Impressions 1991

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lmpresslons

Impressions 1991 Editor: Constance Walter

Associate Editors: Elizabeth MacDuffie Maryjane Kuivanen-Ader

Advisor: David Solheim, Ph.D.

Cover Art: Elizabeth MacDuffie

Computer Layout: Constance Walter

Copyright Š 1991 by the editors of Impressions. All future rights to material published in this journal belong to the individual authors, and any reproduction or reprinting of this material may be done only with their permission.

Winners Prose: First place: Mark Klemetsrud, An Edge Honorable mention: Rene'e Beasley Jones, The Mammogram Tracy Freer, From Beyond Poetry: First place:Don Ehli, Untitled Honorable mention: Davina Almazan, Too Young To Know Jack Smart, Redwings Art: First place: Connie Mathiason, Shadow Dancing Honorable mention: Shawn F. Holz, Divided Emotions Randall P. Schoch, Untitled photograph

Divided Emotions (intaglio print)-- Shawn F. Holz

4

793.

in this Yl'Jr and for the sins of many, the longships came to lindisfame and the holy monks with tht>ir abbot, flt>d over the water to durh,lm, carrying with th~:>m the godspeUs and the 1-hrine of st cuthbert wraith runes crossing the dark of the autumn moon tJwn frost came and leaves fell -Don Ehli

5

Too Young To Know Motlwr and I !>at .1lone one day, I listened to a !>lory, I hcsit;H.-d to weigh, Shl! told a talc of tender age, making me want to tum the page, The tale startL>d like thisDuring Chril.tma<, at a Woolworth store, Fam1ly and fril'fld~ had smile<. galore, and Caramel apples were handed out, ones so juicy and stout, Kecpmg an eye on the apples ahead, she waitL>d, With hair so dark and skin so fine, she stood in U1at color line, Nter everyone r..ocdved their share, the woman looked down without a care, "Would you likl! one?" the woman asked thlâ&#x20AC;˘ child, Timidly, she noddtod, Soon finding lhl! <,maUest fruit, the applt? wa<> dipped, "IIere you go," the woman said, as my mother reached, delightlâ&#x20AC;˘d.

-Davina Almazan

6

The Accidental Haiku Natur~¡s still mi'>lrl">S nouri.,ht'!> the land with moic;t

carcs.c;, first snowfall.

-Jack Smart

Biking The Loop warm air rushes laden with sage tarred pebbles tick tuned kwing

joyous exl'rtion salts my

Lips burning musd~ salute the victory -Jack Smart

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Sharlow Da11cing (black and white plzotograp}t)-- Connie Mathiason

8

The Accidental Haiku Nature's still mistress nourishes the land with caress, first snowfall

moi~t

-Jack Smart

Biking The Loop warm air rushes laden with sage tarred pebbles tick tuned leering joyous exertion salt<; my lips burning muscles salute the victory -Jack Smart

7

Sharlow Da11ci11g (black and white photograph)-- Connie Mathiason

8

An Edge Gene had everything ready for the opening of goose season. The formica topped dinner table was littered with hunting clothes, shotgun shells, a gun cleaning kit, game calls, and what ever else he felt he needed for tomorrow's big event. He held his Model12

lake right over our decoys, and the rain'll keep 'em low."

His eyes were alive with excitement. '1ts going to be a slaughter. Bobby me boy, we are gonna limit out tomorrow, I kin feel it." He held out his hand and we slapped

Winchester firmly in his left hand and gently rubbed it down with an oil soaked rag as one might caress a beautiful woman.

Judy watched him for a while from the armchair in the living room, then slowly shook her head from side to side. "Just look at him," she said, turning to me with a smile. Then, as I looked up from the newspaper I was reading, her attention shifted back to her husband. "See how he pampers that gun? Notice how he gently massages it with oil, then carefully wraps his fu1gers around the barrel and strokes it up and down, up and down. What the hell are you doin' there han, jackin'off?"

"Maybe," replied Gene, without taking his eyes off the weapon. Judy laughed, then turned back to me with a wink. "God, I wish he'd show that kind of interest in me sometime."

'1'11 show you all the interest you can handle later on," Gene shot back with a grin.

"Oh sure. Promises, promises." She was on her feet

"You betcha."

We screamed like a couple of banshees then, and Gene jumped up shouldering his weapon. "Pow! Pow!

now and moving toward the kitchen in the rear of the apartment. '1'm gonna git some more coffee, anybody else want some?"

