/BREE-oh/, noun
Vivacity,spirit,anindividualenergy.
ThedisciplineofComparativeLiteratureisbasedonthe assumptionthatthestudyofsingletextsandculturesisenriched byaknowledgeofthetextsandculturessurroundingthem.It viewsliteraturefromabroadandinclusiveperspectiveinwhich philosophy,anthropology,history,language,andliterarytheory cometogether,andwherethevisualarts,theatre,andmodern mediasuggestcrucialcomparisons.Thisjournalaspiresto embodythoseideas.
Brioisastudent-foundedpublicationthatcombinesliterary criticismwithfictiveworksandvisualart.Inaneffortto representthewidespectrumofdiscoursesthatserveasthe foundationofcomparativestudy,thejournalaccepts submissionsfromanysourceandinanylanguage.
/BREE-oh/,noun Vivacity,spirit,anindividualenergy.
ThedisciplineofComparativeLiteratureisbasedonthe assumptionthatthestudyofsingletextsandculturesisenriched byaknowledgeofthetextsandculturessurroundingthem.It viewsliteraturefromabroadandinclusiveperspectiveinwhich philosophy,anthropology,history,language,andliterarytheory cometogether,andwherethevisualarts,theatre,andmodern mediasuggestcrucialcomparisons.Thisjournalaspiresto embodythoseideas.
Brioisastudent-foundedpublicationthatcombinesliterary criticismwithfictiveworksandvisualart.Inaneffortto representthewidespectrumofdiscoursesthatserveasthe foundationofcomparativestudy,thejournalaccepts submissionsfromanysourceandinanylanguage.
Dear Brio. Readers, flâ·ne·rie
/ˌflän(ə)ˈrē/ noun,
seeverb[flâneur]
1.:towanderwithnopurpose
2.:strolling,idling,orwastingtime
IncreatingthefinaldraftofthisSpring2020journal,itseemed almostimpossibletodosowithouthavingthebleaknessofthesepast monthsinfluence,surround,andliveinthesepagesaswell.Goingthrough themotionsofanewversionofdailylifeinthisuniquetimeof uncertainty,fear,andoverallboredom,itofcourseseemedimportantto maintainourcourseandpublishthisjournalasisdoneeverysemester. Andso,aswasexcellentlyimaginedbyoneofoureditors,Trisha,wechose thetitle:Flânerie.Forhoweverourreadersinterpretthemeaningofthe word,andforthosevaryingassociations,itseemedthemostsymbolicof ourcurrentsituation.
Ratherthanusingthiswordwithitscommonconnotationfor feelingsofidlenessoralackingofpurpose,Ithinkitmostfittouseitasin theinterpretationsofafew19th-centurywriters.Sainte-Beuvewrotethat itwasthe“veryoppositeofdoingnothing”.Alongwithwriterssuchas HonoredeBalzac,MarcelProust,WalterBenjamin,andmore,weagreed thatthisinterpretationoftheinspirationthatcomesfromspectatorship encapsulatesthisissueofBrio.aswellasthepausedandmorphedversion oftheworldwearelivinginrightnow.
Throughthepoems,languages,songs,stories,andeverything includedinthisjournal,wecanseethattheworldoftheartistandthe observeraretopersevereregardlessofsurroundingidleness,collective boredom,andeventheunproductivitythatlivesinmoments.Wehope thatourreadersmayenjoythisissueandexploretheartofflânerie, whateverthatmaymeantoyou.
HappyReading, AvaMcLaughlin Editor-in-Chief
by Ava Lulu Costanzo
“Maybethetrainshavetorunabitworsetilltheycan runbetter.”
TheMTA’sinefficiencywasconsideredsmalltalkfor thetime.Peoplebonded,madefriends,afewbabieswere haphazardlycreatedoutoftheseconversations.Therehadbeen nothoughttosidewiththoseinorangevests.Bythenitwas toolateforthebabies,theconversations,friendships,theyall wouldn’tlast,theycouldn't.Somefoundthatotherswerethe causeoftrackfires,throwingtheirtrashontothethirdrail. Someofthebabiesmadeit,othersweresuctionedoutwitha high-speedvacuumorcaughtinplasticbagssimilartotheones thatwerebeingusedonthetracks.Anefforttocleanthe debris.TheconversationswerealteredinmemorieswithSean’s statement:“Maybethetrainshavetorunabitworsetillthey canrunbetter.”
“Youknowtheyhavetotakethetimetogetthemselves together.No,yeahit’sshittyrightnow,but,like,Idon’tknow, maybeit’llgetbetter?Idon’tknow.It’snotlikewe’regoingto stopusingthesubway,right?”Thebowofhistopleftliplifted torevealacarnivoroustooth.Asmileofsorts.
Itwasthesilencethatmadehimdoubthimself,butthe silencewasthought;atraitSeanoftenforgotwaspartof comprehension.Hefoundhimselfsayingwhathefeltmore thanmakingsurehewouldfeelthatwayafewhourslater.This washowhislastrelationshipcametoanend.Hehadfeltthere wassomethingoffandafteraweekoffeelingthisway,while shewasbrushingherteeth,hetoldheritwasn'tgoingtowork. Hedidn'texpectthatevenwithnopreconceivedthoughtshe wouldfeelregret.Ithadn'tfeltright,aweekshouldbelong enoughtotell.By27,heshouldbeabletotellinaweek'stime.
Hemadetheroundsvisitingfriends,lookingfor sympathyforhisloss.Instead,hewasmetwithconfusion, “But,youguysseemedfine?”“Ifyou’rehappywithyourchoice… ”Thiswasthefirstpartyintenmonthshehadattended withoutMiranda.Hisfriendshadlikedher.Theabsenceofher contributiontoconversationandtothegeneralatmosphere wasfelt.Somefriendswouldwonderifthatwaswhyhewasso quietthatevening,butthetruthwasSeanwasneverreally outspoken.Hewascomfortableinsharinghisopinions,but moresowiththosewhowerecloseinproximityandsmallin number.Hisfriendsquicklyforgothowbefore,withMiranda, hiscontributionwouldoftencomeoutbywayofherloud responses.Alaughthatmadeeveryonewanttoknowwhatwas funny.Astrongoppositionthatwouldhaveothers intrinsicallypickaside.
Onhisseventhbirthdayfeelinghisdoglickhisfacefor thefirsttimeSeanwantedtoscreamfromjoy,buthehelditin fortheprotectionofthesmallbonesoftheanimal.Later,with theeuphoriaofcake,therewasareleaseasheshriekedtothe plastic-coveredtablewiththeotherchildren.Thiswaskindof likehowSeanlovedMiranda.Pettingherforearmwhilesitting acrossfromheroutatdinner,ortightlittlepulses,likea heartbeat,whiletheirfingerswereintertwined.Thesewerethe typeofthingsthatSeanconsideredacceptableformsof endearment,abletobeseenbytherestoftheworld.Outings weresprinkledwithquickkisses.Miranda,likethewomen beforeher,acceptedthesesignsofaffection,notaskingfor more,butawarethattherecould.
Butwhenhewasdrunktheselightpettingsturned heavy.Itwasn’tthathelackedpassion,butunlikehis emotions,physicalreleasewassomethingthatgottangledupin thought.Whenthatsamedogdiedhedidnotcry.Instead,he
simplysaid,“Iwishitdidn’thavetobelikethis.”Hefeltvery proudofhimself,sixteenatthetime,forcomingupwithsuch aneloquentsentencetoexpresshishurt.Latertherewasguilt asifindoggyheavenhisdogknewthatnotearshadbeenshed overhisdeath.Wherevershewas,SeanwonderedifMiranda knewthatnotearshadbeenshedforhereither.Hehopedthat shehadn’t,itwouldgiveoffthewrongimpressionbecause frankly,hemissedbothherandthatdog.
“Youheadingout?” Itwasgoingoneleven.Seanwasattemptingtomakean Irishexitfromtheparty.Hehadlefthiscoatandbaginthe kitchenforthisveryreason.Plannedtorinseouthisbeer bottles,recycleitlikethegoodsamaritanhesawhimselfas, taketheleftoversfromhissix-packhomeandbeonhisway. But,whenheopenedthefridgetherewasnomorebeer.Sam walkedinandsawacoatedSeanpeeringintothefridge.They usedtodate.Short-lived.Nolingeringfeelings.Itwasonlya coupleofdates.Thoughtherealwayswasasentimentofdeep caringthatlingeredbetweenthem.ItendedwithSamsaying“I don’tthinkthiswillmakeushappy,doyou?”Seanwasrelieved thatshewasbetteratverbalizingthisconcern.
“Yeah,Iwasgonnagetgoing.”Seanpushedhistoplip downintohisbottom,makingthefaceofabulldog.“Youhad oneofmybeers,right?”
“Yeah,Ihadone.Yousaiditwasfine.Youdoingokay?”
“No,yeah,it’sfine.I'mgoingtogetgoing.”
Theysaidgoodbye.Whichwascaughtbysomeone walkingbyandthusbeganachainofgoodbyes.Bythetime Seanleftitwastwentypasteleven,anotherbeerhadbeen drunkintheprocess.
