing at a loose attention in honor of terrene glory. With every breath of the world the proud trees released more oxygen to soften the harsh air. The morning dew clung to the damp soil where small playful earthworms searched for food in between the roots of the tall vivid grass.

In that moment even the squirrels stopped their ever present tapping to enjoy the silence of the world’s breath. The stones in the yard breathed out a sigh of relief and nestled closer together among their sunhot comrades. The small flitting insects slowed their frantic search and fell into a soft ataraxic trance.

The world stood in harmonious pleasure, and we all imbibed of the intoxicating cocktail of perfection.

An equilibrium had been met. The ever moving tempo of the earth had found a middle ground. In this stasis we sat at a node to a wave. That wave would crest and in a couple of days cast my world into chaos. A bluebird in all of summer’s glory swooped down onto the grass and cocked it head. It took a little hop and stared intently at its feet. With the speed of a falling ray of sun the bird bent down and pick up one of the earthworms and with voracious intensity finished its impromptu meal.

The moment had ended. A noisy car passed by, a black mist following it. A dark cloud passed in what was a moment ago a cloudless sky and the clock of the world has started up once more. A clock that was being wound up and had not yet reached its climax.

I was young, perhaps in elementary school. My bare feet stood on a soft layer of grass that slowly tickled my soles with subdued playfulness. The spell of the moment broke, and with it a piece of me. I no longer felt the intangible presence of something greater than me. The omnipresent and omnipotent force had left leaving emptiness. Emptiness where a moment before perfection had laid rest to my mind. In that moment

the imperfections and of the world and its imbalance shouted to me. Had they been there all along? The presence of malice and greed, that of vainglory and pride; had these always existed?

In that moment the world felt like an empty place indeed. And for the first time in my life, my small heart was filled with an unidentifiable fire, that which later in my life I would know as anger. How dare they take my perfection away from me. How dare they reveal the flaws of the world for my ignorant eyes to see.

How dare show my own hypocrisy. I matured in that moment. I solidified with the observed imperfections of the world still stuck in my porous soul. Now I float on the waves of the world, searching. Searching for my lost perfection, my innocence. Sometimes I glimpse it out of the corner of my eye, a sandy sun sinking below breaking waves, a solemn waterfall diving into a poignant pond, rain and its “rap tap tap” on the windows during a raging storm, but when I turn my head to look all I find is imbalance.

by Maya Gomi ’18

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The Subway Parable

by Robbie Enos ’18

.’Twas a damp and blustery September’s eve when I and two of my closest confidantes found ourselves at the distinguished sandwich dispensary known as “Subway”. This particular establishment was located in Alton of New Hampshire. We entered the building and our nostrils were filled with the familiar aromas of freshly baked loaves of grain.

After we listed all the constituent parts of our sandwiches to the employee, we prepared to purchase them. There was no doubt whether we possessed the added wherewithal to purchase all these items, as the fact was that I possessed a book of discount coupons that would halve the price of our order. The man behind the register was a rather wide fellow, short in stature, and with a long full beard. I approached him and began to speak, “Good evening. If you look at this slip of parchment you shall find that we are entitled to have our price reduced by half.”

The man stared at it with a cold and unforgiving glare. And then raised his head to meet my gaze. Through the unkempt brush that was his facial hair, he said three simple yet painful words: “This has expired.”

Without giving my cohorts and I a moment to process this terrible news, he destroyed the parchment with his stubby, callused claws and discarded it in the wastebasket. My friends were simply saddened by this news, but quickly moved on and began to pay full price. I, on the other hand, was made unbelievably furious by this. They begged me to let it pass, but I marched up to him and proclaimed, “Listen here, you foul smelling dwarf man! I obtained these vouchers of abatement not but a fortnight ago, therefore, I find it inconceivable that their validity has ceased so soon after I acquired them. Now I demand you give us our discount or prepare for your ruination.”

