Christina

from Crest 2003

by Crest Magazine

$Lisa Locascio. Further, \fle Returned$

Lisa Locascio. Further, \fle Returned

Christina Jiminez

lX/hale Digital Pboto

Portrait of the Innocent as a Young Rebel

Adrienne \Yilley

It was 7:45 on a Tuesday morning and I was riding in the back seat of my car as usual. I stared out of the window, thinking intently about the plan my friend Claire and I had devised. Today was the day our preschool revolution would begin. As we pulled into the parking lot at school, my mom turned and asked if I was feeling okay. Ordinarily I yelled loudly throughout the whole trip, complaining about the injustices of sending a four-year old to school. But today I was silent, lost in my plans. I smiled, told her I was fine, and kissed her goodbye as I hopped out of the car.

\7hen I walked into the classroom, Claire was already there, sitting in out usual spot by the blocks. I greeted my teachers with a smile, even though I knew they were evil, and hung my coat on the hook. As I walked towards Claire, I glanced around at the other kids, so innocently playing with their toys on the carpet. On the first day of school I had deemed these other children to be babies, Claire being the only other four-year old worthy of my friendship. Claire and I talked in hushed voices about our plan. "OK, during plaltime, we'11 go around and tell all the other children not to move when Mrs. Pickle and Mrs. Steve tell us its circle time," I told Claire. Our routine was exactly the same eyery day: an hour or so of "structured" playtime, a half hour of boring "circle learning" time, a half hour of arts and crafts, a snack, and after which we were finally rescued by our parents. Since all of my efforts to avoid school completely had failed, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

The only part of the school day that I truly enjoyed was playcime. I absolutely hated circle time, which I believed had no real value. 'We were only taught useless things like how to make a "people paper chain" and we were actually expected to sit still and listen. Most four-year olds can't sit still for more than three minutes, let alone a half an hour! So Claire and I had decided, well, I had decided that we would put an end to circle time forever. Our plan was to just ignore the teachers when they told us to clean up our toys and form a circle. If we all banded together, there was nothing our teachers could do to stop us. During playtime, Claire and I passed the word along to the other kids. They agreed that having more playtime and less learning time would make school much more fun and said they would ignore the teachers too.

Playtime passed quickly as usual and Mrs. Pickle informed us that it was time to learn by singing one of the most annoying songs ever written: "Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere, clean up, clean up, every body do your share." 'When that was finished, no one moved. She sang it again and again was ignored. This continued for a few minutes until she started to get impatient. She yelled a little bit and the little wimps I was forced to

associate with actually abandoned the cause and started cleaning up their toys! I was outraged, but I would not submit! I was a fighter, a rebel, and I vrould never abandon my cause! Pretty soon, Claire and I were the only ones who hadn't moved. Mrs. Steve came up to us and threatened to take away our snack if we continued our disobedience. Ha, I thought, she doesn't scare me! So I continued to ignore her. But then she started to scold me, to which I yelled: "I don't care if you punish me, I hate school and I hate circle time and I'm never doing it again!!" \X/ell, she soon figured out that the reluctance of the other children to participate in circletime was my doing. My mother was called and informed that I had intimi

dated the other students into revolting against the system. I did not intimidate anyone, if they were scared of me, it was their own fault for being such push-overs. Claire didn't get in trouble either because they just assumed I forced her to help me! Mom was told that if my behavior did not improve, I would not be permitted to come back to school. Personally, I thought this sounded great, but for some reason, my mom did not agree.I was yelled at the whole way home and forced to apologize to both of my teachers the next day. Preschool is so unfair.