Herwholebodyleanedtowardsthesubwaypole.Her handsgrippingittightly.Speakinginawhispersothatittook Seanafewstopstodecodethetrajectoryofthecouple’s conversation.Hefiguredittobenothinglessthanerotic,but couldn’tgraspthedetails.Seanhadfirstnoticedthesnacks.A bagofbugles,popcorn,andaredGatorade,visibleonlywhere theitemspressedagainstthetranslucentTHANKYOU THANKYOUTHANKYOUplasticheldbythemanwho woresalmon-coloredshorts.Thewomanworeajeweltone headscarf,wrappedtightandknottedatthecenterlineabove herbrow.Asshespokesheswayedandbobbedherheadlikea docilecatandaftereverylongstrandofwordsunheardtoSean sheletherfacelingernexttotheman's,hermouthagape.At timeshewouldfillthatvoid.Hislips,whichsmiledslightlyas helistened,wouldentwinewithher’s.Whentheirlipspulled apart,theman’sgrinreturnedperkinguphisleftcheekmore thantheright,lopsidedhappiness.Thewomanwouldstagger asthoughshehadforgottenshewasinamovingtraincar.Her breathpuffinghercheekssothatyoucouldseetheweightof herbreathasifthewholethinghadwindedher.Thoughquiet neitherdidmuchtoconcealtheirintoxication.Theman’s weightrestedgreatlyinhishead,whichleanedagainstthepole. Hewasnotasanimatedasthewoman.Hisexcitementshowed throughafirmpulsinggraspofthewoman’srightforearm, whichSeanwasabletoseethroughthereflectionofthe subwaycarwindowastheyrushedthroughthedarktunnels. WhentheyexitedthetrainSeanhadtheurgetoleave withthem.Wantingtokeephisgazeandmindfulloftheir unbashfulwantforeachother.Buthestayed.Andthenthe trainstalled.Theconductorsaiditwasbeingheldmomentarily byatraindispatcherwhichlaterturnedintoasingle malfunction.ImagesofthecoupleentertainedSeanashesat andwaited,buthisimagination,hazywithdrink,quickly
becameboredwiththeunreal.Nootherpersononthetrain toldagoodstory.Justscreensandcasualconversations.Some attractivewomen.
“We’regoingtoneedeveryonetoproceedtothebackof thetrainandexitfromthereardoors.”Therewasacollective groan,buteveryonecomplied.Whatelseweretheygoingtodo stuckin-betweenstationslikethat?
“Sean!”Samwastiltingherheadoutofalargemuddy champagneminivanfromacrossthestreet.“Ohgood,itisyou! Wantaride?”
SamandSeanlivedafewblocksawayfromoneanother. “Ithoughtyou’dbehomebynow.”
“Majortraindelay.”
“Ugh!Theworst!”Samwasdrunk.
“You’renotgoingtothatguy’splace?”
“Iwasgonna,butthenhesaidhisgirlfriendwasgonna bethere,so.”
“Hehasagirlfriend?”
“Yeah,butlike,sheseemscrazyandit’snotlikeI’m tryingtobeinarelationshipwithhim.He’sjustlikereally hot.”SamshowedSeanthisguy’sInstagram.Seanrubbedhis jawinresponsetothesharpcutoftheman’sbonestructure. “It’sjustlikeweirdfuckingintheirbed.”
“Wait,theylivetogether?”
“Oh,yeah.Like,thisiswhyshe’scrazy.Sheprettymuch invitedherselftolivewithhim.Andhedoesn'tevenwanttobe inarelationshipwithher,”
“Clearly.”
“Likehewasgonnabreakupwithher,butnowshe’s livingwithhim.Isn'tthatwild!”
SometimesSeanwonderedhowhisfriendswerehis friends.Sometimeshewonderedwhatwouldhappenif
somethingactuallyawfuleverhappenedintheirlives,would theyreactthesamewaytheydotothepettydramathat hoveredabovethem?
Samleanedin,herphonelightingupthebackseat, “Haveyouseenthosevideosofseaurchinsthatlooklike vaginas?”
IttookSamtwiceaslongasSeantogetoutofthecar. Checkingtomakesureeverythingsheenteredinwithwasin itsplace,nothingleftbehind.SaminvitedSeanuptoher’s,but hepassedknowingitwouldbemorealcoholandweird internetvideos.
InJuly,whenthestreetswerecrowdedandthenights werewarm,whenthesubwaysfirstbegantoactup,Miranda andSeanliedundertheafternoonsunintheparkbythe Hudson.Theyhadfoundaspotunderastubbytreethatif theyweretostandtheirheadswouldbeinthefoliage.They hadbothbroughtatopsheet.Onewaslaiddowntostopthe grassfromleavingimprintsonthighswhichwouldlateritch. TheotherwasbuncheduparoundMiranda’sfeet,whicheven intheJulyheatwerecold.Menialconversationsfilledthetime. Howitfelttohavegrowthspurtsaschildren.Movietaglines. Whendidmoviesstarttousethem?Howbitingtheinsideof yourcheekwastheworst.Thetonguehealedquickly,butthe wetinnerfleshofthecheektooktime.
ThesunsoftenedtowardsJersey,beatingdownonthe coupleifitweren'tforthetree.SeanandMiranda’sbodies decomposedtowardstheground.First,theirspineshurtfrom sittingupright,legsfellasleep,armsachedfromkeepingthe torsolifteduntiltheydippedwiththesmallrollsofthe ground.ThesheetthatwaswrappedaroundMiranda’sfeet incheditswayupandsplayedoverthecouple.Miranda'sarm
suspendedupwardstotentthesheetovertheirheads.Itwas betweenthesetwosheetsthatSean’sfingerstracedthebodice ofMiranda.Salivatransferredbetweentheirmouths,backand forthtilltherewasabreak,abreath,andthisconcoctionwas ingested.
Therewasnothoughttothefactthattheywereoutside. Whatsurroundedthemwerewhiteandgreystripesaboveand ababybluebelow.Seancouldhearthebikeszippingby,but eventheinnocenceofchildrenwalkingalongwiththeir guardianfeltshieldedbythesheets.Itwasn'ttillasparrow ransackedapaperbagwithhalfasandwichinitbytheirheads, hearingthesoundofitslittlebeakrippingapartthepaper, throwingthedebristotheside,thatSeanrememberedwhere hewas.Thosechildren,thosecyclistswereallnearbyevenif Miranda’seyesweresoftwiththewords“it’salright.”Sean couldnottellifthisunspokenstatementwasinreferenceto othersbeingaroundorifshewerespeakingtosomethingmore innateinhim.Allatoncethesheetabovethembecame constrictingtoSean.Smalldropletsofsweathadformedonthe backofhisneckandhesaid“it’sgettingstuffy,yeah?”ashe pushedhiswayoutofthetopsheet.LeftMirandablanketedas hestooduptoletthegrasspeekthroughhistoesandcoolhim. Whenhelookeddownathershehadthesheetpulleddownto hermid-chest,awirysmilepushingthroughtightlips.He thoughtshewasgoingtobeupset,thoughthesawherchest surgewithasigh,butallshesaidwas,“Well,whatdoyouwant todotonight?”herheadrestinginherhand.
“Ahhhh,Iguessseewhateveryone’supto.”
ThemonthsfollowingthisdaywerefilledwithSean scrutinizingthethingsthatMirandadid.Hewasunawareof hisjudgment.Tohim,theywerethingshehadnevernoticed, littlebitsmadevisiblethroughtime.Howsheyawnedlikea lion,nottryingtohidetheshinypinkofhertonsils.Thesmell
ofnailpolish,whichseemedtobeoutallofthetime.Thator thepurpleliquidthatremovedit.Orhowshewouldcrunch hertoesrightbeforepaintingthem.Howshereveledinthe crackingofherjoints.Bythetimetheweathercooleddown thesetraitsaccumulatedintoafigurethatfoggedtheperson SeanhadfirstknowntobeMiranda.Thenheleftthis Miranda,thisfoggyform,todissipatewiththesteamofthe shower.Thesmearsahandleftremovingthecondensation fromthebathroommirrorwastheonlywaySeansawthepink toothbrush,whitefoamingmouth,hurteyesofMiranda,but eventhatwasnottakeninforlong.Hedidnotlookatheras sheleft.Shewasjustgone.Seandidnotre-enterthebathroom untilallthesteamhadevaporated.Itwasaseasyashehopedit wouldbe.
Ifitweren’tfortheneonorangeform-fittingdress splayedagainsttheblackleather,blackinterior,blacksteelof thecar,Seanwouldnothavenoticedher.Wouldhavenot sloweddownashewalkedtohisbuilding’sfrontdoor.Would nothaveseenwhereherarmsstretchedouttowards.Howher eyesremainedclosedwhileshespokeandlistenedtotheman whosehandswayedovertheoutlineoftheorange-cladwoman. Theman,likethecar,wascamouflaged;blackslacks,black poloshirt,thetextureofhisdarkhairmatchedthefuzzy carpetinginthecar,likewoolenastroturf.Hisarmscreateda stripeofblackagainstherorangesilhouette.Theseatsleaned back,anglingtheirbodiessothattheirheadswereweighed downbygravitysothatwordsseemedtospilloutmakingeven aknownfactlooklikeasecret.Seandidn’tneedtoknowtheir secrets,theywouldn'thavebeenofinteresttohim.Hedidn’t evenconsiderwhatitwouldbeliketohaveacarlikethat,more expensivethananythingheeverowned.Itwasn’tevenan attractiontothewoman,butashewalkedbyhewishedhewas
inthatcrampeddarkcarwiththem,inthebackseatbreathing intheintimacyofitall.