'1'11 take another cup." I called after her.

"Likewise."

'1'11 bring the pot."

Newspaper in hand, I picked up my empty cup and moved to the table, sitting opposite of Gene. "According to the paper tomorrow's going to be perfect for hunting, wet and windy."

'What direction's the wind from? East?"

"Yeah, I guess." I rechecked the paper to make sure.

"Southeast. Ten to twenty miles per hour."

"That'll work out fine," he said, as he put the cleaning rag back in the kit. 'They should come off that

five.

Pow!" he yelled as he squeezed the trigger and pumped out imaginary shells. 'Three fat snows, just like that.

Nothin' to it." And we laughed.

"You guys better keep it down out here, or those people downstairs'll start pounding on the ceiling," said Judy as she brought out the coffee. "I can't believe it. You act like a couple of goddamn kids at a carnival."

'We're jist fired up," I said.

"Yeah, tomorrow's the big day ya know." Gene returned to his chair with the gun.

She refilled her cup and set the pot on the table between us. She looked at us sitting there with sheepish grins and shook her head. "Kids," she said, then turned and headed for the armchair.

Gene reached over and pinched her butt as she passed him.

"Gene!" She yelled, and whirled to face him.

"Shhh, honey. Remember the people downstairs."

She was blushing and when she looked at me I could feel the color rise in my face too. 1 felt sorry for her. It seemed Gene always had to have the upper hand in their relationship.

"You ass." Judy was mad now and went to take a shower. Hiding until her anger subsided was her way of dealing with the problem.

Gene could have cared less. I lis mind was already back on the hunt. "Just listen to tllat action," he said as he worked the gtm's pump back and forth. The sound was distinct as the chamber slid back clean, then dosed with a dick as he moved the pump forward. '1t doesn't grate like that ol' Savage of yours.

9

"Yeah, that's a piece of shit," I agreed. "But I only paid 50 bucks for it, so whadda you expect. I would kill for that Winchester though. They're beautiful shotguns.

Trouble is they don't make 'em anymore, and anyone who's got one won't sell it."

'1 know," he said with a smile. "Hand me that box of shells there, I want to show ya something. The 4-buckson top there."

I passed them over to him.

He leaned the gun against the table and put on his camouflage hunting jacket. After dumping about half the box into the right hand pocket of the jacket, Gene picked up his Model 12 and loaded it. "It's a good thing Judy's in the shower. She'd murder me if she knew I had a loaded gun in the house, but I jist gotta show ya thls."

He moved a oouple of steps away from the table and crouched down. ''Now let's pretend there's a flock of geese comin'. A big flock. Big enough to get off, say five or six shots, if you could reload fast enough." ''Okay." ''Now watch close," he said, "here they come."

Looking up and off to the right, Gene's eyes focused on the incoming flock of imaginary birds. When they reached the optimum point of attack he came up firing. "Bam! Bam! Bam!" He used the chamber release button instead of the trigger to simulate the shots and ejected the live rounds onto the carpeted floor, where they landed with a dull thud. No sooner had the third shot been fired then his hand flew back into the pocket of shells and back to the gun. He reloaded, barely taking the gun off his shoulder.

The action was swift and sure. "Bam! Bam! Bam!" Three more shots fired, quicker than I thought humanly possible.

'Jesus Christ," I said, amazed.

"Did you see how I did that?" He was grinning with pride, either at his accomplishment, or tl1e look of wonderment on my face, or both. I couldn't decide which.

I shook my head no.

"Here, I'll do it again." He replayed the scene with equal perfection.

I watched more carefully this time, but still couldn't figure out how he was able to jam three shells into the 10

gun so fast. Two I could understand, Gene had practiced that for years and was the best I had ever seen at doing it, but three was beyond the imagination. It was too difficult to hold them in your hand and put them into the gun at the same time, especially under the pressure of the hunt.

He delighted in my ignorance and repeated the process. The result was the same. He was doing som~ thing dilferent, but I had no idea what it was.

"How the hell kin you reload three shells that fast?"

I was dumbfounded.

He laughed at my stupidity. '1 don't."

"What do you mean, 1 don't,' you eject thr-'' '1 knew you wouldn't be able to catch it," he said, cutting me off. "I only put in two when I reload. Jist like always. I start with four."