The man’s face stayed unchanged and he again simply replied, “It is expired.” Patrick, my closest friend, looked at me and said, “Come along Robert, let us return to our home and feast upon our full price sandwiches. Never-you-mind this oaf and his shenanigans.” I looked the cashier in the eye with a fiery stare of rage and loathing and said, “Very well then. Seems as though you have won this battle. Good day!”

I began to turn and walk away when I heard a faint laugh come from the man. No longer able to control my emotion, I whipped around, withdrew my broadsword and before anyone could say another word, I removed his head from his torso with one swift strike of my blade.

As I gazed upon the carnage, I noticed his manager coming out of the walk-in freezer. She froze where she stood, unable to move or utter a word.

“Let this be a warning to ye, sandwich wench. Now then I shall leave this place with my sandwiches and for good measure, I shall take the rest of these here Subway cookies,” I cried.

And we ran.

Looking back on it now; not my worst trip to Subway.

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by Brendan Paul ’18

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by Ms. Deanna Rowley

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by Ms. Janis Cornwell

Uncle Tom’s Cottage

by Mr. Brendan Aucoin

My family is inextricably linked with the region of Syracuse, New York. Every Christmas vacation from school we would pile into the mini-van and head west, hoping for a rest stop with a Sbarro that lined up with Dad’s schedule. To this day I credit those long car rides with instilling in me what good music really was. Simon & Garfunkel, the Beatles and John Denver and the Muppets provided the soundtrack. But that is a story for another time.

Nearly every August of my childhood saw our family spend a week at “the lake”, Skaneateles Lake to be exact. Before I could even locate Skaneateles Lake on a map, or begin to attempt a spelling, I could proudly share with my classmates that I swam in “Skinny Atlas” lake with all my cousins.

My mother has a large, Italian family. So large in fact, that I was more likely to identify middle relievers on the Red Sox than my own relatives. A combination of her aunts and uncles owned a property on the lake with a few cottages. As kids, my mother, her brothers and their assortment of cousins used to spend all day in, on and around the lake. It was no surprise then, that when the cottages went up for sale, that my Uncle Tom would jump at the chance to acquire one.

He happened to buy the “party” cottage, which was shared by everyone, but did not have any bedrooms.

Uncle Tom got to work renovating the property so that his family could spend their summers there. He spent

countless hours on weekends and during the summer, but the results were incredible. And, of course, the whole family was always invited.

Somewhere along the way, my family began staying at Uncle Tom’s cottage on our trips to the lake.

It is, to this day, one of the most peaceful places in the world. The childhood games became attempts to “ice” each other, the hours spent in the water turned into hours relaxing on the beach, and the croquet went from casual to cutthroat. Although us kids got older, the lake, the cabin and the feeling of serenity never disappeared. There is truly nothing quite like a lake sunset.

As I embark on this journey called parenthood, I have faith that some traditions will carry on. Like my parents did for me, I hope to share some of my favorite places with my son. Maybe they will become some of his favorites as well. I want him to always feel that connection to his past and to his family. I see him diving off the dock, again and again, the smile never leaving his face. Then, he comes back up to the cottage for dinner, conversation, laughter and the occasional card game.

I have since heard the saying “if you’re lucky enough to be at the lake, you’re lucky enough”, but I lived it long before. I feel truly lucky for all that I have been blessed with, most of all relaxing time spent at the lake, and those who make it possible.

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One Sided

by Grace Factor ’20

And when it was all said and done, all that remained was the shell of a one sided love and the bones of a lover who held on too tight and for too long. the other side of that phone line did not ring, messages not answered the other side of the pair did not care.

She was not his but she imagined she was, the thought of being wrapped in his arms warmed her heart which was cold as he did not love her.

She felt that he had loved her in a past life, and that was the explanation for her attachment to him.

She created the idea that he secretly wants her as much as she. no, he did not. she was not wrapped in his arms, he was not hers, she was not his.

He did not love her the way she did this was a one sided love.

One sided loves cannot ever be, for he must love her as much as she.

This love is a conversation with no answer.