Seankepthiscoatonwhenenteringhisapartment. Therewasnoonetheretoaskifhewascomfortableandthus makehimuncomfortablewiththefactthathiscoatwasstill on.Heusedtherestroominit.Slumpedintohiscouchinit. Allthetimegrowingwarmer.Oncehenoticedtheperspiration seepingthroughhisshirthefounditwastimetoremoveit.He leftasmallexplosionofhisclothingrestingontheleftarmof thecouch.
Heshouldhavestayedlongerattheparty.Ittookhim longenoughtogethome,heshouldhavejuststayed.Hehadn’t reallyspokentopeople.Hehadwantedto.Orhehadwanted tobeforehegotthere.Maybeheshouldn’thavegoneatall. Whydideveryonebringwine?Arepeoplenotdrinkingbeer noworsomething?Ohshit!ItwasChristine’sbirthdayparty. DidIwishherahappybirthdayonherbirthday?Sean searchedthroughhisphone.No,hehadnot.Hesawthathe hadalsonotrespondedtoherlasttextfromamonthprior. Seanwonderedhowhisfriendswerehisfriends.Hewondered whatwouldhappenifsomethingactuallyawfuleverhappened inhislife,wouldhereactthesamewayhedoestothepetty dramathathoveredabovehim?Thenunderneaththepast conversationswithChristinewasMiranda.StillMirandain Sean’sphone.Heneverdeletedanex’snumber.Hecouldnever withouttheirknowingsinglethemoutlikethat.Hescrolledto thebeginningandreadthroughalltheirconversationsuntil theend.“Well,thenwhenwon’tyoubehomesoIcangetmy things?I’llslipthekeyunderthedooronceI’mdone.”
HehadsatinSam’sapartmentknowingafewblocks awayMirandawasinhis.
“Wellifit’sbotheringyousomuchwhydon'tyougo overandtalktoher?”
“WhatwouldIsay?”
“‘Hey,Ifuckedup.’”
“ButIdon'tknowifIdid.Wouldwehaveworkedout intheend?”
“Doesthatmatter?Imean,yeah,youprobably wouldn'thavemarriedher,butthat'snotthepoint.”
“Well,whatisthepointthen?CauseIthoughtwewere doingallthissowecouldfindsomeonetodieoldwith.”
“YouknowRasha?Well,shehasafriend,I’venevermet him,butRashatoldmeheusedtodatewiththeideathatifthe personwasn'this“person,”hiswife,thenhewouldendthings. Butherealizedhewasdoinghimselfabigdisservice,actually, Rashasaidhesaidhewasdoinghimselfandhisfuturewifea bigdisservicebynotdatingthesewomen.”
“Okay.”
“Becausehewasn'ttakingthetimetolearnaboutwho hewaswhenhewasinarelationship.Sobythetimehewould meethisfuturewifemaybehe'dbeashittyboyfriendwho couldn’tkeepher,letalonemarryher.”
“Youdon'tseparateyourlaundry?”
“No,thatwouldtakeforever.”
“Well,thenhowareyougoingtolearnhowtodoyour laundrywhenitcomestimetodoitproperly.”
“CauseI'mgoingtomarrysomeonerichsoIwon'thave todoit.Ortheycandoit.OrI’llberich.I'llprobablyjustkeep usingthesheetthatmakesitsothecoloredclothesdon't bleed.”
Samhadtheluxuryofawasheranddryerinher apartment.ItwasinherTinderprofile.Shesaiditwasthe thingthatmostpeoplestartedconversationsabout.Shealso livedwithfourotherpeople.Thiswasnotinherprofile.Sean
wasjustgladthatthecouplewasn'thome.Hestayedtheretill everyonewasbackhome,settled,makingdinner.Itwasan unnecessarilylongamountoftimeawayfromhisapartment consideringtherewereonlyafewthingsMirandahadleftat hishome.
“She'sprobablytryingtoseeyou.”
“No.Thosewereherfavoritebooksthatshelentme.” Seanhadexpectedanastynoteorsomethingtaken. Someviolentact.Buttheonlythingsthatwereoutofplace weretheemptyspacesthathadhousedMiranda’sthings. Therewasn’tevenalingeringsenseofresentment.
Slippedbetweenthegreyandwhitestripedsheetset, Seanfeltthecomforterweighingdownonhim.Thissoon becamesecondaryandthegentleweightwasnolonger comforting,justthere.Therewasnooneelsetheretowatch theexpansionanddeflationofbreathagainsttheinsideofhis cheeks.Thesteamandknockingoftheradiatorechoedthathis whisperedsecretsfellontonooneelse’sears.Nosoftlooks tellinghimthatitwasallright.Heranhimselftiredwiththe thoughtsofwhowasn’tthere,withwhohehadbeentomake thathappen.Hismouthinterruptedhisthoughts,justforming theshapesofthewordsastheycametohimtillhisbreath caughtuptellinghimselfthat“maybeitallhastofeelabit worsetillitcanfeelbetter.”
cLaustrophobic by Cindy Qiang, 16''by20'',Oilpaintingoncanvas
I Cipressi Calvi di Clara Hillis
Siaffermacheglialberivecchidicipressocalvodiventanocavicol tempo.Questoavvienementrel’alberomuore.L’esternopuòsembrare sanoegiovane,mal’internoèeroso,deteriorato.
IgiardinidiVillaITattisonostatiaccerchiatidaqueglialberi,non dellavarietàcalva,madiquellaitaliana.Stavoinunanicchiaimmersa nelgiardino,muratadallesiepifitte.Erovenutanellavillaper un’intervistadellaFellowship,qualcosacollegatoalRinascimento, un ’opportunitàprestigiosa,altamentecompetitiva… L’intervistaèstatadimenticabile.Erocertadiesserestatadimenticabile. ErocertadinonriceverelaFellowship.Eroconvintadinonesserstata presentenellamiapropriavitadamesi.Misentivouncipressocalvo— marcia,vuota.
Ilsilenziodeigiardinimihaconsolato.Unaforzainvisibilemiaveva tiratolà,miavevafattovagareneilabirintidietrolavilla,nell’unico postoprivodelleFellowship,delleinterviste,delleaspettativedeglialtri.
Erocosìpresanellamiacoltreditediochehonotatoastentola fragranzadibruciato.Dapprima,credevodiimmaginarla.Checrudele scherzodellamente!Quantoeranospietatequesteallucinazioni romperequestoraroattimoditranquillità.Perunmomento,iltedioè tornato.Poihovistolefiammesfiorareilfogliameamenodiun centinaiodimetridame.
Ilfumovorticavasullamiafaccia,increspandolamiavista.Lecollineda ognilatodeigiardinisonorimasterigogliose,viventi.Dadovestavonel centrodellabirinto,lavillaparevaparecchioremota,quell’edificiodi uffici,conferenze,edocumenti.Possedevoun’immobilitàserena,come nonmieromaisentitadiprima.Perlaprimavoltanellamiavita,ero elettrizzata.Avreilasciatotuttoilgiardinoprenderefuoco.Nonne vedevol’ora.
Siaffermachequandouncipressocalvodivienecavo,dàl’opportunità aunaspecienuovad’alberoacresceredentrodelsuovuoto.Oppure,le creaturedeiboschivengonoafareiloronidilì,inunrifugiosolidoe piùvecchiodiquantosiimmagini.Pianpiano,ilcipressoriprenderàla suapulsazione,elapromessadivitaanimeràlacortecciadinuovo
Bald Cypresses by Clara Hillis
Theysaythatoldbaldcypresstreesgrowhollowwithtime,as thetreedies.Theoutsideappearshealthyandyoung,buttheinsideis worndownanddecayed.
ThegardensofVillaITattiweresurroundedbythosetrees, notbald,butItaliancypresses.Istoodinanalcovesetdeepinthe gardens,walled-inbyhedges.IhadcometotheVillatointerviewfora fellowship,somethingrelatedtotheRenaissance,aprestigious opportunity,highlycompetitive…
Theinterviewhadbeenforgettable.Ihadbeenforgettable.I wassureIhadn’tgottenthefellowship.IwasconvincedthatIhadn’t beenpresentinmyownlifeformonths.Iwasabaldcypress–rotten, empty.
Thesilenceofthegardensconsoledme.Aninvisibleforcehad pulledmethere,hadmademewanderthelabyrinthsbehindtheVilla, theonlyplacefreeoffellowships,ofinterviews,oftheexpectationsof others.
IwassocaughtupinmypalloftediumthatIbarelynoticed thescentofburning.Atfirst,IthoughtI’dimaginedit.Whatacruel trickofthemind!Howruthlesswerethesehallucinations,tobreakthis raretranquilmoment?Foramoment,thetediumreturned.ThenIsaw theflamesgrazingthefoliagenotahundredmetersfromme.
Thesmokeswirledinmyface,ripplingmysight.Thehillson allsidesofthegardenremainedlushandliving.FromwhereIstoodin thecenterofthelabyrinth,theVillaseemedsoremote,thatbuildingof offices,conferences,anddocuments.Ipossessedaserenestillness,one I’dneverfeltbefore.Forthefirsttimeinmylife,Iwaselectrified.I wouldletthewholegardenburn.Iwasexcitedforit.