"Bullshil The gun will only hold three and that's all you put in."

"That's all you saw me put in." You weren't watchin' close when I crouched down. I would palm a shell and load it as I was gitting up. Watch I'll show ya."

Again, he put three shells in the shotgun and as he crouched he reached deftly into the large pocket for the fourth round. I never would have noticed if he hadn't alerted me to it. This time when he rose 1could clearly see him insert the fourth shell. ''Pow! Pow! Pow!" He yelled and the rounds thudded on the floor."And now I got a' extra round in case it's a small flock and J don't have time to reload. It gives me an edge, so that trailing bird won't git away.

Pow!" "What the hell did you do," I asked, "take out your plug?" ''Nah, jist cut it down a little."

'1t's aginst the law to have four sheUs in your gun ya know."

'1 know that."

"So why do it? I mean, you're a good enough shot not to need that extra sheU." '1 know that too."

'Then why take the chance?"

"You jist don't see it, do ya?" He was getting angry now.

"No I don't."

'1t gives me an edge man. And that could make a difference on a day when we don't ~>e many birds or when-¡ "Gene!" It was Judy calling from the bedroom.

"Gene, would you bring me my purse pk>asc! It's on the floor by the armchair." ..Ah shit," he said and leaned the

gun against the wall by the armchair. lie picked up her purse, then turned back to me. "Bobby, Judy doesn't know anything about this, so let'~ drop it for now, okay? And pick those shells up off the floor will ya 7 Shc'U go nuts if she sees 'em there." Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the bedroom.

I felt like telling him to go to hell but gathered up the ammo anyway-to avoid further troublc I told myself. It was hard for me to believe th.1t Gene would purposely break the law like that, especially when he didn't need to.

The morc I thought about it, the more irritated I became.

But I decided to wait until tomorrow, when we were on our way to the farm, to bring the subject up agam. We'd have to have a serious talk then.

Returning to the table with tl1e shells, I heard the sounds of laughter coming from the bedroom. I concluded that they mi.L'>t be in the praÂŤ.~ of making up and began to put the shells into the individlllll slots of Gene's hunting vest. I was aU but finished when Gene backed out of the bedroom. "'h no you don't," he laughed, "we have company.

How do you think Bobby would f~>el, having to listen to us bangin' away in there. He'd be embarrassed. Wouldn't you Bob?" "I've heard worse," I said, looking him in the eye.

"Did you hear that, Honey? 01' bachelor Bob has heard worse."

Gene crossed to his gun as Judy entered the living room. She was wearing a white, ankle length terry cloth robe and had a beige towel on her head. Gene picked up the gun, whirled and pointl'd It in Judy's direction. "Look out hon," he shouted. Then a far! exploded in his jeans.

"Gotcha."

Judy froze, her eyes wide with fear and shock.

Gene doubled over with laughter when he saw the

look on her face. "Scared the hell out of ya, didn't I?" Her horror quickly changed to anger. "You stupid son of bitch!" she screamed. "Don't you ever point a gun at me again!! can't believe you'd do such a thing. It's so stupid." 'jesus Ouist, relax will ya. I didn't even point it at you. It was a good three feet off to the side. And besides, it isn't even loaded."

'1 don't care if it's loaded or not. You don't point

guns at people, it's dangerous." ''Only in the hands of an idiot," Gene returned.

"And I'm no idiot."

"Then quit acting like one."

Gene set the gun back against tlle wall and returned to the table. "Can you believe that?" lie said, gesturing back atjudy.

'Well it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever seen you do." And it wasn't. In Lhe eight years (more or less) that we had hunted together I had never seen Gene pull such a crazy stunt, at least not In the field, and it surprised me.

'1eez," he complained, "nobody's got a sense of humor around here anymore."

'1t wasn't funny, Gene." judy had returned to the armchair, removed the towel from her head, and had started to brush her hair. "Whetller you tJUnk so or not."

The three of us sat there, frozen in an awkward silence, for several moments.

'1 filled your vest for ya while you were in the bedroom having a good time." Gene looked across the table at me and I shrugged, "I didn't have anything else to do."

'Thanks," he said, still subdued. Then he picked up the vest and fingered tlle sheathed rounds. "I suppose you're all set to go tomorrow, aren't ya ?"

"Certainly," I said jauntily, hoping to Ugh ten the mood.