Stefanie Curry Mother and Cbild Photograpb

He Was Slumped

Bree Fahqt

He was slumped in his dingy maroon armchair by the fireplace. The wall in front of his'was a grimy white and the light from the flames danced across splotches of spackle and filth. The flickering held the poorly postured figure in a trance, so much so that he hadn't taken a drink from his open can of Schlitz in an hour or so. The beer was warm now from his massive grip. At first he hadn't heard the knocking on his door but after the third set of rapid knocks, he was just ignoring it. The noise persisted and finally he lifted his arms to his face and rubbed his chin through his bushy salt and pepper beard, more salr than pepper. As he stood up, he groaned. "I'm comin'. Hold yer damn horses," he mumbled gruffly. He sluggishly sifted through the beer cans and old McDonald's wrappers all over the floor with his foot to find his left sandal. After slipping ir on, he drawled for the door and wiped the beer and saliva from his mourh onto his ancient toga. On the other side of the door was a sharply dressed businessman in a full black suir, a black bowler, black tie, black vest, black shoes, black briefcase and dark sunglasses. The two stared at each orher motionless for a while until the businessman cracked a smile and broke the silence. "FIow are you doing, Godl"

God turned around leaving the door hanging open and dropped his beer into the trash. He shuffled over to his makeshift bar, which consisted of several cheap liquor bottles on a card table, and poured a drink. The businessman stepped in and quietly closed the door behind him. He made his way to rhe vanity table being careful nor to

scuff his shoes on the clutter. He laid his briefcase on the table and put his hat on top of it. Crouching, he looked in the mirror, smoothing his black hair around the two short horns that stuck out from either side of his head. "You know I hate it when you call me that," grumbled the drunken, old man. "How would you like it if I called you the devil? Hello, the devil. How are you, the devil? Hey, the devil, how is business by the way?" "Okay, I get the point," the biack-clad man calmly replied. "And business is fine." "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You want a drink?" "No, thank you. I'm fine. Besides, I've got meetings and things to attend to. I'm only just stopping by to say hello. i hardly see you around anymore." God went back to his chair, holding a novelty Chicago Bears cup brimming with whiskey. The devil pulled up a folding chair next to him. "tVhy don't you get a nicer place, G? Why do you insist on living in this diny little hole in the wall?" "'What are you, my mother now, Lu? Gimme a break," said God. As he stood, he scratched a manly itch and sauntered toward the bathroom, which was just three walls and a toilet. In fact, as he stood and did his business, he leaned back just an inch or two and surveyed his apartment in its entirety. Over the years he had gotten tired of colossal surroundings, everFthing bigger and better and full of space. He liked his cramped dwelling. "At least you could spruce this place up a little. Get some furniture. Get some nice things." Lucifer said. "Yeah, okay, I'll just go to Ikea and pick up some stuff, right? I'm sure I could get a discount, too. I'll just say, 'And I saith unto thee that thou shalt be cast into the depths of FIELL lest this lime green reclining love seat be marked down half price!"'

Lucifer laughed a polite laugh. "But seriously, you should-"

"\(hat good would it do me)" God snapped. He walked over to the window and lit a Marlboro Red as he

stared outside. The vast blackness speckled with twinkling white dots was visible from every angle and so were the tattered orange drapes that framed the window. Lucifer watched him and felt helpless. He could see that something was wrong. God hadn't always been like this and he though that with a little nudging, he would be back to normal in no time. But how much encouragement was it going to take) Lucifer became uneasy when he thought about how long God had been in this funk.

"I do have to be going soon because of business. FIey, maybe you could come down with me, G. You know, to catch up with things."

God put out his cigarette and went back to his armchair. 'There's no point." He finished his whiskey and

gazed at this toes. "Look, G, people still believe in you. Still look to you as their guide. I know you think that your era has ended, that they don't want you anymore, but it is simply not true. They need you." "Need me? Need me) Half of them don't believe in me and the other half either use my name for their gain or think if they go to church every once in a while, I will grant them three wishes and lay them golden eggs. Shit, Lu, wake up. Each one of them is so wrapped up in themselves I doubt they'd flinch if I came down in my true form and delivered the Ten Commandments again, personally."

These words struck Lucifer at his core and his mind raced. 'S(as it possible that God didn't see there was a balancel He didn't see that in his absence good and even had begun to melt together and without those two separate ideas canceling each other out, human kind would destroy itselfl And then what? "But G -" "I know what you're thinking. ''What about the balance?' Even if it were true that I could save man from self-destruction, what would it mean? They'd just screw up again and I'd have to help them out, and then they'd

screw up in yet another way, and I'd have to come uP with some scheme to save them again. And all for what, I ask you?'What comes at the end? Is there an end) I mean, Christ on a crutch, Lucifer, people at least get the certainty of death, but we don't get anything..." "Maybe there is a purpose. Maybe something does come at the end. Maybe there is a bigger plan we can't see. Did you ever think of thatl" "Think of it? I wrote that line. Don't patronize me, devil."