Theysaythatwhenabaldcypressgrowshollow,itgivesanew kindoftreethechancetogrowinsideitshole.Orwoodlandcreatures canmaketheirneststhere,inasolidrefuge,oneolderthanyoucould imagine.Slowly,thecypressregainsitspulse,andthepromiseoflife animatesitsbarkoncemore.
Ant in the Shower by Karel Clark
Ifoundafriendintheantinmyshower
Ashotwater streamed down my back
AndIgazeoutsidetheglasswall
Letting my mind drift
throughmypast
Myeyecaughtits
detectingantenna, Its boldspeckofafigure
Againstthebeigeshowerwall
Its unknowndefianceofliquidgravity
Makingmerealizethetragedy
ThatIwillneverbeasunthinkablybold astheantintheshower.
Croissant and Fortune Cookies by Cindy Qiang, 16''by20'',Acrylicpaintingoncanvas
by Tim Brinkhof
“Iamlikethetruth,”hesaidtohimself,knowingtherewasnobody aroundtohear,“uglyandunwanted.”
Ashisfeetshuffledoverthecobblestones,whichwerewetand slipperyfromtherain,Arthuronceagainhadtheideaitwas throughthesekindsofmuffledconversationspeoplehadwith themselves,intheearlyhoursofthemorningandunderthe influenceofalcohol,thattheartofphilosophymusthavebeen born.
Ontheonehand,hethoughtitdifficulttobelievethatthekeyto heaven,thehumansoulandPlato’sworldofformswastobefound inatallglassofale.Ontheother,hefounditequallyhardtodeny thefactthathisphilosophicalhuncheshadgrownsignificantlysince hefirstbegandrinkingseveralyearsago.
Comingupthedecrepitstairwellofhisbuilding,healmoststepped onarat.Thescabbylittlethingwouldhavebeencaughtbeneathhis bootwereitnotalreadymissinghalfitstail.Drawnforthbysome invisibleforce,itwrungitselfthroughatinycrackintheplastered wall,anddisappearedintonothingness.
Arthurquicklyfollowedsuit.Pryingopenthedoor,themetalframe ofwhichscreechedagainstthetiledfloor,heretreatedintohis Spartanhome.Spartan,foritwassmallevenforasingleinhabitant. Arustybedframefilledupmostoftheroom,andwhatbitofspace wasleftwastakenupbyakitchensink,adesk,andmultiplepilesof books,someofwhichwerestackedallthewaytotheceiling,andin theabsenceoflightcouldeasilybemistakenforactualpeople.
Thesightofsuchaplacewouldhavemadeanyotherperson miserable,yetArthur,uponsteppingintohishumbleabode,could nothelpbutsmile.
“IwasthinkingwecouldleaveBerlinthisweekend,gouptothe mountains.Whatdoyouthink?”
“Ithinkyourbreathsmellsawful.”
“I’msorry,”hereplied.“I’vebrushedmyteethsomanytimesmy gumsarebleeding,andifIhaveanothermintImightthrowup.I don’tknowwhatelseIcando.”
“Youcouldtrykeepingyourmouthshut.”
Heclosedhismouthandshebegantokisshimonhisneck,herlips slowlytrailingupwardtoasensitivespotbehindtheear.Looking downattheirnakedbodiesonthebed,Arthurrealizedthather beautycaptivatedhimonlyhalfasmuchashisownuglinessdid;his short,pale,pudgybody,coveredinspots,pocksandmoles, awkwardlygrindedupagainsthersmooth,slickskin.
“Helen,doyoulikeme?”
Helenansweredwithherhand,whichsheshovedintohisfacein ordertopushhimoffofher.“Okay,”sheexclaimed,“that’senough foroneday,”andgotup.
Watchinghertryingtocombtheknotsoutofherhair,hecouldnot helpbutnoticehowmuchsheandhismotherwerealike.Bothwere vaintothecore,andbelongedtothatpettyyetever-growingclassof peoplewhosefutileandfrivolouspursuitofearthlybeautyblinded themtoamuchhigherone:thetruth.
Beforecompletelylosinghimselfinthought,though,hecouldjust perceiveHelencarelesslyscatteringthecontentsofherpowderbox alloverhisdesk.
“Careful!”hecried,theinstinctofself-preservationtakingholdof him,andpouncedontoherlikeapuma.
“Havesometrustinme.I’malwayscautiouswithyourstuff.”
“Thisisnotjuststuff,Helen,”hesaid,snatchinghiswritingsoffthe tableandcradlingthemasthoughtheywereanewbornbaby.
“Oh,myapologies,”shesaid,withfalsehumilityandreverence,“I meantyourgreatgifttomankind.”
Muchtoherdismayhe,busyreorganizinghispapers,didnothear theremark.“Whatareyougettingsodolledupfor?”heasked, absentmindedly,staringdownattheneatly-typedtitledecorating thetopmostpage:TheWorldasWill.
Helensmiled.“Why,foryouofcourse.”
Arthurneverlaughed;hecackled.“You’reafunnyone,aren’tyou? Butreally,whatistheoccasion?Doyouhaveaperformancetoday?”
“No,”shesaid,straighteningherselfinherseatbeforedeclaring, deftlyandladylike,“OttoUrsisgoingtopaintme.” Heraisedabushyeyebrow.
“Hepromisedlastnight.”Smiling,sheturnedtocatchthelookon hisface,but,muchtoherdispleasure,itwasstillburiedinthe papers.“Actually,”sheadded,afterapause,“hemademepromise, toldmeIhadthefeaturesofEros.Youknow,theincarnationoflove itself.Whyareyousneering?Doyounotbelieveme?”
“Oh,no,”hecackled.“Ibelieveyou,alright.”
Pouting,Helenturnedawayfromhim.“Well,Idon’tcareeither way.Youdon’tknowthefirstthingaboutlove.”
“AndOttodoesn’tknowthefirstthingaboutGreekmythology,or hewouldhaveknownthatErosisamale,”hesaid,removingafake tearwithhisfinger.“Butnowthatyousaidit,Iamstruckbythe similarities!”Hecackledon,malevolently,buthiscacklesoon recededwaybackintohisthroat;thewayshepronouncedOtto’s namedidnotsitwellwithhim.“Doyouactuallythinkheisagood painter?”heinquired,seriously.
“Don’taskme,”Helenreplied,knowinghedespisedtheman,the wayhedespisedagoodmanypeople.“AskBerlin.”
“IfIweretoaskBerlinImightgetlynched.I’maskingyou.”
“Well,”shestarted,inaverydifferent,steadytoneofvoice,“his colorpaletteismostpleasingtotheeyeandhisuseoflightand shadowarequiterevolutionary.Buttherealbeautyofhisworklies inhissimplicity.Withasinglestrokedoeswhatotherpaintersdo withahundred.Andwiththeplainestofscenes,alook,atouch,a smile,heshowsusthewholeworld,andmore.”
Takinghisjawsapart,whichhadbeenclenchedtogether throughoutthetimethatHelenspoke,hetoldher,“Inyourown words,please,ifIwantedtohearmymothertalktomeaboutart,I wouldliedownandwaitforanightmaretocomeclaimme.”
Helengroaned.“WhydoIhavetotellyouinmyownwords?I’m notawriter.Yourmothercommunicatesthefeelingsinsideofme betterthanIevercould.”Shethenaskedhim,quickly,thusleaving himnotimetorespondtoherpreviousremark,ifhecouldpassher cigarettes.
“Wherearethey?”
“Inmycoat.”
Watchinghisnakedbodyslideacrossthebed,sheadded,“Would youlikemetoputinagoodwordwithyourmother?”
“Don’tbother.”Healmostinterruptedher.“She’sdeadtome,soI mightaswellbedeadtoher,too.Ican’tfindthem.”
“Theleftpocket.Ontheinside.”
Arthurpulledoutsomething,butitwasn'tcigarettes.
“Whatisthis?”Fromthetoneofhisvoice,you’dalmostthinkhe foundaseveredhead.
“Whatiswhat?”Helenasked,rathernonchalantly.
Histremblingfingerspressedagainstthehardcoverofafancy manuscript,coatedinredlinen,adornedwithanelegantgolden imprintthatread,ALadyTravels:JourneysinEnglandand Scotland,FromtheDiariesofJohannaSchopenhauer.
“Oh,Christ.”(She’dforgottenaboutthebook).
“Wheredidyougetthis?”hedemanded,wavingitaroundlikeitwas onfire.
“Wheredoyouthink?Yourmothergaveittome.”
“Butyouhaven’treadit,haveyou?”Hepronouncedthewordread asthoughtheverbdenotedsomesacrilegiousact.
“OfcourseIhave!WhatelsewasIsupposedtodowithit?”
“Idon’tknow,”heyelled,hisbig,baldingheadgrowingredderand redderwiththesecond.“Burnit,dumpitintoacanal,feedittoa bunchofgoats anythingbutreadit!”