TI1e move worked. Gene began to relax as we discussed our plans for tomorrow's hunt: when we were leaving; how we were going to set up once we were in the field; who was supposed to bring what; what we would do if the geese went elsewhere; and so on.

Every once in a while Judy would join our con versa11

tion, throwing in a helpful tidbit of information or asking for clarification on some aspect of hunting that confused her. She found our stories about out-of-state hunters particularly amusing and wondered why such "rank amateurs" were allowed to hunt in the first place.

"Money," Gene told her. "If you got money you kin do anything." Which is true.

The banter continued for about an hour and put everyone back in a good mood. I told Gene it was getting dose to my bedtime, bull had to make a pit stop before I left, so I got up to use the bathroom, leaving him at the table.

Huge majestic white birds, their wings serenely beating the air, at peace with the world. Suddenly everyone jumped up and started firing. The geese flared left and right to avoid the deadly fire, frantically thrashing the clear sky. I was confused, not knowing when to shoot or which one to shoot at.

'11ope everything comes out aU right," he called after me.

As I stood in front of the john taking a piss, I thought back to the first time I hunted at Woods' farm. I was witll my father (one of the few times we hunted together) and a half dol'.cn others. 11\e day broke clear and cold, the wind at our backs. I thought I was going to frl~Ze that morning lying in tJ\e snowy brown grass. Then the gl~ came off the lake.

That sight will be forever imprl'S.Sed in my memory.

They ro-;e jw.t before sunrise, whl"rl the sky is the color of a robin's egg. II was as if the entire lake was being lifted like a blanket to darken our vision and allow the gccsc to

articles brought me the rest of the way bade. Gene's Model 12 Winchester had just gone off. I stuffed myself back into my jeans as I raced back into the living room.

II was like entering a scene from a nightmare. A blueish-gray smoke hung in the air like a pall, and the stench of gunpowder burned my nostrils. The first thing I saw was judy, sitting in the armchair. Her head was tUted to one side and she was staring wid~yed at the floor.

Blood ran down her chest from a wound in her neck and soaked her white robe in an ever enlarging circle of gore.

Gene was standing near the table staring at judy, the oily cleaning rag clutched in his right hand, his face ashen and tight.

escape. The pale blue horizon went black. I had never

"It just went off," he said, hopelessly. I could barely hear him. '1 fergot.." l-Ie slowly sank to his knees, the Winchester on the floor beside him.

so many birds at one time, even the seasoned hunters were awed by the sighl "Cit down son," my father told me, "here they come."

S(!CII

I pecked up at them through the corner of my eye.

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I didn't fire at that first wave, I was too bewildered, but I'll never forget the roaring of the guns as everyone rose and fired in unison. Sudden) y the sound was much mâ&#x20AC;˘arer than my memory.

I stood for a moment in confusion, lost between the memory and reality. The vibration of the bathroom

-Mark Kleml!tsrud

On the edge there is stilldarkness as the dock continues its sequence. surrendering sleep to enter the wildernesstouching the cold damp ground. water l:1ps upon the shore; as fog's morning hand stirs acro<,s the water. an iUuminated sky pushe!l to bring forth the day. witnessing a silent worldon the t'<ige of first lighl -Maryjane Ku ivanen-Ader

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Enshrouded (high contrast black and white plwtograph)- Elizabeth MacDuffie

Changes?

These beaches are not so hot; We're all encased in boogey-man snol Up to here, down to our knees, Chanting in groups, odd kiwis.

And, even though Winter is on the wane, Spring approaches with acid rain.

-John Ballard

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Rain Storm With the onset of spring a droplet Of rain touches me.

The blades of grass drink their fill As ii there was no tomorrow in sight, The hint of wet like a chameleon has turned.

Cascades of black, cold liquid swell the stream, Man and beast driven from a deep slumberShaken and chilled, Determined not to lose, They ascend to a church on a hill. ln the horizon a glimpse of sunligh t And sounds of ample boats.

- Karen Steidl

15

The Mammogram "Let's see, you're thirty-four," Dr. Davidson said during my annual checkup. "'t's time for your first mammogram." I had ben anticipating those words for several years, and the moment had finally arrived.

I was aware mammograms were for the early detection of breast cancer, but I had no idea what would take place during the procedure itself. However, I felt confident that whatever was going to happen would not be fw1. Experience had been an astute teacher.