The two sat in silence for a while. God stewed in his thoughts. He had lost faith in himself, and he knew it. In many drunken stupors he had even written out the

sentence "I have lost faith in God" and laughed until he cried. He was lost, and had given up trying to find himself. Existence was empty for him now. No matter what he did he wouldn't make any Progress and he couldn't go back to his old life, knowing what he knew, so he just stayed where he was. In a puddle of filth and alcohol. Lucifer didn't understand. He was too wraPPed up in his own importance to see that nothing mattered. God ..r.rrt.d him for being so naiVe. Couldn't he see it was all a bunch of horse shit? The Devil reflected on what God

had said. He had also thought about a gre ter PurPose from time to time, but always concluded that he was in charge, he made the purpose and that was good enough for him. To figure out and manipulate people to teach them lessons on how to live was enough without having to worry about what was coming for him.'S(hy couldn't God see it that way? "Vell, I must get going. Are you sure you won't come with?" "Yes, I'm sure." God said in an almost mocking tone. "I'11 be seeing you then. Maybe I'11 stop by later," Lucifer said. "Yeah, yeah,yeah," God said as he slumped funher into his chair with a groaning sigh and listened as the door closed. He was alone agun.

Stefanie Curry Untitled

Pbotograpb

Querencia

Alex Viana

The keys aren't white or even off-white. They're yellow, a sickly beautiful yellow. The wood is varnished very dark, the color of chocolate, and shiny. The seat has been reupholstered bright red on wood the same color as the piano. Before you close it, you cover the keys with a strip of green felt. The old tarnished key that locks it is stashed away rn my father's drawers. I have seen my piano's heart. It's a big brass plate a dull gold color that is attached to the entire inside back of the piano. Everphing is attached to this. The string, ,r. ,t*rrg through hol.r lr, it. Near the top of the brass, foreign words declare my piano's German heritage.

The piano is right next to a large window that lets in a lot of light, especially in the winter, which really makes the wood gleam. However, I have never looked out that window while at the piano. It would be analogous to looking at the wall behind the television.'What" the point when you're got TV, or the piano, if you will.

I have slightly altered my grandmother's piano. In the middle of the front there is a woodcut insert. There are cracks in its corners from the long boat ride it took to get it here. The wood around the keys is coming off in small chips from misplaced smacks by straying fingers and snags from passing clothes. The bass notes ring out of tune because I am not as gentle with my grandmother's memory as I should be.

Every time I play it hard I knock it a little out of tune. Every time we tune it we rub away a little wood that

cannot be noticed or replaced. The piano is alive. I know because it is dying. I stare at it. I know that it is old. I know that it is dying slowly.

Vo lerece died the summer before my sixth grade year. \When she had come to visit us, I was younger. I remember her trying to teach me the basics of music. I remember her criticizing my numbers, my ones, saying that they were "just lines," not real ones with the base and the point at the top, like this-1.

I was about the same age, I can't remember if I was older or younger, when my family went to BrazTlto visit her. I remember her piano. It was dark and proud in her fourteenth floor apartment where she had taught for so many years. It fit nicely with her other furniture, all of dark wood, holding a record player, color brander snifters and gemstones. The house smelled like my grandparents.

Sometimes I think of those days when we were together when I find myself at my piano. Usually that's how it works. I realize that I'm supposed to be doing homework or getting something from another room but instead I find I'm just sitting in front of my, her, piano. It finds me sitting there in front of it. We find each other.

Sometimes I go digging through my parenrs' boxes of pictures under their bed when they're nor home, to find pictures of grandma. There are not many; they keep the ones from before we moved here somewhere else. \flhen I find her I stare at her, making sure I never forget her, tryingto remember her.

Sometimes I think of this when I find myself just sitting in front of my piano and I try to play somerhing parricularly beautiful, to make her proud. If I'm alone and I play very well I pretend she can see me somehow. \ffhen I'm

done I look around. I expect to see a benevolent ghost smiling at me. But those kinds of things never happen to me.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm making too much of my grandmother's piano and her faded memory. Sometimes I think I'm not making enough of her piano. I think of how it was her prtzedpossession and how she would feel that it is now my prized possession.

Sometimes I don't have to think, I just play. Those are the best. That's where my nourishment comes from. My fingers fly over the yellow keys. I ignore any chips of wood. I ignore the damaged bass notes. Faster and faster my fingers blur. All the hours and hours that the piano has been played, there's so much energy in it, iust so much silent energy. It excites me to think of tapping it all. My frustration and excitement add to the energ'y of the piano.

Sometimes it's too hard to keep playing and I just sit and stare at the dark wood. It's cold.

My grandmother had soft brown skin too I never heard her play piano.

Zoe Heidorn

Dancing Body Ink

T3togtayhtes

ffi

t

If Emily Vhite was the king of the world, she says that she'd make sweet love to you, whether you wanted her to or not. Katie Spira was inspired by Rupert Grint (X.on 'Weasley) to write her ode to magic. Ashley Adler thinks that maybe her body is ed by a deranged spirit with unfinished business. She I colors and martini glasses. Justin Perez's stunnlng at OPRF needs no further comment. Like Katie S he awaits his long-overdue acceptance letter from H \Witchcraft and Wizardr:r. J Michael showers with

that he

everyrhing, likes bad green is crazy. He says that ing a cocaine habit. Amelia whole year is Earth Day. She loves Dar but we all know that Ben Taylor is way cuter. Zoe Heidorn really likes Ho-Hos. She wears cowboy boots. Fred Henzel's label says: "Caution: do not immerse in water. Household use only." Leon Neyfakh treats his story like 7-Up. Never has, never will. Vinny Sharma is going to be a doctor in eleven years. He is well on his way to becoming a famous

Bollywood afior. Zeke Zverow has got some bad alliteration going on in his name. Adam Schleimer appeared on Nickelodeon's "'W'hat VouldYou Do)" Emma Rubin likes spending her leisure time in backyards. jesse Randal gets all crazy with the lines. Anonymous- "I was inspired by Ani DiFranco. I en,oy and have been doing so for a long time." Kate Merrick is , Muppet-loving redhead who likes to spend her time writing. Adrian

Lecesne wants blue jeans Paris. Dan Kleinman's

in a tiny leather-

bound *It's Kane-

ten years she'llbe re writing on an old

bed at midnight. Marhsall Lao- " " Lisa Locascio is the reincarnation married couple, Oksana and Arkadiy Mullberry, who loved each other so much that they were reborn as one person. Penelope Hudak often canoes down Bubbly River in the after noon whilst sipping tea. Katherine Parker- "Once Kafrin thru a COI7 when she was upset. Haw!" Jon Ealey is a knight in shining armor. He has dreadlocks and a goatee.

Staff 73ros

Nigel Shields is teetering on the brink of destruction/discussion, and is

totally expendable.

\When she gets old, Anne'S/ootton will own a yarn shop on the ocean and the salt spray will make her eyes sring.

The elusive Emily Vhite has been crestalicious for two years. x-popcorn!" The only cure is sunshine, love, and Penicillin.

Jon Ealey, striving to make meaningful art, turned to Crest for inspiration... but instead developed an addiction ro Lisa's cooking.

Mr. Zabransky was a beat poet in San Francisco. '$(hen we finished this book he said rhar v/e did a berry good job. Dig.

Abby Van Deusen is from various towns in the South, but yet she sounds Canadian. She enjoys midnight picnics in July, black coffee, and Jim Jarmusch films.

Erin Graves keeps Crest sane. She has to wear three-piece ensembles to work. Sweater, skirt, shirt. The end.

Meg Prossnitz bathes in orange juice and sleepsin

a bed of ice and trout. * #

Katherine Parker spends h* time avoid-

ing her sister, #.-ptfllg tosing opera, and occasionally batting at the?ies that circle her half-eatenfoead (thanks *#* to Crest). i*