“Whoareyou,amemberoftheinquisition?”Helenyelledinreturn. “Idonotknowwhyyou’remakingsuchabigdealoutofthis;it’sa goodbook.It’saverygoodbook,infact.”Shefoldedherarmsto solidifyherstatementandthenengagedhiminastaringcontest.She wouldhavewon,too,wereitnotfortheunappetizingbitsoffoam
thatstarteddrippingdownthecornersofhismouth.“Okay,fine,” shesaid,unfoldingherarmsagain.“It’snotaverygoodbook…ButI won’ttellherthat.”
“Becauseyou’retryingtocurryfavorwithher,”helashedoutather.
“Becauseshe’smyfriend,”shelashedbackathim.
“BecauseyouwanthertosetyouupwithOtto.”
“Becausethat’swhatfriendsdo.”
“Oh,Helen poor,ignorant,misguidedlittleHelen youare everythingthatiswrongwiththisworld!”heflunghishandsupto theplasteredceilinginafaintsearchforGod.“Tellme,what’smore important:beingnicetosomeone,ortellingthemthetruth?”
Helenclickedhertonguethewayshealwaysdidwhenshenolonger sawanyuseindebatinghim,notbecauseshebelievedhisargument tobeinfallible,butsimplybecauseshethoughthewasbeing facetious.
OnlyafewthingsintheworldannoyedArthurasprofoundlyas thatclickofthetongue.“Answerme,Helen.”
“Ireallydon’tseethe ”
“WillyoureadwhatIwrote,too,then?”hesaid,shovingTheWorld asWillintoherfacewhichHelen,almostinstinctively,wavedit awaylikeaglassofspoiledmilk.
“Icannotbelieveyou!”
“IpromiseI’llreadit,”shesaidinahalf-bakedattempttoconsole him,“justnotnow.I IhavetogetreadyforOtto.”
“Sure,Otto…”
Everytimeasilencecametohangoverthem,itstayedaroundjusta littlelongerthantheonethatprecededit.
“WhatdidshesayafterIleft?”heaskedatlast,inadefeatedvoice.
“YoumeanlastFriday?”
“Yes.”
“Thatshewouldnotbetakingalmsfromyoulikeabeggar.”
“Ofcoursethat’swhatshesaid.Wouldyoulistentoher?The best-sellingwomen’sauthorinallofGermany theoldcroneis completelyhysterical!”
“You’renotbeingfair.”
“IonlysaidIwouldgiveherthemoneynecessaryforbasic provisions,breadandwater,butnomorethanthat.”
“Andthat’sexactlywhatshemeantwhenshesaidshewouldnot takealms.Youcannotexpectahumanbeingtoliveoffbreadand wateralone.”
“Andwhynot?Imyselfhavebeendoingitforyears,andgetalong justfine.”
“‘Fine’isn’tthewordIwoulduse,”shesaidtoherself.
“Well,it’snotmyfaultyoutwoarespoiledtothebone,”he retorted,hugginghimself.“Ishouldhaveknown.Shewouldn’t allowmethisvictoryunlessshegainedsomethingfromitherself.”
“Arthur,Idon’tunderstand,”Helensaid,leaningovertorollupher stockings.“Whatdoesyourmotherwantyourmoneyforinthefirst place?Herestateisenormous.Thefood,theamusement,it’sthe stuffofnobles.”
Arthursmiledasinistersmile.“Andwhodoyouthinkpaysforallof it?Asalon,mydear,isnothingbutaglorifiedtavern.Allpeopledo thereisdrinkandtalknonsense,andthatiswhyInormallystay awayfromthem.”
“Well,youknowwhat?”Helenexclaimedasshethrewontherestof herundergarments,mindingnottoletthemtouchherface,“Ilike them.”Thensheadded,insuchawayasthoughsimplybelievingit madeitso,“AndIlikeyourmother.AndIthinkOttohasan absolutegiftforpainting.Icouldwatchhimworkfordaysand just ”
“Oh!”heshouted,lostinhisownhead,oblivioustotheworld aroundhim,whichincludedHelen.“Theyclaimtobeenlightened Epicureans,butthey’renothingbutdegeneratehedonists!The exaggeratedhugging,theinsincerecompliments,themeaningless small-talkandrepetitivechit-chat,somuchprecioustimewasted. Andtheyhavethenervetocallithighculture!”
“Butwhydoesyourmotherneedyourmoney?”sheremindedhim.
“Right,”hesaid,returningfromtheworldwithinhismindtothe realone,andheclearedhisthroat.“Whilesalonsarecostly,they’re notverylucrative.Mymotherwantstoprovidethefinestofthe finestinordertoattractthebestofthebest.Andsoshewastesher shareofmyfather’sfortunetoplaymusicalchairswithGoetheand Schellingandwhoeverelsehappenstobeinfashion.Andnowthat hercreditorsareclosinginonher,shewantsmetobecomethelatest sponsorofherabominableescapades,andgivehermyshareofthe inheritance,whichIhavehandledrespectfullyandresponsibly,so shecancontinuetodesecratemyfather’scorpse?IfIbelievedinhell, Iwouldsendherthere.”Bytheendofit,hewasredlikealobster, bitsoffoamdrippingdownhischin.
Helenshookherhead.“Justamotherandherson,yetyouquarrel enoughforafamilyoffifteen,”sheobserved,handinghimatowel.
Arthurshookhisheadaswell,butinanoppositedirection.“More oftenthannot,it’sthesmallerfamiliesthatquarrelthemost,”he said,wipingthefoamoffhisface.“Whentwopeopleareconfined intosmallspacestogether,theyslowlygrowintoeachother’s opposites.”
ThistimeitwasHelenwholaughed,andthesound,whichwasboth rareanddeadly,madeArthurperchhisearslikealittlerabbit listeningforanapproachingfox.
“What’ssoamusing?”heasked.
“It’sjust ”Helengiggled,“Ijustrealizedhowyouandyour motherarealike.”
“You’redelusional,”hesaid,wavingherawaylikeaglassofspoiled milk(orfreshmilk,sinceheonlydrankwater).
“Shemightbewasteful,andyou’restingy.”
“I’mnotstingy,”heobjected,“Ijustconsidermanythingsinlifeto beunnecessaryluxuries.”
“Andshemightbesocial,andyou’resomewhatofahermit.”
“Soremindmehowwearelikereflectionsinamirror,wouldyou?” “Becauseyouboththinkyou’rethesmartestpeopleonthisplanet.” Havingreducedhimtosilence,Helenputontherestofherclothes quickly.
Justwhenshewasreadytoleave,ArthurheldoutTheWorldas Willoncemore.“Couldyoupleasereadsomething?Justatinybit. Anything.”
Shehesitated.“Okay.Butyoureadittome,whileIhavemy cigarette.”
Hereadtoherwhileshesmoked,andfromtheanimatedwayin whichhespoke,shegottheimpressionhehadreaditaloudto himselfmanytimesbefore:
“AsIwaswalkingdownthebeach,Icameacrossafieldcovered withskeletons,theskeletonsoflargeturtles,infact,fivefootlong andthreefootbroad.AsIobservedthem,agroupofliveturtles emergedfromthesea.Butastheycreptontothebeachtolaytheir eggs,apackofwild,starvingdogsappearedatthetopofthedunes. Theyrushedattheturtles,laythemontheirbacks,toreopentheir unarmoredbellies,andbegantodevourthemalive.Thecacophony ofcriesattractedatiger,whichbegantoattackthedogs,bitingoff theirheads.Ilookedatthiscarnage,andattheskeletons,andinmy mindIimaginedthiswholethingrepeatedthousandsandthousands oftimesover,yearinyearout,andIthoughttomyself:isitforthis thattheselittleturtlesaretobeborn?Whatoffencecouldthey possiblehavecommitted,whilestillintheirmothers’wombs,to deservethispunishment?”
BythetimehewasfinishedHelen,ashspillingonherskirt,staredat hisnakedselfinshockandawe.“Whatwasthatsupposedtobe?” sheasked.
“AnewpassageIaddedtothebook,”Arthursaid,eversolightly. “It’sananecdote,astorythattellstheidearatherthanexplainsit. Doyoulikeit?”
“No,it’sawful!”
“Why?”
“Whydoyouthink?”sheputouthercigaretteandwipeditsresidue offherlap.“Becauseit’sgrotesque!”
“Butdoyougetthepoint?”
“Whatiswrongwithyou?”
“SomeofOtto’sworkisgrotesqueaswell,yetyouadorethat!”
“Otto’sworkisdifferent.”Shemadeforthedoor,butArthurgotup toblockherway.
“Andwhywouldthatbe?”
“Becauseithasapoint!This ”shepulledthepagesoutofhis handsandwavedthemaroundinfrontofhisface “doesnot.This isjustpointlesssuffering.”
“Butthatisthepoint!”Arthurclarified,angryandhappyatthe sametime.“Thepointisthatthereisnopoint.Thepointisthatlife ispointlesssuffering!”
“Well,whatapointthatis!”Helenshouted,andthrewthepagesup intotheair.
Shrieking,Arthurlefthispostatonceandbegandancingaround theroominafranticefforttocollecthiswords.
“Youknow,”shetoldhimasthewatchedhisperformance,“if marriageisasawfulandboringasyoualwayssayitis—ifIreally havetospendhundredsandhundredsofnightsinadark,tiny bedroom thentheleastIcouldaskforisahusbandwhowrites funnyorupliftingstoriesthatmakemewanttosmile,notshoot myself!”Shethengrabbedherpurseandyankedopenthedoor.