When I was seventeen, my mother made an appointment for me to have my fU"St pap smear test I basically knew what was going to happen, but she forgot to mention minor details. I was aware I would have to take off my clothes and wear a hospital gown. Hut I wasn't told that I would have to place my feet in metal stirrups, level with the top of the doctors head, while the nurse would telJ me to scoot my bottom to the end of the examining tabli!. Mom also forgot to mention that pap smear tests included two quaint procedures: breast and rectal exam<>.

I had been Dr. Jansen's patient since I was an infant; however, after my first pap smear t~t, I was never able to look him in the face again.

The next degradation I had to suffer was the process of giving birth to my oldest child. Once again I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but it became indelibly etched in my memory. When I arrived in the labor room, I was administered my flCSt enema. TI1at was bad enough, but then I discovered the nurse would not allow me to get out of bed because the baby's water sac had burst. I wao; forced to use a bedpan. And the horror did not stop there.

Within a few minutes, anotlwr nurse came into the room with a straight razor and a pan of water. She shaved me from my navel down, every nook and cranny. llowever, I did receive a small consolation four years later when I gave birth to my second child. The delivery room nurse was not about to argue with an angry, 200¡ pound mother-to- be. I was allowed to use the toilet after my second enema even though my water sac had broken, and they graciously offered me a "poodle rut" instead of

16

shaving my bottom bald.

And, now, because I had been blessed with mammary glands, I was faced with another intimidation. Until Dr. Davidson scheduled me for my first mammogram, my breasts had been functional and pleasurable. They had thrilled my husband for over thirteen years, nursed two daughters, and filled out my clothes rather nicely. I liked them; I supposed it was time to have them serviced-like the family car. I shuddered.

When I arrived at the hospital's x-ray department, I was escorted to a restroom where I was told to take off my clothes, from the waist up, and put on a waist-length apron which tied around my neck. I dld, and then I walked boldly into the room where the terrible deed was supposed to take place. To my surprise, Jane, a friend of mine from church, was the x-ray technician at the hospital that day. AU of a sudden the room felt unusually cold: I didn't want to take the apron off. Jane had never seen my nak<.>d mammary glands, my breasts, my boobs. There had never been an occasion for that sort of thing at church.

However, jane assured me that she had seen most of the breasts in Hazen. I quickly untied my security blanket before I lost my nerve. There I stood, in front of my friend, fccling rather delicate. I wondered II she would always envision me naked from the waist up every time she looked at me in the future. Then Jane nonchalantly walked over to an enormous madUne and busied herself getting it ready for me.

"Come and stand right here," she said while she cranked apart a clear plastic vise in the center of the machine. "Now, I'm going to take your breast and lay it on this shelf," Jane said as she reached for one of my naked orbs.

Suddenly, the vise became the center of my attention.

When my right breast was laid on the bottom shelf of the apparatus, Jane proceeded to crank the top shell of the vise down on it so tightly I thought I would faint I looked down at my sandwiched organ in dismay. It reminded me of someone's lips pressed tightly against the window.

There I was, once again, without my dignity. And alii could think to ask was, "Uh, Jane, have you ever uncranked this thing the wrong way?" She laughed

maniacally as she said, "Raise your left arm and hold your breath."

- Rene'e Beasley Jones

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U11titled black a11d white photograph- Randall P. Schoch 18

Everychild A child cried today.

A mortal murmer pleaded into the senseless sounds of primetime, the brutal din of dinner, and the shouting... the shouting.

A child cried, but ears were imperviou~ to the glare.

And then silence.

More frightening than a fierce winter'<> howl through a hoUow, crumbling flue it howled around themand they paused for a moment between bites.

A child died today.

She was wheeled out under a white cloth and her lifeless hand, still warm, dangled from beneath.

Buried in safety they watched.

And wept hoUow tears.

And bit silent lips.

And the lights flashed red, and silent sirens screamednow haunted eyes sear the pages of life.

A child died and a man lives.

A woman cries and still another child diesand I, sitting here, listen.

-Constance Walter

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Sledding at Midnight Before I close my eye:. to dream an endless dream, I want to remembL'I' the night we stole away hke two naughty children.

Drifts of snowflakes winked upon rolling prairie hills.

The moon smill'd upon us while coyotes crkd.

You and I bolted downhill for hours while our babies slept in quilt-laden bcdo;, sweet-smelling and secure.

Out<:ide, the crispness bit hard at our lungs, but I never felt as warm as I felt that night with you.