It cannot prosper and grow if one does not love the same.

Leaving the other halfway torn apart, suffering without aid.

Nothing heals the effects of a one sided love with a two sided lover.

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by Brianna Brown ’19

Midnight Blessings

by Saige Buffington ’18

You lurked in the shadows, your claws scratching at the corners of my mind, begging me to let you in.

But I knew better, I was taught to barricade my mind from the ones that poisoned me But it was never that simple.

You clawed the more walls I built, and while I was strong, you grew stronger.

I thought closing myself off would destroy you, would bring in the light and make you vanish for good, only ashes left behind.

But in reality, the door that was locked only fueled you, made you stop digging and begin burning down every shred of privacy I had left, until you found a crack, and suffocated my mind.

What once was light had now turned into an abyss, a labyrinth that no one knew of.

You didn’t lurk in the shadows anymore, you controlled me, had full reign of my actions, my feelings, and my life.

And as you had control you broke me down, ripped away the girl I used to be and replaced her with someone who I knew would be with me the rest of my life, like a shadow, a ghost.

As time went on I knew I didn’t want to be just a shade of grey, to be subjected by something that couldn’t be seen.

I wanted to fight, to take back control and be the old me.

The battle was one of silence, one that left me and the shadow both on the brink of giving in, but as I stood, worn down and defeated I held a hand out to the shadow and said ‘I accept you for who you are, no matter how long you spend in the shadows you can emerge a better version of yourself, you can get better’ And while the shadow continued to linger long after the fight had stopped I began to make changes, adjusting to make the shadow happier, transforming the darkness into a small ray of light.

This shadow still sticks with me, and while it rests I work to be a better me.

by Asal Al Mohamed ’19

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Viewer Discretion Advised Editor’s Note: As a part of their study of causes for social justice, Brewster’s Advanced Placement Language and Composition classes, taught by Ms. Sarah Hunt and Ms. Kara McDuffee, were assigned to create pieces of writing and art exploring the effects of mental illness. These pieces project the struggles that many face, and the reality of the world around us. Examples of their work can be found beginning on this page, and continuing until pg. 27. Please be advised that while these are creative and fictional pieces, many of them explore disturbing subject matter. View at your own level of comfort.

by Trinity Towns ’19

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Inside

by Zac Bennett ’19

Inside...

There is no Arrangement To this ... Madness.

There is a war going on inside my head Fought between myself and I ...But who in the end shall be victorious?

Notions come at night when the terrain is empty Always gaining the advantage ...But never when I’m not around The enemy stalls although on the attack Allowing me to take charge ...But where shall my actions lead me?

This knife represents my battle weapon I let myself do as I please ... But I never acquire a single kill And suddenly inside the air feels still The enemies vanish as champions once more Darkness has prevailed, ... Because there is no order in the light Inside…

There is no Cleanliness To this ... Impurity.

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by Zaha Al Zaabi ’18

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Burn

by Brianna Brown ’19

They never believed you.

They never believed it could happen.

Only one out of five do So you’re not going through The pain.

The worry.

Your mind was like a volcano Hot, bursting, burning ones near you.

When you exploded, They were all gone.

They say after being burned, You took the life out of them.

But it wasn’t you, Was it?

Is it inside you?

The internal mechanics that turn and twist, They run through your heart To your brain.

Fingers and bones.

Twisting who you are, Soul.

Mind.

Body.

Can you return to before you broke, before others see?

Before they misunderstand, take you as insane?

That is where your journey begins.

by Shemar Joseph ’19

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Invisible Prison

by Erika Burgess ’19

Bipolar, psychotic, OCD, Depressed, schizo, ADD. These words are thrown Around without Thought or care They linger In my mind, Reminding me I Am nothing more Than an insult.

My identity Is used to humiliate The quiet girl who prefers To be alone rather than Surrounded by others.

Mental illness is far From an abstract idea Or a frame of mind.

It is an invisible prison I cannot escape.

Thoughts I have pushed Into the corners of my mind Are dragged out of hiding By ignorance And naiveté My illness Is not an alternative.

The scars on my wrists And the pills in my hand Are real to me.

I am not to be ignored.

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by Brianna Brown ’19

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by Maya Gomi ’18

Viewer Discretion Advised Pt. II

by Nate Roberts ’18

Editor’s note: Please be advised that the following piece is meant as satire, and serves to create commentary on the tragedy of gun violence in schools. In no way does the writer nor the staff of Outcroppings intend to offend or frighten anyone.

Intro: “Coming to the stage for the Most Societal Impact Award. This award goes to school shooters.

Let us all give them a round of applause, especially for Nikola Cruz and Gabriel Parker for representing them all as a whole.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you all. I appreciate you all nominating us and many others that are a part of this movement that has been created for years. We liked to shout out and recognize the ones before us that made this possible for us to have this

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opportunity to be on this national platform so freely.

Secondly, we would like to thank our parents for having the freedom to let some of us use their guns and others such as gun store owners and gun shows for making it possible for us to have these beautiful yet dangerous arsenals. I would like to thank the parents out there that allow their kids to come to schools day in and day out, giving us the easy opportunity to develop plots and plans on this mass of a group who is the future of our society. That means a lot to us all.

We wanna thank the mental instability that over the years developed into an intellectual disaster which all your kids reap the benefits of. So now in closing, I would like to thank you for this prestigious award and with that being said “EVERYBODY RUN FOR YOUR LIVES ..*pretending to pull out a gun* Just kidding people, relax. This is not a school.”

To the Sister I Have Found

by Hannah Paul ’18

To the sister I have found, I’m sorry I only met you when you were thirteen. I wish I could’ve had the opportunity to be there for you all your life, especially when you needed someone the most. Your mom left you at a young age and your relationship with your dad isn’t ideal. But, you’re now my little sister and you know that I would do anything for you. I wish I could’ve been there to fill in the missing pieces of your childhood. Creating a safe and secure environment for you was one of my greatest joys. It built my empathy and eagerness to guide others in need. I’m grateful that you could find the missing pieces in me; that our friendship has filled our lives with the happiness and loyalty that we deserve. Most friendships come and go; ours continues to grow because it has allowed me to recognize true and honest friendships with others and advocate when I don’t find the same level of investment in others.

To the sister I have found, You have helped shape me into the person I am today. As a strong, empathetic and trustworthy young woman I have faced academic and social challenges with dignity and strength. The support you, my parents and teachers at Fusion presented to me encouraged my confidence as a learner and friend. Playing number one doubles for Varsity tennis with you couldn’t have been livelier. It gave me a sense of belonging and challenged me to improve my game. I found myself embracing my role as a leader and began building my confidence through teamwork and self reflection.

To the sister I have found, Before you, I had a different best friend; we were inseparable. At the beginning of sophomore year, it seemed like a light switch flicked, she changed. I became her target. She spread rumors about me, every day at school was painful. Things were written on the walls about me. My peers shouted horrid accusations towards me. Social media became a weapon to hurt me. My heart felt unsteady, pounding faster every time I approached campus. Sometimes it was too much to bear so I just didn’t go at all. I talked to few people and kept my headphones in, volume up and keeping my head high. It was torture. Basketball was my only refuge. Then, cont. on pg. 30

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cont. from pg. 29

we became friends and I was able to merge those two passions together and began to feel like me. You liked me for who I am: a tall, sure-footed, funny, athletic girl. Those first waves and smiles we shared, I never could’ve guessed that our first interaction would lead us here today.

To the sister I have found, You are wholesome, driven, and so much more. Your passion and focus to become a doctor has inspired me to go after what I want in life. I want to be in the FBI. I want to work as hard as I can, as hard as you’ve shown me how to, to make detective, to get into Quantico, and to be a federal agent.

To the sister I have found, Mi casa es su casa. You fill my life with laughter, tears, adventures and memories that will last a lifetime. I can’t wait to see what the future will bring. As I think about my graduation from Brewster Academy, I think about how much I would’ve loved for you to share in the experiences I’ve had at this school in New Hampshire. Thank you for allowing me to be part of your life and thank you for playing a significant role in mine. We were able to fill the empty gaps in each other’s lives and I am better because of the relationship we have. The confidence and support I’ve found within our relationship has brought my passions to life. Thank you for being you.

Sincerely, Hannah Paul

by Ms. Alicia Childers ’01

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Books

by Trevor Simboli ’21

Around stars in a rocket ship, The weightlessness of space Exploring depths of time, leaving my problems behind.

Gallivanting through kingdoms and castles all the while leaving sadness locked away But when the stories come to an end, There is no way back, But through hopelessness That has been left behind.

Reality comes crashing down.

The only friends to find, Are the ones in books, the ones who would be glad to see you If they were real They say high school is different, at least that’s what I hear, and so far it is, I just hope it stays that way.

by Emily Adelson ’19

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My Excessive Loquaciousness

by Paul Richie ’18

When I was six, I decided that lemonade stands were cliché and that I might have better success selling sticks of gum. However, I quickly learned that neighborhood joggers are not in the market for Extra spearmint gum, nor do they carry cash. Since my ultimate goal was simply to alleviate boredom and engage with my neighbors, not necessarily to make a profit, I decided to test a new strategy. I dressed in my best suit and stood on the sidewalk, flashing my gap-toothed smile and offering free sticks of gum as well as dog biscuits to anyone walking by. This tactic immediately proved successful as everyone stopped to talk to me. I loved hearing people’s stories and getting to know my neighbors. As I look back now, I realize how empowering it was to connect personally to my neighbors and introduce my parents to these other families, who we have continued to remain close to even though we’ve moved out of the neighborhood.

In case you’re wondering what my parents were doing during these shenanigans, they say they had full confidence that even if I was kidnapped, my captors would promptly return me due to my excessive loquaciousness. All kidding aside, I’ve always been someone who is curious about people, enjoys interacting with them, and gains satisfaction from making them laugh. Starting in fourth grade and continuing through my freshman year, I attended weekly Saturday morning improv comedy classes at the Dallas Children’s Theater. I loved learning how to think on my feet while also engaging the audience for scene suggestions. For me, there was no better feeling than coming up with a witty line during the final show that caused the entire audience to laugh.

At Greenhill, I was selected to be a tour guide in fifth grade and I loved showing off my school and making prospective students feel comfortable.

For example, I would ask visiting students about their interests and then go the extra mile to take them to meet school faculty in those interest areas during breaks or at lunchtime. I realized that these interactions gave them an opportunity to connect with someone who shared their passions and helped give them a positive experience during their visit. Seeing those students I had toured in the halls the next year made me feel proud that I helped them find the right

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school. I’ve continued to be a tour guide throughout high school and this year I will be one of the head tour guides at Brewster. Not only is it rewarding to help students find the best academic fit for them, but I’ve also made a lot of friends in the process. In fact, my roommate my junior year was one of the students I had previously toured. Receiving thank you notes from prospective families telling me how much they appreciated me giving them a full and honest perspective of the school is something I look forward to every year.

My impromptu sidewalk chats, improv comedy classes, and my tour guide experience have all inspired me to take on a career in marketing. I have always been interested in communication and how words and images can motivate people to take action. Last fall, I created a marketing internship in Brewster’s admissions office where I shadowed the director of marketing and helped manage the process of sending out promotional materials to prospective families. I also posted fun, informative pictures with creative and relatable captions on Brewster’s social media pages. Additionally, I manage Brewster’s boys varsity lacrosse Twitter and Instagram accounts, posting good news about our alumni and current students.

While I’m not sure where my interest in marketing and communications may take me, I could see myself in a consumer products organization, such as at the Wrigley Company, marketing Extra gum, which is still my go-to brand.

Trance by Robbie Enos ’18

(clockwise from upper left) photos by Dr. Marisela Funes, Ms. Barb Thomas, Ms. Barb Thomas, Mr. Zack Apgar

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Slavery in 3-D

by Salim Fabio ’18

It’s November of the year 2013 and it’s my friend Leo’s 14th birthday celebration. Our squad of six boys decided to go see a movie on the weekend of his birthday. Before I even showed up to the birthday function at the movie theater, I Googled what was playing. There were only two movies that caught my interest. One of the movies was obviously not for children and the other was more our speed, PG-13.

The movie intended for adults was a sub-par, not the best picture of the year movie called 12 Years a Slave.

The other movie was an instant classic and world phenomena called Ender’s Game.

Approaching the movie theater, I noticed my squad of five pre-pubescent white guys and somebody’s mom on the line ready to order tickets. The mom was Leo’s tea-drinking British mom named something British-y like Lucy. Lucy offered to buy us the tickets and snacks. Lucy was the real MVP for that. On the ticket line, we talked about two movies only, Ender’s Game and 12 Years a Slave. I really wanted to see Ender’s Game because even though it may not have gotten the best reviews, it’s a better movie to watch with “the boys” then 12 Years a Slave.

Also, I just thought it would be weird and uncomfortable if a group of five white dudes and one black dude, being me, go see a movie displaying a re-enactment of one of the biggest crimes against humanity in history. Unfortunately, some of the boys in the

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group had already seen Ender’s Game and the next thing I hear is Lucy’s British voice saying, “Hello, can I please get six tickets to see 12 Years a Slave?”

“3D or regular ma’am?” the ticket handler said.

The boys pressured poor Lucy to get the tickets for slavery in 3D. Now we’re going to watch one of the most sensitive topics, to me, on the big screen, and it will be like the whip is being pointed at you.

I swallowed my pride and tried to have a good time at the movies with my friends. As I sat in this movie theater in New York City, I looked around me.

I noticed that I’m surrounded by a sea of white faces.

I felt like a lone chocolate sprinkle that magically appeared on some vanilla ice cream.

So the movie started and we all watch two and a half hours of cotton picking in 3D. In the very last minute of the movie, there was a screen that showed true facts about the story and pictures of actual letters that the main character sent. During this time I turned to my friends and said, “I still really think we should have seen Ender’s Game.” Next thing I knew, this guy in front of me gives me a “SHHH”. I almost knocked the 3D glasses off his face.

After the theater, we got a bite to eat, and went back to Leo’s house for a sleepover. The night was still young, and we decided to watch another movie.

One of the boys said, “What you guys feeling?” I responded, “Schindler’s List”.

Wanderlust

by Ella Quinlan ’20

I ache to touch the belly of the beast.

To hear the wind whisper the names of those lost In the mouths of the hazy horizons, Swallowed by the beauty of the yellow hues, Never to be seen again.

I wish to tame the twisted paths.

So I can see the wildflowers waltz a perfect two step On the dance floor of the wild green, With the soft touch of the golden rays, Conducting every step.

I loathe the freedom of the ferns.

That bask blissfully in the soft summer light Supported by the waves of wet rains, So they can continue to wave with the winds, Greeting all newcomers with ease.

I wish to hold the power of the sun, And see the peaks of the never ending horizons So I can dance within the clouds And dream of the adventures to come.

by Saige Buffington ’18

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Letter to Santa

by Annee Alperin ’18

Dear Santa, I believe that I should win “Father of the Year”. I have done everything a Dad could possibly do all year long. I have fed, cleaned and drove around my children everywhere they wanted, and there’s nothing I like more than a nice, long trip to places that are irrelevant to me. I have learned how to search the grocery store for snacks that are suitable for every kindergartener in my children’s classroom, and how remain positive while coaching their sporting events when in reality I want to yell at them. I don’t want a lot for Christmas this year, just a couple things that I believe are rightfully deserved seeing that I am writing this with a partially dried out marker, that I stepped on, on the way to write this letter, on the back of my child’s flash cards.

For my first gift, I would like some credit. See, Santa, Dads work their butt off every holiday in order to make it perfect for their children. Black Friday is a Dad’s favorite day and worst nightmare all at the same time. Crazy parents stampede through the mall on a mission, and I am right there with them. In other words, December feels like a race that I just can’t possibly win, but I sure as hell do a good job at it. It would be nice at the end of the day if I could receive the credit for all I have done for them, but no, all the thank yous go straight to Santa.

Dads do an awful lot of work for Christmas too.

In order to get through long days, a little bit of extra energy would be a great gift. You would think by the way I do everything with a fake smile on my face a mile wide that I would be full of energy, but in reality I am drained. A body that doesn’t ache after running after my children on the playground, or holding them back from opening the action figure boxes at Toys R Us, would be very useful since I do this on a daily basis. To go to bed without my legs feeling like Jell-O would be a gift on its own. Flying around the world for one long night must take a toll on your body at the age you’re at, so I know you can sympathise for my pain.

While you’re at it, privacy would be enjoyable at a time like this. I envy people who can say they get time to themselves because this is a rare sight in my household. At this point I would be okay with just enough time to take a peaceful shower or even run a brush through my hair without hearing footsteps coming from down the hallway. Even the luxury of watching ESPN at night without having to turn it up to the maximum volume would brighten my holiday spirit.

Lastly, a true Christmas miracle would be to get a little extra help around the house. I know this is my “job,” but every once in a while it’s nice to not have to do every chore around here. Therefore, it would be nice if you could convince my children to do some work here and there so I don’t have to command them around like a drill sergeant or bribe them with money.

I know I have procrastinated this letter to the last minute, so if this arrives too late, then I can deal with just some home cooked meals, so I don’t have to keep eating leftovers, or even a television that doesn’t play singing cartoons on repeat.

Best wishes, A Dad in Need

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by Asal Al Mohamed ’19

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In Common with a Leaf

by Rose Gutman ’21

In common with a leaf; An autumn leaf, something considered by many as beautiful.

Close your eyes and imagine; an autumn leaf drifting to the ground with the sun shining through it the thin membrane that once gave it life seems to be of glass and you wonder at its complex nature. as the tiny masterpiece is about to touch the sand-ridden ground, a thin breeze causes it to jump and spin, It seems to be bragging, Nature is like that, a playful and boastful child.

All it wants is to be loved. the leaf floats into your open palm and you admire the network if veins beneath the surface It is truly beautiful.

Then nature decides it wants it playmate back, as the wind gently guides the leaf back into the air.

We have much in common, that leaf and us humans.

Our skin is thin, and veins beautiful We boast and play, We want to be loved We have ups and downs, as if riding the wind And most of all, we are beautiful.

by Ms. Alicia Childers ’01

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Hello

by Hailey Buffington ’18

“Hello” is the only word said Besides “Goodbye” In an everyday conversation Between strangers, And best friends.

But the only words That mean something, That every person Wants to hear, Are the words…

“I love you.”

by Joseph Rotondi ’18

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by Emily Adelson ’19

Skating

by Gus Schoenbucher ’21

Skating in the frigid rink we all play in perfect sync.

Persevering through the pain blocking shots in shooting lanes.

Blood rushing through my toes I might make it to the show

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Hands

by Tigist Murch ’21

Hands. to take care of me for the

rest.

of.

my.

Life.

They don’t look like mine. holding my hands, as I go on the plane Guiding me through life.

A spotted cat and a blanket.

Those hands gave Me. Life. Those hands gave me.

Every step I took, with those hands, I became closer and closer to the person attached to them.

Guiding me this way

and that way, They don’t look like mine..

Are white, mine aren’t.

Are big, mine aren’t.

They keep me from wandering about, keeping me close, welcoming me into their family.

Holding it close to me as if,

I.

will.

never.

let.

them

go.

by Abbie DiVirgilio ’19

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Furby Chronicles

by Brice Scanlon ’18

Introduction With its egg shaped body, bulging eyes, and plush fur, Dave Hampton and Caleb Chung finally thought they had created the weapon they needed to subjugate America. An innocent toy loved by all, the Furby’s legacy is one filled with blood and deceit.

Christmas Morning 12/25/12 The ornaments on the pine tree rustled as a small gust of wind blew into her father’s office, toppling 11-year-old Sasha’s final Christmas toy. Wrapped in crimson paper, she eagerly tore into it, until she saw the face of her brand new Furby, 2012’s most coveted Christmas toy. .Sasha shrieked with excitement, exclaiming, “I can’t believe it! I have a Furby. Santa got me a Furby!”

Her father’s hand touched her shoulder.

“Well what are you waiting for sweetheart? Finish unwrapping it.”

As Sasha’s hands cascaded down the box, tearing the paper, she could feel her heart rate elevate with every rip and scream of the wrapping paper. Before she even realized, there it was, a purple Furby cradled in her arms. Sasha then began to shake the Furby realizing the lack of batteries inside of it. Her mother Michelle quickly interjected, “Don’t you worry. I’ll tell one of the housekeepers to get us some batteries.”

As Michelle left the oval shaped room, Sasha’s sister Malia followed in tow.

Sasha sat there until her father broke the silence.

Sitting on top of his desk in the center of the room, he said, “You know I think I might have some batteries in here.”

He ruffled through the cedar draws of his desk until he had found them. A full package of Double A’s. As her father placed to batteries in her hand, her fingers moved quickly, opening up the hatch on the base of the Furby, and stuffing the batteries inside.

The Furby sprung to life, its eyes glowing an ice white. Sasha stared inquisitively at the Furby until the unthinkable happened. The Furby leaped from Sasha’s hands to the crown of her head. Blood was gushing down her face. The Furby then erupted in

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song, singing the same phrase over and over again, in a sing-song fashion, “Sic Semper tu Tyrannous Sic Semper tu Tyrannous SIC SEMPER!” The Furby’s eyes ignited blood red.

Recognizing the danger Sasha’s father quickly intervened, snatching the Furby, and placing it in his desk drawer. He looked at his daughter in terror and muttered quietly to himself, “What hath god wrought?”

You Know What I Love About Furbies?

1/3/13 “You know what, Hampton, I think this little scheme of ours is working,” said Chung with a wide grin on his face.

“Wait a minute you think the President of the United States bought a Furby?” responded Hampton.

“That’s exactly what I think. I mean honestly at this point who cares what he wants it for? All I care about is the audio signal coming from the White House. I mean think of all the leverage we will have on all of those guys. I swear to God if we play our cards right we will either be running this country or be billionaires!”

Conclusion The year is 2014... just two years following the release of the Furby. The Earth’s population has been decimated by a nuclear holocaust. How could such an atrocity be committed? Well it’s quite simple: it was those Goddamn Furbies. They f***ing blew us up.

You see, Hampton and Chung, they had it all.

They knew just about everything that was going on in Washington, but what they didn’t realize was that the Furbies had played them like a fiddle. You see... It wasn’t enough for the Furbies to be loved and played with by children. They felt like they were destined for a much higher calling. To be masters of this Earth.

And so the Furbies waited and plotted until the time was right, stealing nuclear launch codes and wiping man off the map. Those humans who did survive were forced to serve in the Furbies’ New World Order. But as slaves.

Laughter

by Madigan Mansour ’21

no laugh is the same as any other. people say laughter is contagious but no one ever mentions how laughter reflects who you are another with a subdued chuckle the kid with a loud cackle and one more who’s laugh is loud, but dies down to a soft giggle that was me.

I am loud at time quiet at others obnoxious a lot but toned down and sweet the few times I’m not I’m sassy and fierce while staying classy and respectable so the next time you see me laugh, pay attention you might be able to see the person I really am.

by Monica Zhang ’19

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Lucas Todd Wheeler, forever

by Paxton Travis ’18

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