“Andbesides,”sheadded,“yourstorydoesn’tmakeanysense.Who haseverseenatigeratthebeach?”
Withoutwaitingforananswer,sheturnedaroundandleft.
Thelastpagehadslidunderthebed.Arthur,stillfullynaked, droppeddownonhiskneesandextendedhisarm,butcouldn’t reachit.
20”by24”',InkonPaper
Puzzled Man by Cindy Qiang,
Dans les yeux de ma mère par Alexia Leclercq
Mamèrem'amurmuré«eresungirasol»
Monpèrevoyaitquej'étaisjaune
Ilattendaitquemespétalesfleurissent
Maisilaétéaveugléparlesrayonsdusoleil
Incapabledevoiràtraversl'illusion
Monpèren’ajamaisvumeslarmespendantlanuit
J'avaisdesfeuillesfanéesetdestigesmeurtries
J'étaisincapabledegrandir
J'avaissuivimesenvies
Etilsm'onttraînédanslaterre
Girasolesciegos
Girasolesmuertos
J'aipasséunmilliond'années
Àlarecherched'autrestournesols
Ilsmurmuraient«jet'aime»
Etjepourraismeperdredansleurspétales
J'aipasséunmilliond'années
Creuserdanslaterreencolère
Enviedeluitrouver
Luiilnesefaneraitpasàmavue
J'aipasséunmilliond'annéesàmedemanderpourquoi
Matouchedoucemeurtrileurscœursfragiles
Etjelesaitransforméenplantescarnivores
Quimemords
J'aipasséunmilliond'années
Àlarecherche
Sansréaliser
Quemoncoeurétaitpleindesemillasdegirasoles
In My Mother’s Eyes by Alexia Leclercq
Mymotherwhispered“you’reasunflower”
MyfatheronlysawthatIwasyellow
Hewaitedformypetalstoflourish
Butwasblindedbythesunlight
Unabletoseethroughtheillusion
Fatherneversawmytearsatnight
Myleaveswiltedandstembruised
Unabletogrow
Ihadfollowedmyurges
Andtheyluredmeintothedirt
Blindsunflowers
Deadsunflowers
I'vespentamillionyears
Searching
Thesunflowerswouldwhisper“Iloveyou” Iwouldlosemyselfwithintheirpetals
I'vespentamillionyears
Digging
Throughtheangrydirt
Wantingtofindhim
Hewouldnotwiltuponmysight
I'vespentamillionyearswonderingwhy
Mysofttouchbruisedtheirfragilehearts
Andturnedthemintocarnivorousplants
Thatbite
I'vespentamillionyears
Searching
Withoutrealizing
Myheartwasfullofsunflowerseeds
The Neighborhood School by Karel Clark
Sunlightstreamsthroughfivelargewindows,illuminatingchildren squirmingintheircriss-crossapplesaucepositionsonamulticolored carpet.Someofthemrockfromsidetoside,somefightwithone another,andallofthemmakesomekindofnoisethatcreatesone outburstofchild-blabber.
Theirteachersitsonawoodenchairinfrontofthem.
Hedartshisheadandhispigtailbobstotheleft.“George!Stop that!”Hisvoicerisesabovetheseaofjabber.
“Billy,getupandgetinline!”Hispigtailbobstotherightandhis pointerfingerjabstheairinthedirectionoftheclassroomdoor.
Onebyone,theteachercallsastudent'sname,andtheygatheratthe classroomdoor.Somearemesmerizedbyacorneroftheclassroom thatcontainsabunnyasbigasitscage.Theysquealandwaveasthe bunnystaresoffintospace,occasionallytwitchingitsears.
Theirteachermarchestothefrontofthedoor,squarelyfacinghis children.
“ShhhShhhShhh”Theteacherloudlyshushes.“ShhhShhhShhh” thekidsmimic,soundinglikewaterrushingfromafaucet.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmm”Theteacherhumsinthesamepatternas heshushed.“Mmmmmmmmmmmm”Thestudentsimitate, pressingtheirlipstogether.“Mmmmmmmmmmmm”The teacher’svoiceandhisstudents’voicemergeintoone.
Theteacherleadshisclass,nowalow-pitchedswarmofhumming, throughthedoorastheydisappeardownthehallwayandtheir buzzinggentlyfadestosilence.
Weplayedwithkineticsand Aswewerehidingfromthesnow. Youstayedrightbymyside 'Tilmymomdrovemehome. Itdoesn’tfeel
Likeitwasmorethan6yearsago. Isatbackwithmyheadhigh, Mysmilefartoowide, AndIdon’tthinkI’deverlovedanyone AsmuchasIlovedyou, Inthegiftshop, WhenyousaidthatIwascool.
We’retalkingagainnow. I’mhappywe’refriends ButCoronaPark
Wasoneofthebestdaysofmylife
AndI’llbelievethatuntil Theend. Iwassinging“Fearless”
AsIskippedinmybluedress
Alongthestainedglasswindows Ofthegreathallthatwasalwaysclosed. Mydadsanghisapologies
Corona Park by Rebecca Karpen
AndIcriedatthefirsttimehehadeversaid,“I’msorry.”
JustinsaidIlookedlikeafairytale
AndItookalltheplasticfish. Ididn’tgettoeatmycake
ButIthinkthatwasfine.
Welostaboutanhour
Whenwethoughtwe’dmisplacedDylanKlein.
MysisterandIwereontheJumbotron, Thousandsofpeople
Sawourfacesonthescreen.
Mymotherlaughed AndIguessIdidtoo, TheyblastedNatashaBedingfield Andshegotbooed. Iguessthey’dneverhadapocket
Fullofsunshineintheirlives.
Mymotherstreakedtothesky, Rodeacapsulein'65
AndlayundertheTentofTomorrow
Inthecenterofthecenteroftheworld. Shesawflyingcars
Andunderwaterfathers, Sheheldhermother’shand Astheytrudgedthroughgrasses
Thatarosefromtheashesofawasteland. AndCoronaParkmight’vebeenthebestdayofherlife.
CoronaParkwavedmehome, Thefirstoutstretchedhands
AfterBerlinflown. CoronaParkheldhandsIknow, Ikissedtheground, Aholyhome.
Weplayedwithkineticsand
Aswewerehidingfromthesnow. Youstayedrightbymyside 'Tilmymomdrovemehome. Itdoesn’tfeel Likeitwasmorethan6yearsago. Isatbackwithmyheadhigh, Mysmilefartoowide, AndIdon’tthinkI’deverlovedanyone AsmuchasIlovedyou, Inthegiftshop, WhenyousaidthatIwascool. We’retalkingagainnow. I’mhappywe’refriends ButCoronaPark Wasoneofthebestdaysofmylife AndI’llbelievethatuntil Theend.
In Need of Citrine by Karel Clark
Icanfeelmyfingersgettingcolder,theblooddrainingtopreserve myheart
That’swhenIknowthatmythoughtshavestarted startedtooverwhelmIcannolongerdomypart ofcontrollingthepoundinginmyleftbreastthatthreatens
Threatenstoexposemysmilethatistoobigandtwitchingatthe cornerswithallmyteethshowing
ThisistorturethisisnotnormalthisisthatwretchedbeastthatI trytopushbackintoitscornerthatIthoughtIhadcontrolover andhadbeendormantforweeksbutyouareinvisiblelikeairsoI thinkyou’renottherebutthenyouwhirlinsideofmelikethewind onthestreetthatstirstheleavesbutreachesmeandpicksupmy hairanddragsmeeverywheregetagriponyourselfIamincontrol IamincontrolbutthestormstillblowsandIamcrouchedinthe cornercrouchingshakingsweating switchingplaceswiththebeast
Andshedoesherpartshe twirlsherbatonshe enchantstheaudiencewithawaveofherpalmshe castsaspellshe bowsherheadshe closesthecurtainshe bidsfarewellshe
Glass Jar by Cindy Qiang
“Okay,canyousetthetimerforfiveminutes?”
The Wait by Tyiana Combs
RomannervouslyaskedHaydenasshewenttotakea seatonthefloor.Forreasonsunknown,shehadalwaysfound thefloortobethemostcomfortingspotinhertimesof distress.Andinthatmoment,morethaneverbefore,she desperatelyneededthecoldembraceofthebathroomfloorto calmhernervesasshewaitedforthelongestfiveminutesofher lifetopass.
“Fiveminutes.Gotit.Doyouwannatalkaboutit?” Haydenresponded.
Lostinherhead,Romanhadalmostforgottenthatshe wasn'taloneinthesmallroom,butsuddenlyshewassnapped backtoreality.Thefloor,andallitschilled,comfortingglory, wouldn’tsaveherthistime.Butshedidn’twanttothinkabout that,letalonetalkaboutthat,untilshewasabsolutelyforced to.Andshewouldn’tbeforcedtountilthosefiveminuteswere up.
“IfI’mbeinghonest,”Romananswered,“I’drathernot. Canyouputonsomemusic?Ineedadistraction.”
“Noproblem.IfaDJiswhatyouneed,thenaDJis whatI’llbe,”repliedHaydenwithasmilethatshowedoffhis tooperfectteeth.
TimeRemaining:5minutes-NowPlaying:FreakinYouby PARTYNEXTDOOR
“Sopretty,girl,youbelonginagallery…What'syourfantasy?”