- Rene'c Beasley Jones

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REDWINGS religiously oiled supple as cream years of happy miles have you trod joyfully hiking hopefully fishing fiercely hunting Pegasus was not as amply shod as I when my feet rejoice laced in your embrace -Jack Smart

21

Maia Loony tune, People said.

And shook their heads, WhileMaia, aothed in colors of rainbows And nowcrs, Jingl~jangles on

by.

Colorful woman with brighUy hued mind, Black eyes nashing, black hair swinging.

She welcomes you into her dark cave of a house, Dark and warm, And shows her vibrant paintings, 1l1~ t sing her Indian heritage, Of which <>he is so proud.

She thinks she is a l'riestcss, a While Witch, a Shaman.

She tells of fires And earthquakes, That she created, And aU because of the opening of her third eye.

She imperiously stops traffic With a pointing finger, 1l1en crosses, walking in rhythm To the calypso melodies playing in her head.

People try to ignore her And go about everyday lives, I leads bowed under the heavy weight Of U1cir nom1alcy.

Soon she'll lake her Lithium And join them in their burden, Silencing the voices and rhythms, closing her third eye, For the sake of sanity.

-E. MacDuffie 22

Fall From Grace

.

It was 11:15 when I askoo if I rould please go to the bat.h room. She foldoo her hands neatly on her desk and remind '-'<I me that lavatory time was not until11:30. She said I would just have to hold it until then. I had already been holding 'it' for almost an hour I told her. She just smilt>d and told me to sit down.

"You can wait lilc:e everyone else."

Sr Denise's second grade students were sub_jected to a highly rigid, inllexible daily routine. Certain sub_jects were studied at exactly the same time every day; recesses took place between the same periods of the dayeveryday-outside-rain or shine; pencils were sharpened at the same hour, on the same day of every week (which became quite confusing when that day happened to fall on one of the numerous holy days that occurred throughout the year); and trips to the lavatory were JX"''ll''itted at thrt>e indi~putable times dUring the day- excluding lunch hour-not one minute sooner, and mo-.t defmitely not fiftt-cn.

Within a few minutes of returning to my seat, I began to sweat. Five minutes later I raic;cd my hand and whispered, "Sister, I can't wait any more.H "fen minutes is not very long." She didn't even look up.

I laid my head on my desk, my arms outstretched, hands grasping the rough wooden top with every pang in my belly. I sat up straight, crossed my legs, then uncrossed them. I swung my feet, bounced and wriggled, growing hotter as I watched the big hand plod toward the six like an old woman crossing the street.

At 11:30 my peers rose from tlleir sc.1ts at Sister's command and formed two lines at the door. I did not move.

"Carolyn, it's lavatory time," she said. "Don't you have togor¡

I shook my heaci She looked at the growiJlg puddles on the floor around my desk and her face clouded. She said nothing; just walked to the door and led my classmates from the room.

I sat in my soggy tights and dress, unable to move as

an icy cold replaced the unbearable heat of only a moment before. When they returned, Sr. Denise ordered me to stand at the front of the room. She pointed to my desk and the surrounding floor, telling my peers what a baby I was; that I had wet my pants because I was too lazy to hold it.

I stood before them, arms hanging at my sides, tears running down my face, as urine dripped from the hem of my dress, forming fresh puddles on the yellowed tiles.

She paa.'<i behind me, menacingly. I could feel her each time she movoo closer, flinching and hunching into myself, expecting the blow that never came.

Then she dismissed me to get paper towels. I floo from the room, from her presence, and when I returned my clas.<;matcs had gone to lunch. I went directly to my desk without looking at her, wiped up the mess as best I could, then sat down. She said nothing. just stared down at me from ht'l' desk, and grinned. When I finally daroo to look up, I became terrified. Before me sat the Devil, and like Job I was on my own.

The hurried click of heels against tile made me sit up straighter in my desk and wipe my tears. It was a sound so foreign to the dull holy halls of St. Mary's school, yet so comfortingly familiar to my ears. The sound grew louder and then stopped suddenly. llookoo to the door and saw the flushed, apprehensive face of my mother. I !>tood, ready to flee to sanctuary, but Sr. Denise's cold voice stopped me from moving. '1 don't know why she didn't ask, Mrs. Donovan. Of course we have rules, but in an emergency we can be quite flexible.H She turned to me and smiled. My protest died unuttered, but I did not tum from her gaze. I hated her. I said a silent prayer, asking God to kill her right there. My mother said nothing. only nodded meekly and ushered me quickly from the room.

Two years later Sr. Denise died. When the news reachoo my fourth grade class, we were told to pray for her. I bowed my head, folded my hands, and thanked Cod for finally answering my prayer.

- Consunce Walter 23

..t..

I

U111 itled black and white photograph-- Marnie Gumm 24

Fat. A relative term.

One that clings to me.

Gained and lost every year.

Til death do us parl -Faith A. Neu

Mother's Favorite Recipes Mouth watering aromas came from mother's kitchen.

Everyday was baking day.

She was famous for Cherry Surprise Cake.

Surprise!

No cherries.

One grandchild had a favorite treal Doughnuts for Dana; Don't forget the holes.

-Mary Erhardt

25

Raindrops Raindrops fall from far above to touch an outstretched hand, rolling off the tender !>kin to fall a thousand years.

-Robert.l Thompson

'Word" Too small for words lnfinitesimal Unbiased Immense Said and heard, it's its own destiny Methodical, cathedral Rolls ofi the tongue "Word" -Lanette Tooke

26

THE PATRIOT standing bclore the 1V screaming cliches with red-faced anger NCOMMIE! (>INKO!" '1love my country" the call that calls the bo~ to die. i~

old glory raised high reaching up to impossible heights BElTER TO HAVE FOUGIIT AND DIED Til AN NEVER TO l!A VE FOUGHT

AT ALL..

'1>inko? Commie?(>cace-loving-freak."

What is this insanity we call war?

-rita knowles

27

Puzzled (intaglio print)-- Naomi Ruggles

28

From Beyond It was early in the afternoon on a hot August day

back into the guard and his military life insurance had

when the phone rang. I was in a deep dreamy slumber so

been reactivated. He had madt' sure it covered suicide.

it took me awhile longer to an.,wer it than usual When I

This he willed to his ex-wife. He stiU loved her, and told

did I became nauscat..'<l at the !>Ound of my brother's raspy voice. l silenUy cursed him, in four letter fashion,

her how sorry he wa<; for the chaotic alcohol and physical abu.-;e. He also said this wao; the only way out. If she

for waking me up, certain ht' wanted to borrow more

wo uldn't live with him, he didn't want to live.

mont'y; this ic; the only time I hear from him. I immediately jum(X.'<I him for the hundrl'<l d oU.us he still owed

He loaded his 10 gauge c;hot gun with one shell. It was almost over. He put the gun barrel in his mouth and

me. He meekly shot back with the old stand by. '1 haven't

picked up the string he had tied to the trigger. lie looked

got my check yet" Oh well, what's a hw1dred bucks. We

at his wife's p•cture for one last timt' then dosed his eyes.

did U1e usual c.mall talk and then he made a U-tum. t-Ie

lie jerked the string and I could ~'C blood, bones and

asked me how I was and if I was ready for school to start.

brains all over the ceiling and the wall. Then the noon

Something was wrong. this was not my brother. I knew he

whistle blew and the morbid crimson vision faded. It was

was going to throw me a curve and I wouldn't be ready

time for the funeral.

for iL I didn't know it then, but the news he delivered to me that day would changl• the way I vil'wed life and death.

I hung the phone up and

s.~t in

m.y chair

111e fw1eral was everyU1Ing I expected- three fourths of the town with grief stricken faces. It had become overca!ot which S(.'Cmed to fit the atmosphere of the moment. 111e trumpets began playing taps, Uleir shrill

dumbfounded. Suicide. I loly c.hit, '>Uicide. It flashed in my

voic~o'S edlOing

head like a neon sign. Suicide. I ju.,t couldn't bring myself

Sl.' 'mcd to be a hushed silence I again pictured Ted sitting

to believe it. l hop<-d I would wake up from my bad

o n hio; couch laughing like a cra:ted lunatic. The scene

dream. But I knl'W bdtl'r, thi'i was reality.

d1angL-d and he was sitting on a bar stool with the gun in

I spent the next few hour-. remcm~ring TL>d, my exboss and ciO!.C friend . I couldn't picture him doing such a tragic and '>tupid thing. I knL'W he had problems, drinking was one, and he was going through a divorce. I decided that must havl' b.-en the reac:on hl' did it. I began to feel angry toward him- he was sdfish, stupid and a yellow coward. I never did gl'l any sll'l'p that night.

through the cemetery, but there still

front of him. Then he was at home beating his wife and kids with the gun.

I snapped out of it with the first round of the twenty-

one gun salute, then came the second. That was all I could take before tears overcame me. After the third round of shots I walked across the street and viewed the rest of the burial from there.

As I pulled into my homl•town on Uw day of the funl'ral, there wasn't much activity going on. It's a small

talking out loud and telling Ted how I felt. Telling him he

tmvn and a tragedy like suicide affect~ the whole

should have called me and talked. Telling him that life

Late that night I was standing by the grave. I was

community. For some re.l<.on I drove to Ted's house and

was n precious gift and a privilege and Ulat he didn't have

pulled into his driveway. l ~IJTtod at the front door and

the

pictured him sllllng on hi., CtHich smiling--he was in bliss.

scream but didn't. I turned and headed for home, ready

lie knew U1e deci!iion he had made would put his torment

for sleep.

at rest and make 11wrybody

p:~y.

But his <.mile di'i.1ppt•art•d as he startL>d writing his last thoughts and instructions. lie had ju.,t bt-en accepted

ri~ht

to waste it. I was in tears again, I wanted to

During the night I awoke suddenly and shot up with the wlocity of a bullet fired from a gun. My sixth sense told me there was something very wrong. I looked around

29

my room, but didn't notire anything different or out of place. All at once I noticed my fan pointing straight at me, bull couldn't feel any air. I don't know if I said it or Ulought it, but I asked, "If that's you Ted give me a sign."

Suddenly a horrid, putrid smell began to fiU the air; something like a cross between sulphur and rotten eggs.

The stench progressive! y grew worse, almost unbearable.

I wa!t in a cold sweat and <,haking, my adrenalin was racing like an Indy car. My heart felt like a jack hammer hitting my chest and my l!!g<i were nllnlb. I knew this was the m(!aning of sheer terror. I fdt helpless, like when

Finally I had enough strength to tum on the light. As fast as it came the smell dissipated. I sat there and wondrred if it was all a dream. I quiddy dismissed the thought when I saw the fan and felt the cool air on me. I pulled the covers over my head and lay there till dawn.

The next day 1 went bade: to Ted's grave and apologized for the harsh things I had said the day before. I put a flower on the grave and asked him never to visit me again. It's never happened again and 1am satisfied that Ted, bless his soul, is resting In peace.

you're in a nightmare, trying to run and scream, but can'L - Tracy Freer

30

Where arc the dt.>ad we cannot sec; do they ascend in ecstasy?

Or arc th~y <:<~St within the realm of blackent'<l earthno !.hip to helm?

Suppo-;c they rot beneath the ground, and tell u!., when their teeth are found, that Death ts what the eyeball sct>sure cruelly playt'd on you and me.

-Mark Klcmctsrud

31

Pegasus 1hls frosty morning, Snow dusts the horses Left lo fend for thermelves In the winter pasture.

The snowfall rides Like starlight on their back.~; Their steamy breaths rise up Through mysterious design.

-David R. Solheim

Evening Star With artificial hope and calendared joy We trim U1e windows irl colored lights And wrap the house in ribbon and foil.

Sun<>et brings night in afternoon.

As day and year close down with ire-age cold, Breathing mists the air.

Venus rises steadily.

With crystalline clarity The earth reflects a diamond fire.

-David R. Solheim

32

Tlte Horses a11d l are leaving now (monoprint) --Tana Patterson-Keller

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impressions is published in journal form annually by Dickinson State University and is printed by Professional Printing. The journal is distributed free of charge on the DSU campus. Impressions also has an insert in the Western Concept, the student newspaper.

The editors encourage interested writers and artists to submit their original works at any time, however only students are eligible to win in the contest. Manuscripts should be typed and double-spaced.

Visual art must be suitable for black and white reproduction (this does not exclude water colors, oil painting, or color prints). Selfaddressed, stamped envelopes should accompany all manuscripts.

Address communications to: Impressions 221 Stickney Dickinson State University Dickinson, North Dakota 58601

Special thanks are extended to Gordon Weixel, and the Western Concept for their help in publishing the newspaper inserts, to the students of DSU for funding the annual journal, impressions, and to Roger Kilwein for 'saving' our publication.