HaydenwasahorribleDJ. Butatleasthewasareallysweetboy.Which,cometo thinkofit,wasprobablywhatattractedRomantohiminthe firstplace.Thatwasalie.Whatattractedhertohimwerehis
lips.Fullandfirmandpinkandperfectlycontrastingtohis sharpbonestructure,whichsortofmadehimlooklike HandsomeSquidwardwhenevershelookedathimfortoo long.Soshetriedherbesttolimittheamountoftimeshespent actuallylookingathisface.Shedidn’tevenmakeeyecontact duringmostoftheirinteractions,especiallytheintimateones. Shealsodidn’tmakeeyecontactassheaskedhimtoskipthat particularsong,eventhoughoutofthecornerofhereyeshe thoughtshesawhimnoddingalongtothelyrics.ButHayden, becausehewasareallysweetboy,didassheasked.
TimeRemaining:4minutes28seconds-NowPlaying: PoeticJusticebyKendrickLamar,Drake “Youcangetit,youcangetit.Youcangetit,youcangetit.And Iknowjust,knowjust,knowjust,knowjust,knowjustwhatyou want.”
Granted,herstandardshadneverbeenparticularly high.Romanhadthebadhabitoffallingforguysthatfellfor othergirls.Yes,shehadcometotermswiththefactthatshe mightneverbetheidealwoman,withherskinalittletoodark andhercurvesalittletoostraightforthestandardsofthe presentday.Butthatdidn’tmeanshehadn’ttriedtofitin. LikehowinthepastRomanhadtriedtodumbitdowntobe theaveragegirlnextdoor,despiteherGPAbeinghigherthan thoseoftheguysshewantedtoimpress.Orhowshe’dspent hourslisteningtothefavoritemusiciansofaguywhowouldn’t evengoona30-minutedatewithher.Howshe’dlostherself multipletimestryingtofindlovefromboysandmadethe feministinherwanttokillthemboth.Andapparentlywhen she’dfinallybeengiventheattentionshesodesperately wanted,cravedeven,thisiswheresheendedup.Sittingona coldbathroomfloorinthemiddleofthenighthavingher
existentialcrisisnarratedwhileshewaitedforapregnancytest withHandsomeSquidward.
“Canyouplaythenextsong?”Romanasked.
TimeRemaining:3minutes56seconds-NowPlaying: ZaddybyTy$Sign
“Shekeeponcallin'mezaddy.Shekeeponcallin'mezaddy. Shekeeponcallin'mezaddy.”
NooffensetothegeniusTy$Sign,butthelastthing sheneededtothinkaboutatthemomentwasazaddyora daddyorafatherfigureingeneral.Inallhonesty,Roman placedalotoftheblameforhercurrentpredicamentonher ownfather.Someseriousdamagehadbeendonewhenthefirst manwhowassupposedtoloveherdecidedtodeclinetheoffer. Andtwenty-oneyearslater,herdumbasswasstilltryingtopull herselffromthatwreckage.Becausehisdecisionand subsequentrejectionhadledhertosearchformissinglovein placessheknewitwouldn’texist.Andsomehowthatsearch hadledhertothebathroomfloor.
“Nextsong.”
TimeRemaining:3minutes34seconds-NowPlaying: SexplaylistbyOmarion
“Girlyoudon'thavetosayshit.GirlyouknowwhyIplayed this.Girlthisisthesexplaylist.”
ItwasbecomingincreasinglyharderforRomanto overanalyzethemistakesofherpastwiththeseparticularsong selections.
“Hayden,pleasetellmethisisn’tyoursexplaylist.” Romansaid,breakingthesilencethathadbeenlingering betweenthem.
“I’msorry,”Haydenbegan,“butyouaskedformusic andthiswasthefirstthingthatcametomind.It’stheusual go-toandIdon’thappentohaveaplaylistcuratedforthis specificoccasion.” HaydenwasahorribleDJ.
Buthewasrightinsayingthatthiswastheusualgo-to andRomanguessedthat'swhytheywereinthissituationin thefirstplace.
TimeRemaining:2minutes56seconds-NowPlaying:
NeighborsKnowMyNamebyTreySongz
“SometimesshecallmeTrey,sometimesshesayTremaine. Whenit'sallsaidanddonebettheneighborsknowmyname. SometimesshecallmeTriggacauseImakeherbodybust.They mightthinkmynameis‘ohshh’Imakehercuss.”
Well,thissongwasn’tmuchbetter.Butitmadeher think,whatwouldsheevennamethisthing?Technically speaking,Romanwasstillhopingthatthisthingwasn’t actuallyathingbut,ifitwas,itwouldneedtobecalled somethingotherthanathing.It’snotlikesheeverplannedto reproduce.Havingheardhermotherrecounttimeaftertime howpainfulchildbirthwas,Romandecideditwasn'tan experienceshewanted.Butsheguessednamesweresomething tobeconsiderednow.Toatleastkilltime,ifnothingelse.
Deep,deepdowninapartofherselfshedidn’tliketo exploreoften,shehadalwayslovedthenameNathaniel.Itwas strong,employable,andshecouldtellthethingthatitwas namedafterNatTurner.Beingnamedaftertheleaderofone ofthemostfamousslaverevoltsinhistoryseemedpretty badass.RomanalsolikedthenameHampton,likeFred Hampton,asinBlackPantherPartyhomage.Bothwerebetter optionsthanStormi.Butthat’swhathappenswhena
20-year-oldhasababy.Romanwas21andmuchwiserwhenit cametonaming.
TimeRemaining:2minutes08seconds-NowPlaying:Deja VubyPostMalone,JustinBieber
“Andyoucandropyourpanties.Leavethemshitsatthedoor. Diorfallsonthefloor.Iswearwebeenherebefore.”
PostMaloneonhisplaylist?Disappointing.Well,at leastthiswasallsettlednow.IfHaydendidn’tskipthatsong withoutherhavingtotellhimto,Romanwouldbegettingan abortion.
“Ohwait,IthoughtItookthatoneoff.Next,”Hayden blurtedsuddenly,asifreadinghermind.
TimeRemaining:2minutes05seconds-NowPlaying:Drip byLukeJames,A$APFerg
“Neverneverneverbeafraidoftheshitthatyou'regoing through.Don'tunderestimateyourabilitytopushthrough. Dealwithyouremotion(oooh).”
Nevermind.Guessshewasbacktosquareone.Wait, whatifhecouldreadhermindandhe’dheardeverythought thathadgonethroughherhead?Shewouldn’tbeabletorelax andwouldcontinueinternallypanickinguntilshehadan answer.SoshestaredatHayden’sSquidward-likeprofileso intenselythatheturnedtofaceher.Shewasthinkingofthe number4.
“Hayden,whatnumberamIthinkingof?”Roman askedhesitantly.
“1,831?”Heguessedwithaconfusedshrug. Okay,maybehewasn’tpsychic.Maybeshewasjusta paranoid,possiblypregnantfreakthatneededtocalmdown.
Andeventhoughitwasprettyclearhehadn’theardwhatshe thoughtaminuteago,Romanstillfelttheneedtoapologize directlytoKylieJenner…inherhead.Becausefromwhatshe sawonInstagram,eventhoughitadmittedlywasacurated highlightreeloflifeanddevoidofalltherealnessofreality, Kylieseemedlikeaprettyokaymom.Actually,sheseemedlike agreatmom.Herdaughter,Stormi,waswalkingandtalking andgettingChanelpursesasbirthdaygifts.Kylieappeared prettyhands-onasaparent.Romandidn’tknowifshe’deven wanttotouchheroffspringthatoften.She’dneverchangeda diaperbeforeinherlife—afactshewasoddlyproudof.She oftengotirritatedwhenkidsaskedherquestionsthatcould easilybeGoogledandsheknewthesemodern-daykidsknew howtoGoogle.
Whensheplayedhouseasakid,Romanneverhadthe desiretobethemom.Shepreferredtoplaythebougieaunt thatdriftedinandoutoftownbutalwayscamebearingthe bestgiftsforholidaysandbirthdaystocompensateforher absences,easilyupstagingeveryone.ButRomanwasanonly child,sothatideawasoutthewindowandthemoneyshe would’vespentonthosegiftsgottostayinheraccount.Which wasgoodconsideringshewasbarelyoldenoughtodrink,yet somehowalreadythousandsofdollarsindebtthanksto studentloans,predatorylenders,andashiteconomy.Howwas sheevensupposedtoaffordakidandbalanceacourseload? Butasidefromtheobviouslogistics,Romanwasjustscared. Sheknewthatshe’dneverbeasgoodamomtoanyoneasher momhadbeentoher.WithanAquariussunandaGemini moon,Romancouldtrulybeabitchsometimes selfishand standoffishwithastrongtendencytoghost.Sheassumed ghostingachildwouldbefrownedupon.Andwith abandonmentissuesfromherLibrafather,whichshestill hadn’tcompletelyacknowledgedletaloneworkedthrough,
Romandidn’tknowwhatshe’dbelikeasaparent.Shecould seeherselfbeingtooprotectiveaseasilyasshecouldseeherself lettingthelittlethingplaywithfire.Shecouldseeherselfbeing tooclosedoffjustaseasilyasshecouldseeherselfunloading waytoomuch.Shecouldseeherselfwantingtoshapethe perfecthumanandstiflingitasaresultjustaseasilyasshe couldseeherselfjustlettingtheuniversehaveitswayinthe upbringing.Theonethingshecouldn’tseeherselfaswasbeing enough.
TimeRemaining:1minute08seconds-NowPlaying:Yeah YeahbyJadenSmith
“Youknowyou'regonnawakeupfaded,girl.Allthesethoughts 'boutyoubeingnaked,girl.Thisisnorelationship,we'rejust relating,girl.”
She’dbeenthinkingsomuchofherselfthatshehadn’t evenreallythoughtofHayden.Infact,sheprobablyonly thoughtofhimjustthenbecausehisname,Hayden,rhymed withthenameJaden,whosesongwasplayingandshewas slightlysatisfiedthathewasonthisplaylist.Romandidn’t evenknowwhatHaydenwouldwantinthissituation.Hell, shedidn’tevenknowHayden’smiddlenameorhisshoesizeor hisaspirationsinlifebesidesgraduatingfromWhartonand honestly,shewasbeginningtofeellikethosewereallthingsshe shouldknowifhe’dpossiblyimpregnatedher.Well,atleast sheknewhewasafastrunnersincehe’dmadeittothe pharmacyrightbeforeitclosedoncetheydecidedtofinally takeatest.InRoman’sdefense,shejusthadn’thadtimeto learnmuchaboutHaydenordiscussthosetrivialmatterswith him.Theydidn’tdiscuss,oreventalk,muchingeneral.Either hewouldsendatextorshewouldsendatextandthey’dgetin, getoff,andgetout.Butreally,shedidn’twanttoknowthose
thingsabouthim.Shewasslowlystartingtorealizethatmaybe shedidn’twantarelationship,orwhatarelationshipcame with,asmuchassheoncethoughtshedid.Andshedefinitely didn’twantwhatwaspossiblyinherbodyandmaybeshewas terribleforthinkingthat,butifthenarrationinherownhead couldn’tbehonest,thenwhatcould?
“Hayden,”Romanbegan,“let’sjustsaythat hypotheticallyIampregnant.Whatwouldyouwanttodo?”
Sheturnedherheadslightlytothesideandsawhim rubbinghishandalonghisnon-existentbeardinwhatmust havebeenhisattemptatcontemplation.
“Tobehonest,Idon’treallyknow,”hefinally responded.“Imean,Idefinitelywasn’tplanningonhaving kidsanytimesoon,butwecanadjust.Ihaveaprettygood internship.Andatrustfund.AndI’msuremyfratbrothers wouldn’tmindababystayinginthehouse.Itcouldevenbe likeourmascotorsomething!Wecouldgetlittleonesieswith ourlettersonitandeverything!That’dbereallycute actually...”
AsRomanlistenedtothedelusionspillingfrom Hayden’smouthandwithaglintsparkinginhiseyes,she couldn’thelpbutthinkthatmaybesheshouldhavedonethis alone.TakenatestsoloinherdormandthentoldHaydenall waswellevenifitwasn’t handledthishowshewantedto handleitifitneededtobehandled.Andherhandling definitelywouldnothaveincludedfraternityonesiesorbaby mascots.Hindsightwas20/20.
“Nextsongplease,”washeronlyresponse.
TimeRemaining:45seconds-NowPlaying:NoGuidanceby Drake,ChrisBrown
“SixGodtalkbutIain'ttrynagetpreachy(no,no,no).Iseen howyoudidhomeboy,pleasetakeiteasieronme.'CauseIdon't wanna(no)playnogames,playnogames.”
RomanwisheditwasDrakewhohadgottenher pregnant.ItwassupposedtobeDrakewhogotherpregnant. Thatwastheplan.Earlierthatyearshehadentereda competitionforherandafriendtomeetDrake.Theideawas thatshe’dwinandthey’dgetflownout.Afterspendingthe daywithDrake,wherehercharmwouldbeatanall-timehigh, they’dallhavedinnerandshe’dsaysomethingincrediblywitty that’dreallywinhimover.Sowhenhewalkedthemtotheir roomsforthenight,he’dwalkpasthisownsuiteandfollow RomantoherslikeFitzdidwithOliviainthatoneepisodeof Scandal.AndsinceDrakedidn’tbelieveinusingcondomsif thevibewasright,andRomanwouldmakesurethevibewas right,allthepieceswouldfalltogetherandsecureher work-freefuture.She’dmeetSophieandAdonis,Drake’sfirst babymotherandtheirson,andalltogetherthey’dbethe modernblendedfamily.TheWillandJadaforBlack millennials.TheBarackandMichellewithfewercredentials; lessWhiteHouse,moretraphouse.ESSENCEmagazinewould getfirstphotosfromtheirweddingandRomanwouldendup onafuturelittleBlackgirl’svisionboard.Shereallydidn’t knowwhereshewentwrong. “Next.”
TimeRemaining:22seconds-NowPlaying:GodisFair, SexyNastybyMacMiller
“Yourdivinityhasturnedmeintoasinner.Godisfair (pleasure,pleasure).”
God!Prayer!Whyhadn’tshethoughtofthatearlier? Romansilentlybeganprayingtoherself.
Lord,shethought,ifyoucangetmeoutofthis situation,IpromiseIwillnotunderanycircumstancesopen upmylegsforanothermanunlesshe’smyhusband.Unlessof coursethatguyfrommyHistoryoftheRomanEmpireclass triestotalktomebecauseinthatcaseI’dhavetodoit.Same goesforDrakeandReeceKingbecausewhowouldn’thavesex withDrakeorReeceKing likeI’msureevenyouwould.I’m sorry,I’mgettingdistractedbutthepointisthatifyoucanfix this,Iwillbeonmybestbehavior.Ipromise.Amen.
Okay.Shefeltgoodnow.Shefeltbetter. “Time’sup.”Haydentoldher.
Shefeltlikeshewasgonnabesick.Andinthis particularsituation,shedidn’tthinkthatwasagoodsign.
“Okay,cool.Great.”Romanramblednervously.“But beforewelook,Ijustwanttosaythatwhateverhappens,we’ll befine.HopefullyI’mfetus-freeandnothingwillhappenbut ifitdoes,wecanjust…decidefromthere.”
“Wow,youactuallyseemkindacalmaboutthis,” repliedHayden.“I’velowkeybeenfreakingoutontheinside thesepastcoupleofminutes,butit’sreallynicetoknowat leastoneofusisn’tonthevergeofameltdown.”
“Yeah,I’mourrockIguess.Surprisinglynotfreaking outinternallyatall.”Romanlied.“ButIdohaveonerequest. Youhavetolookatthetestfirst.I’mnotcompletelyreadyto knowthefateofmyfuturejustyet.Ijustneedacouplemore secondsofignorance.”
“Ofcourse.”Haydentoldherashestoodupandwalked overtothecounter.Somehowhiswalkacrossthewhitetile floorfeltlongerthantheentirefiveminutestheyhadbeen waiting.Thiswasit.Whywasherheartbeatingsofast?Was
sheabouttohaveaheartattack?Didthathappenthisyoung? Thatwouldbesounfortunatebecause
“Shit.You’repregnant.”
“Areyousure?”
“Yeah,I’msure.”
Shit.Shewaspregnant.Sheneededadrink.Wait,she wasn’tallowedtodothatanymore.Butthatwasn’tfair. Wasn’tthemomsupposedtobestress-freewhilepregnant? AndRoman’sgo-tostressrelieverwasusuallyaglassofwine. Sometimesabottleiftheoccasioncalledforitandthis occasionwasscreaming.Andself-carewasimportant,Roman determined,soshedecidedhernightwasgoingtoendwithher cradlingabottleofMoscatoonelasttimebeforeshewasforced tocradleachild.Shewassuremomsinthe1970sand1980s diditandtheirkidsturnedoutfine,right?Millennialswere… actuallymaybesheshouldn’t
“There’salinehereclearasday.”Haydencalledfrom thecountertowhereRomanremainedstunnedonthefloor. Wait.
“Aline?Asinoneline?Likeasingularline?”sheasked him.
“Yup.Righthere.”Haydensighedashetossedherthe test.
Despiteallhisexcitementovercustomonesiesaminute ago,RomanthoughtthatshehadneverbeforeseenHayden looksopaleasshefinallyandfullymadeeyecontactwithhim. Shewaseventemptedtoleavehiminmiseryforanother minuteortwo,butshedidn’tthinkshe’dbeabletoholdinher joyouslaughterforthatmuchlonger.
HaydenwasahorribleDJ. Buthewasareallysweetboy. Andapparently,hesuckedatreadingpregnancytests.
TheSpring2020issueofBrio.LiteraryJournalwaseditedby:
Ava McLaughlin is a junior majoring in Comparative Literature with a minor in Film Production. She enjoys writing fiction but never poetry. She is the Editor - in - Chief of Brio.
Laurel Martin is a senior in History & Anthropology with minors in French and Art History. She admins a meme page on Facebook.
Trisha Gupta is a junior in English & American Literature with a minor in Chemistry, on the Pre-Health track. She loved studying abroad in London, and enjoyed getting to see the tulips in Amsterdam!
Will Wise is a senior majoring in French and Politics. He is our photo editor and cover designer. He also cannot make a respectable french omelet despite his major. Visitourwebsite:
