Impressions 2008

Impressions

2008 Contest Winners: Fiction: Bowser s Bark by Heather Gall, First You Can't Save Them All by Jenny Marboe, Runner-up Dancing Among the Stars by Heather Koblansky, 2nd Runner-up Non-Fiction: Leaving Fallow Ground by Sandy Weaver, First In My Eyes by Heather Koblansky, Runner-up Goodbye by Misty Rilley, 2nd Runner-up Honorable Mention: Determination by Robert Morgan Poetry: ND HWY 14 by Meghan Bartz, First Morning at Home by Cassandra Moos, Runner-up Leaves on the Road by Ananta Uprety, 2nd Runner-up Honorable Mention: Acceptance by Sandy Weaver Grandmothers Homestead: JnventOfy by Kathleen Rockeman Photography: Untitled by Yan Zeng, First Angled Cross by Beth Hurt, Runner-up Ties that Bind by Ryan Schlauderaff, 2nd Runner-up Honorable Mention: Stretching Road by Xi Lang Desolation in ND by Amanda Lind 2-D Art: Charcoal by Kodi Klym, First Untitled by Meghan Fisher, Runner-up Elydie by Loren Johnson, 2nd Runner-up I Ionorable Mention: Untitled by Lkhavgasuren Baterdene Commotion by Ross Loeffler Mysterious Me by Amanda Lind

Impressions

2008 Advisor: Dr. David Solheim

Editors: Alicia M. Haich Andy Hall Casey Neumiller Jason Walth

Front Cover: Photographer's Self-Portrait, photography by Cassandra Impressions is made possible by the sponsorship of Dickinson State University. It is a literary magazine created and edited by the students of Dickinson State University, including members of DSU's chapter of the English Honor Society, Sigma Tau Delta.

Moos

Copyright 2008 by the editors of Impressions. The individual authors wholly own all future rights to material published in this magazine, and any reproduction or reprinting, in whole or in part, may be done only with their permission. The opinions and representations contained in this magazine do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, university administration, or faculty.

DSU student contest prize winners are listed on the inside of the back cover.

Impressions

tfa6fs o Contents Leaving Fallow Ground, non-fiction by Sandy Weaver ........................ 4 Audubon, poetry by Meghan Bartz .............................................. 4 Outdoor Sketch, artwork by Kody KJym ..................................... .......... 5 ND Hwy 14, poetry by Meghan Bartz .............................. ........... 6 Goodbye, non-fiction by Misty Ril1ey ................................................... 7 Stretching Road, photography by Xi Ling ................................... 7 Nightmare Poem, poetry by Rondale West ........................................ .... 8 Elydie, artwork by Loren Johnson ... ........................................ .... 9 In My Eyes, non-fiction by Heather Kobilansky ................................... 10 Night, poetry by Maria Haag ....................................................... 10 Live, Love, Laugh, and Ink, photography by Amanda Lind .................. 11 Barn, photography by Beth Hurt................................................. 12 The Storm, fiction by Casey Neumiller . ... .. .. ... .... ... ..... ... ... ..... ... ... ... ... ... 12 Untitled, artwork by Meghan Fisher ........................................... 13 Wonderful World, photography by Xi Lang ........................................... 15 Storm in Y\yoming, poetry by Ananta Uprety .............................. 15 Grandrnother 's Homestead: Inventory, poetry by Kathleen Rockman .. 16 Desolation in North Dakota, photography by Amanda Lind ...... 16 Death, Who Shall Come For You? poetry by Vanessa Escobar ............. 17 Angled Cross, photography by Beth Hurt ................................... 17 Morning at Home, poetry by Cassandra Moos ...................................... 18 Lovers, photography by Amanda Lind ........................................ 18 Dancing Among the Stars, fiction by Heather Kobilansky .................... 19 Dancer, artwork by Kodi Klym ............................... .................... 20 Haiku Season Cycle, poetry by Kathleen Rockeman ............................ 21 Worn out Mittens, artwork by Lane Talkington ........... ............... . 21 Bowser's Bark, fiction by Heather Gall ................................................. 22 Old Barn, photography by Ryan Schlauderaff ............................ 22 A Life, poetry by Sandy Weaver ............................................................ 23 Our House, poetry by Cassandra Moos ....................................... 24 Leaves on the Road, poetry by Ananta Uprety ...................................... 25 Untitled, artwork by Lkhavgasuren Batherdene .......................... 25 "Berry" Many Colors, photography by Andrea Schock ....................... 26 Tree Frame, photography by Xi Ling .......................................... 26 Untitled, photography by Zhou Li ......................................................... 26 Untitled, photography by Yan Zing ............................................. 26 2

Impressions

Untitled, photography by Yan Zing ....................................................... 27 Vision of the Sun, photography by Jason Walth ........................... 27 Wave Runner, photography by Ross Loeffler ..................................... ... 27 Horizon Line, photography by Ryan Schlauderaff ...................... 27 The Hunt, fiction by Casey Neumiller ................................................... 28 Domesticated, poetry by Meghan Bartz ...................................... 28 Day to Night, photography by Andrea Schock ........ .............................. 29 The Lessons of Mistaken Love, non-fiction by Ryan Bogner ...... 30 Hands of Love, photography by Cassandra Moos .. .......... ... .................. 30 For You, poetry by Jason Walth ............................. ...................... 31 Acceptance, poetry by Sandy Weaver ...... .............................................. 32 Mysterious Me, artwork by Amanda Lind ................................... 32 You can't Save them All, fiction by Jenny Marboe ................................ 33 Untitled, photography by Beth Hurt ............................................ 33 Driftaway, photography by Ryan Schlauderaff ..................................... 34 Sea Shell, artwork by Lane Talkington ........................................ 35 Reflections of Me, poetry by Rondale West ........................................... 36 Charcoal, artwork by Kodi Klym ............................................... 36 When I Search I Never Find, fiction by Alicia M. Haich ...................... 37 Galaxy, artwork by Ross Loeffler ............................................... 38 I Visibly Cry, poetry by Meghan Bartz .................................................. 39 Cottonwood Pasture, photography by Ryan Schlauderaff .......... 40 The Trees, poetry by Jason Walth .......................................................... 40 Grown-ups, poetry by Shelly Renae ............................................ 41 My Father's Rocking Chair, artwork by Lane Talkington ................. .... 41 Lost Girl, artwork by Candice Hegstad ....................................... 42 Once Upon a Time ... , non-fiction by Maria Haag .......... ....................... 42 The Lady, fiction by Jason Walth .................. .............................. 43 Unafter, poetry by Cassandra Moos ...................................................... 43 The Ties That Bind, photography by Ryan Schlauderaff ............. 44 Beautiful Dickinson, photography by Meng An .................................... 45 Omnisicent, poetry Alicia M. Haich ............................................ 46 Commotion, artwork by Ross Loeffler ...................................... ............ 46 End of May, poetry by Khatanbuuvei Munkhtur ......................... 47 My Favorite Little Canvas Bag, artwork by Lane Talkington ............... 47 Determination, non-fiction by Robert Morgan ........................... 48 Best from the Midwest, photography by Jason Walth ............................ 48 The Room, fiction by Andy Hall ........................... ....................... 50 Mongolian Warrior, artwork by Enkhtamir Otgondemberel ................. 52 Iupressions

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f.Muin.J t<faffow (Jrocml

north. 1\s a child, I had often \vondered at the partially submerged black rock splashed with white that was Sandy Weaver strewn across the lower pasture like some fallen prehistoric beast among which a dozen or so Holstein cows now grazed. And what of the animal life of the Journal Entry- Monday, April 2. It is first light as I park my car at the locked gate that allows me desen? Any questions a child might have had about to enter Cutler Marsh on fool. J walk the dirt road that natural history went unasked, my parents never comleads to the river a half mile north, a cattail-lined mented on the natural landscape. Our immediate drainage on my right, a fenced pasture to my left. concerns were for more material things rather than the There IS enough of a chill that the arboreal Chorus land or for one another. hogs arc suenr. The trumpeting of Sandhill Cranes is I had come to the marc;h just t\YO days earlier \\'lth a group of nature writers. The syllabus for the audible as is the hoarse honking of Canada Geese not yet visible.

Writing Landscapes Workshop had advertised nature The river breaks on a wooded writing, daily island habitat. The water's mottled "O~ ~t:i/te, VC1"\.-~ w~ lectures, surface reflects patches of light that ~~ ~t:i/(~pr,t~~ u;;;(~ ~~ shiver in the gray overcast chill of early and field trips. I morning. A gaggle of geese congregate ~ ~ ()..Z, Jo-t-()~~. arrive a on the river bank stiffly aware of my presence. They stand unnaturally still in half an discernible pairs, their heads raised, white chinsttaps hour early at the Eccles BuiJcling, my back pack filled "is1ble, their generous honzontal bodies alert. At my \\'ith the essential items: a journal, bird book, binocuapproach, the closest pair engages in a postured head lars, and a sack lunch. I am excited for new a experinodding just before lifting off. ence, and wondering what l will encounter.

I've come to record my observations of the Journal Entry- Saturday, March 31. The guest writer introduces herself by way of a childhood that marsh for a nature writing assignment, yet there is this feeling of resistance. l'd grown up in the high steppe included basement drawers filled with rocks and shells -all labeled; a freezer with small road kill specimens in desert of southern Idaho. Since the beginning of the e1ght day workshop, the memory of my parents and plastic bags next to the orange popsides; dawn birding the farm from which we had taken a Jj,¡ing continues treks co city sewage ponds; and a backyard garden of to surface. 1-Iuch of that landscape had never been wtld flowers rescued from construction sites. This was explored physically nor emotionally, not the man-made very kind of childhood 1 1111ght have wished for myself irrigation canals, nor the volcanic cinder cone lo the had I known, then, that such a Ufe existed. Listening to the guest writer speak, my heart stills. 1 get this sudden mental image of myself standing at a customer service counter.

The clerk asks, "I low may I help you?"

My hands push the narrow package of my childhood wward her, "This was always coo small. I'd Meghan Bartz hke to exchange it for something more." ln that moment of long1ng I had no idea of what a troubled week it was going to be. 'What should The sk_y dark as n1ght have been' was a theme 1 just couldn't shake. The the black glass below m_y Feet original assignment was to write about the nesting a vast sea of solitude outside habits of shy bitterns or the effect on the North the air dean and pure American waterways and ecosystems plagued by onl_y a Few veh,des on th1s wasteland prolific immigrant carp, but my memories would not cousins, pupp_y and fish inside. recede.

p-t-

,

?J.ulu6on

The blue heron rooker) is visible from a Yiew point just off State lligh'"ay 30. The untidy nests arc

4

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jammed into the high branches of the cottonwood trees like detritus washed up in some catastrophic flood. i\ Pacific Corp biologist discusses wedand maze ecology. The group takes turns squincing openmouthed through a spotting scope at the heron and theU' chicks. She asks us to speculate as to why lcilldeer choose to nest on the ground, making their young accessible to predators? Killdeer, she informs us, were originaUy shorebirds. What looks like a very dangerous place to rruse young is actually warmer than the higher, exposed nests in the trees. On the ground there is much less competition for space, and the nests are so well camouflaged as to be nearly impossible to find. The biologist motions for us to follow her into the marsh, and we impose an unnatural silence broken only by the sounds of Green-winged Teal talcing off in flight.

We hike to the boggy pasture where we eat our sack lunches before heading back to the cars and the dncr environment of the Eccles Conference Center.

Later that evening as I sit with my field journal contcmplaung the marvelous sights of the marsh, once again the memories of my rural childhood surface. \X'hy not write my paper about our farm and a childhood spent wishing to know more about the desert. At the time, it seemed like such a good idea.

enous people and wildlife, and the terror he had felt wh1lc diving under the Arccic pack ice. He spoke of a mystical experience trying and failing and trying again to introduce wallaby to an area of Australia. Barry Lopez saw himself as a very small part of an environment that filled him with awe, and while he spoke a spirit of reverence came and dwelt among us.

Kody Klym

Apnl 5. It is Thursday night and I sit with my field journal open and review hastily scribbled notes. In my hands is a treasure of marsh trivia. Extraordinary Barry Lopez came to lunch on Wednesday. bits of information that include nesting and pollinating Lopez had won the National Book Award. I happened habits of Solitary Bees; to identify heron from crane in to be out in the hallway as the chairman of the English flight, that unlike crane, heron retract their necks; and department greeted him. Lopez was dressed in worn that the wave action from an inland sea had formed the jeans, a canvas field coat and a much used baseball cap. bench that lies along the west side of the Bear River He was much older than the picture in Arctic Drean1s.

Range. Knowing such information fills me with I Je squinted against the artificial light, as if he was satisfaction. J wonder if a similar knowledge the desert unsure as to how he'd come to be in the interior of the landscape of our farm might provide a balance to my conference center. In anticipation, 1 quickly found my childhood memories. way back to the classroom.

The next morning, 1 fmd myself calling the As soon as Lopez began to talk to the class, a southern Idaho of my childhood. The county agent's hushed breathless quiet filled the room. He felt that to office refers me to the soil conserYationist and the live fully, you must ll\¡c seriouslr He asked us to questions that had long gone unasked as a ten-year-old consider t'\.\'0 qucsuons: \X'ho am I? and \X'by am I are dtscussed. He recommends a book about the here? He contended that each region. We talk of the high person in the community has desert and the sagebrush "'W~ ~~ ~e- ~ 'w~ something to share. Communisteppe. The black rocks tics in the past had looked to t:JI,~?j~vo~-':t~." stained with patches of others, considered by them to white that lay strewn across be more intelligent, for our lower pasture arc basalt with deposits of calcium important environmental decisions. Lopez strongly carbonate, and the prickly pear cactus with yellow crepe disagreed. "Listen respectfully to the landscape to flnd paper-like flowers that 1 loved as a child always bloom equivalence." He spoke of his experience with indigin April.

Impressions

5

Friday, April 6. In the graying light of the earn the t\vo workshop credits, I'd written some spring afternoon, I walk the rutted road along the descriptive paragraphs abour the Idaho desert, but the drainage line with cattails. I kneel to examine what, at satisfying closure I'd hoped for was not to be. On the first , look like the strav. fibers of a black felted boot last day of class, each student had stood and read their lirung, but soon discover that boot linings do not papers aloud. Afterward we had made our goodbyes, usually ha,·e mouse tails. Could it be an owl pellet? Yet but I'd written a paper that had no real resolution. there are no bones. Could it be a hair ball sicked-up by a feral cat? I don't know but I can fmd out. I am :,\lonths later while straightening up my desk, I pleased that my observations are improving each time I take out my field journal and discover my paper folded return to the marsh. into the inner pocket. Re-reading, I relive the moment I stand ncar the second iron gate at the river, of the Sandhill Crane's adaptation. I remember that 1 closed and secured against the weathered fence posts. had quietly knelt down in a low proftle, waiting until the Sand hills feed in a field of winter wheat among Canada cranes had left the fallow ground, emerging once again geese. At my approach, the cranes cautiously make to feed in the wheat field. I see that my answer had their way from the emerging wheat into the adjacent fallow ground. As the sandy gray 'd wt:WVtd e;c, -;(t, ~tv~:; ~ clvitdhcod, ~ct ~-;(/w::i;( birds pass over onto the plowed w~-;(t,o ~-;(t, ~po-rn-o,.,..~~ wo~p. " soil they simpl} disappear from been there all the time, the rruth right there before me. vievt. I lift my bmoculars for a closer look, man·eling at 1 realized that what 1 had wanted was to be forgiven. In the stunning example of color adaprion. I know the order to feel comfortable in the marsh, I'd needed to Sandhills arc there, but I can not see them. It is an make a kind peace with ,,·hat I had left behind. l had incredible moment. spent my childhood feeling responsible for the dynamI'd spent a long week contemplating what I'd ics of a family and an old belief system. I felt a release learned about the marsh and my childhood, still of responstbilicy that had never been mine to begin hopmg for some kind of catharsis. It had been a long with. My connection to the land had begun in the week picking the scab off an old wound, a family that marsh. In my mmd, I approached the iron gate at the had failed to connect with the land or one another. I'd river, no-w open and secured against the weathered post. wanted a way to salve my childhood, and perhaps that I pass through and make my way home. ~*~ was too much to expect from one nature workshop. To

"'7

w7

NfJ 1/?U1J14 Meghan Bartz f\iding the old red trail unttll h•t old ex1t +0.

M!;l Vessel sails the vast green ocean It easil!:l rides the current and waves.

Over each wave is a buo!:l sticking from the ocean Roor, Standing tallmto the sk!:l.

I'm sailing at +8 knots The smell of sage and sweet dover clutters m!:l nose, but it doesn't matter I still sail awa!:l.

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Impressions

StretchiYIJ 1(pa/ Xi Ling

Minnie was twelve, right before her father was cliag nosed with a brain tumor. Things had just not played Misty Rilley out well for him and now it was too late for him to do anything. "Fair" was a subject that meant nothing to Her father had lain barely conscious in his bed, her and deserved nothing short of a sarcastic reply. ~finnie and her family had placed him in the casket like, just awaiting the call from his father. He nursing home in Terry, Montana, which was about an always said he was not home but was onJy passing hour from their home. VisJtJng her dad was a little through, and he would only be home when he got to weird because nursing homes were usually for old he:l\'en. He had been cliaf:,>nOsed with a cancerous brain people, were they not? Her father was onJy forty -tv.:o tumor about five years before and had fought valiantly and still had plenty of Life yet to live. I Le had a private to beat it. l'v1innie, his daughter, was aJso a victim along room so that was nice, so Minnie could visit him in with the rest of her family. Those who have to watch peace. That was until the nurses would come in and someone they love pass away arc also victims. l\finnie would need to watched the tumor slowly make her daddy disappear, but magic tricks were supposed change him or give medicine or whatever to be fun, not life - encling. His body was growing weaker daily and his brain was was needed. :Most ~n-w:.o..w:-~ (o.ye; ~ people do not think slowly disappearing as it was raptdl} being M-e-~~ ~~. " eaten by the flesh -eating monster. of seeing their parents wear diapers \'<'hen a loved one was ill and that were usually worn by babies or old people. This there was nothing anyone could do, the family often asked themselves why. Nunnic asked herself why it was was indeed an eye opener for Minnie. Her dad was a nurse so it must have been really hard on him to have her father. Had she just been a really bad girl and God had wanted to punish her? J\unnie and her father had a them work on him when he was used to being the one doing it to other people. When he could sciJJ talk he prett} rocky relationslup for most of her life. They had never mentioned it, but his family thought it must have JUSt begun to make headway in thelf relationship, when definitely been difficult for h.tm. the tumor decided to come out of remission. Her ¡Minnie knew the day to say goodbye to her father had been an alcoholic for most of her life and father was coming very soon but she clid not know was very physically and emotionally abusive to his when for sure. Each time she visited him she treated it family which ended up leading to a di\¡orce when

f;oo/fqe

t:JC;W""l

Impressions

7

like it was the last time. I ler final visit was on a Tuesday after school that carried over till Wednesday. Her aunt suggested that she miss school on Wednesday so she could spend the day with him because her father could leave the world any moment. Her family camped out in the lobby most of the day driYing the nurses crazy. She and her brothers left right before supper time that day because they had very nasty colds and they needed to stop by the clinic and pick up some medicine. They left in good conscience thinking they were okay to go and their dad would live to see tomorrow.

Luck was on their side. He made it through the night and Minnie was able to go to school and complete the day. But when she got home from school their luck changed. ller brother called, explaining to her that tonight would be their dad's last. Her dad's breathing was very shaUow, his skin, cold and taught.

Her aunt, who was also a nurse, was pretty sure it was his last night. That particular Thursday was the day that many kids bought brightly costumes and went door to door makmg their pleas to satisfy their sweet tooth. This day was \finrue and her dad's faYorite of the year. She had to make the decision if she wanted to stay at home with her thoughts or if she wanted to be at the hospital with her family. She decided to stay home because she did not think she couJd watch her father take his last breath. I Ier family respected her decision and went on with their business.

Later that night after l\tinnie had received her last beggar and had blown out the lights of her orange creations, her brother called her to inform her that their father had gone to heaven. " ~ }_.-_,.£!" w f;.,.,, ~-ic~ w~ Minnie was home alone and had no one to turn to as her mom was at her boyfriend's and her friends were out enjoying the holiday. After hanging up with her brother she fought with what to do next. Did she starr calling her friends and relatives or did she cry? She was not sure, as death was new to her. She decided to call Shae first, whose first reaction was "oh shJL," and that was a direct quote, which made ~1mnie laugh because that was her friend's way of showing her sympathy. Shae came over with her boyfriend and tried to comfort her.

Later her brothers came home, and like most men, wanted to get down to business right away. They came to her room to sec if she was still awake, and she was. They wanted to finish the final touches on their father's funeral, so they could get it done and her

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l!J1pressions

NiJhfman fJom~ Rondale West What becomes of ones lite Whenjailer and friend become one?

M1ser,:~ so entwined When sleep hasjust begun.

When nightmares haunt thee Uke an everlasting tire, Smothering love tor all And siphoning lite's desire.

No more fari~'s sugar p lums To ease this night!~ pain No more children's books To pretend that lite's a game.

-

brother Cory could get back w coUege. Minnie had never been to a funeral before, let alone helps plan one, so this was indeed a new experience for her. The next couple days were filled with school, her mother's orders, and funeral plans. She wrote a poem for h1s funeral and it was placed in the funeral program. ~finnie received many compltmcnts on the poem, "'· hich made her feel good. It was always good to get compliments on your work.

Trus Wednesday, October 31,2007 will make five years since !vlinnie's father had gone to heaven. She still grieves as she will till ~A,~·" the day she dies, but she is able to talk about him now and not feel as sad. She sciU misses him, but knows he is in a better place and will soon meet him when her Father calls her home since she too believes in his saving grace.

She remained strong and has now grown up and has learned a great deal from her father. She carries his goals and missions with her everywhere and has made the promise that she will never forget him. Memories are one of those thmgs that cannot easily be taken away from us. In t1mes when she is in need of comfort ~finnie looks towards 2nd Timothy 4:7 which goes like this: "I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith: I have finished the race." Minnie uses this verse when describing her father's heroic fight because it is so accurate. She wears his memory in a locket close to her heart on those special occasions when it feels right.

Darwin Doil Rilley, friend, hero and father to the end.

'E~tlie Loren Johnson

Impressions

9

9n 'MJ'EJM Heather Kobilansky

What if I told you her ex-husband isolated her from people and never let her leave the house? That he told her once that she could get a job, but that all the money she earned was going to go toward stockpiling supplies and guns in case the U.S. got invaded. Or what if I said he controlled her life to the extent that the only thing she had control over was how clean the house was?

Do you still find her strange?

And what of that young college student? You know the one T mean. The one who showed so much promise her first few years of school and then collapsed without warning? She just can't seem to recover and you're growing more and more frustrated as she skips class, hands papers in late and repeatedly asks for extensions and incompletes. You keep asking yourself, when will she grow up?

If you were to learn that she is suffering from depression and that she attends therapy sessions twice a week; that she is guietly trying to get her life back in order and that sometimes dragging herself out of bed is all she can handle, would your view of her change?

Would your frustration decrease a little?

How about that Wal-Mart worker? The one who always greets you with a smile and helps you in whatever way she can, but seems to fade into the

See that woman out of the corner of your eye? The one you're not really sure is there? She has her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her lips work nervously any time someone makes eye contact with her. She's wearing what you consider a cheap Wal-Mart shirt and you can see the tag is still attached, as if she is planning on returning it after she has worn it once.

You're secretly scoffing at her, aren't you? You can't believe the nerve of people these days. And that air of fear you sense about her, you think she's faking it just for sympathy, don't you?

What if I were to tell you that the woman you hold in such contempt has been beaten, strangled, and thrown out of a moving car? That she's been on the run for more than seven years from her abusive husband, and he keeps on finding her? Or that the shirt she's wearing is the first one in years she hasn't bought at a thrift store and she's keeping the tag on it because it's special to her?

How does she change?

Or what about that kindergarten teacher? The one who is annoyingly cheerful and extremely strict about the neatness and cleanliness of her classroom and, "~d,-;(k;;( ~ cf~ fC«- ~ t:~~-kwf' ~, fC«sometimes, her students.

You've always thought that ~ k ~~ a-i~r~ ~~ , ck~::r there was something a bit off rC«- ?" about her and the way she's obsessed about taking the woodwork. She doesn't have enough color for you; you children on field trips and how any hint of paranoia think there should be more spirit in her step and more sets her on edge. confidence in her pretty eyes.

7

NiJhf Maria Haag A mass of slithering slugs, thick curvatures Upon her face and neck, the locks of death. !)lack is her makeup, black and cold and dead and dark, full of the woe of man.

And at her feet, clustering in s9ualid servitude, Mankind lies still, drowned deep in fetid fog.

She weeps for them, so poor and so oppressed, And down the rutted channels in her cheeks There fa lls a tear- one tin!::J silver droplet: And all is death no longer, onl!::l sleep.

10 Impressions

What if I were to say that the reason she's so quiet is that her husband mentally and emotionally abused her for twenty years? That she was told day in and day out that she wasn't smart enough, wasn't pretty enough, just plain wasn't enough. And that she's been working hard for the past two years, to convince herself everything he said was a lie.

Do you understand her quietness better?

What about the woman you were talking about at lunch yesterday? The one who after fifteen years of the perfect married life with a wonderful husband, who gave her three beautiful daughters, just decided to up and divorce him. You can't understand why she did that, especially when her husband was one of the outstanding members of the community.

Would it help if 1 were to tell you that he sexualJy and emotionally abused her? Or that his good deeds were all a fa~ade and those three girls had walked on eggshells every moment of their young lives?

Do rou still envy her?

You're feeling pity for all of them now, aren't you, and perhaps a little guilty. You see their situations and struggles as a reason to go easier on them. You

want to focus on the horrors of the things they went through and pat them sympathetically on the back. You probably think they want you to.

But they don't. This is what they really want: -safety, security, and happiness for their children -for the nightmares to stop -for the clouds to lift -the strength to make it through another day -to beat the depression -to feel safe in their own skin -to smile more and worry less -to beat the alcohol addiction -to find and hold a steady job -to rediscover who they are and to love themselves and all their inherent strengthens and weaknesses -to get out from under their oppressor's thumb -to hope again -to jinai!J be whole You see broken and battered souls in need of pity.

I sec the strongest women I have ever met. ~*~

.f.ive, .f.ove,

.f.aUJh anl9n~ Amanda Lind

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11

rhtStorm Casey Neumiller The oppressive heat scorched us even with the sun just peelong 0\"Cr the horizon as I threw a saddle over the back of my horse. The colt was a bit jittery, but he was onl> a three-year-old with plenty of miles in front of him. Ttus ride through the Badlands of southwest North Dakota would be perfect for tiring him out and making h1m concentrate on the job at hand.

'Course, I thought, that's

stab in my heart at the sight. She looksjust like her mother.

I swung up easily on the colt in one smooth motion, and he stood solidly on all four legs without moving. I smiled slight!}. "Come on, Abby, let's go."

By the time the sun was fully risen we had already vanished from sight of ci~ilization. In the wilds of the Badlands, I felt at home. Though the days of the cowboys spendmg weeks in the wild watching herds of cattle and ndmg fences were long gone, there were still a few of us that longed for those times.

the same reason I hat'e for bringing Abi!J out here.

My daughter was still sitting in the cab of the pickup, the old AM radio turned up as far as it would go. The old marc she would be riding was saddled and tied to the beat up old stock trailer, the bridle still hanging from the saddle horn. "She's not going to make it easy for us, is she?" I murmured to the colt as I tightened up the cinches¡ the front, then the back.

With the colt in tow, I walked back up to the pickup and knocked on the dri,er-side windo\v. The teenage girl inside glared out at me but reached oYer to pull the keys from the ignition. After she slammed the passenger-side door of the old Ford, she tossed the keys across the box. I caught them, but the sudden motJon spooked my colt and in an instant he was pulled back at the end of the reins.

"Easy," l soothed. ''Easy."

Calming the colt, I pocketed the p1ckup keys. B} the time I had turned, Abby was mounted on her old mare and with the reins hanging loose. I felt a brief

12

Impressions

Abby rode a few strides behind me for well over an hour. 1 finally tugged the reins gently to slow the colt until she came alongside. "Isn't it a beautiful morning?" I asked. Silence was the response. "Come on, Abby, please," I said quietly. "I brought you out here so we can talk. No running away for either of us."

"After three years," she said flatly, "you finally want to talk? Three years?" l closed m\ eyes as the old ache flared up again. Threty-ears. It's bemthru)'tars smce I lost her. ccYes," I said simply. " I know I haven't been a good father, but we need to talk. Please."

"Fine. Talk.

Doesn't matter-you can't bring Mom back."

The ache threatened to overwhelm me.

Three years ago, my beautiful wife Sara and I had been in a bad accident on the way back from a horse sale. She had been driving while Thad slept. The SCV driver had been drunk, and smashed headlong into the pickup.

Beth Hurt Sara had died

'Barn

instantly in the impact, and I had walked away from the accident with only a few bruises and scrapes ... and a shattered heart.

For two and a half years I had crawled into a bottle, drinking my breakfast and every meal afterward. The settlement payment had been more than sufficient to support me and our daughter, but I had stopped being a father. I had stopped being anything at all for that long stretch. I hadn't cared about anything-not my daughter, not my family, not my ranch. Nothing had been able to penetrate the whiskeytinted fog that surrounded me.

But finally, I had emerged from it. It was still a struggle. There wasn't ada} I didn't miss my beloved Sara, but 1 slowly found a way to manage the pain and loss.

However, in those two and a half years, my daughter had become a stranger to me.

When she needed me most, I had let her down. Her grief had been as strong as my own, but I had isolated myself even from her.

"I'm sorry, Abby," I said quietly. "I've been a lousy father, 1 know. But it's time for us to leave Mom behind us."

"So now you can just leave her behind? You can just forget about her?" The venom in her voice surprised me even now. "You think everything can just

1Jnfiffet/ Meghan Fisher

The problem "vith Abby's accusations wasn't her tone of vo1ce, but rather their tmth. My daughter, the one thing left in the world that mattered to me, had grown up while I had been grieving. She was a senior in high school now, and she clearly thought of herself as an adult.

My colt started crowhopping under me and 1 was jolted back into the "~~u;/, w~ ~ oo~fo"" ~ ~1&-­ present. Gathenng the rein I pulled the ':te-t- ~rJ~~~o~~ oct(, ~~~u;/, colt into a spin, taking away his momentum until he slowed. I squeezed tightly -;(0 wtd'ol&- ~ ~~. , with my legs, anticipating each jump, riding his momentum. "H o, dammit!" I be fmc now? Dad, you abando!lfd me when Mom died. shouted as I pulled up the slack, tucking his nose in.

I've been living on my own for all this time, and now The colt fmally slowed, shaking his head in frustration at the tight rein. As I final!}' brought him to a full stop, you want back in to my life?" She snorted and kicked I saw that Abby hadn't looked back, hadn't even her horse, moving ahead of me on the trail. stopped.

We rode in silence for another hour, dropping further into the rugged beauty of the Badlands. I Sighing, I released the reins and cued the colt marveled at the beauty of the nearly untouched forward. She reai!J does hate tm. /'"'not even sure she} wron,g to do so. country as we rode on. I struggled with my thoughts.

?

Impressions 13

I turned my eyes skyward as I fell .into shadow. would be chilled and soaked to the skin.

Distracted with my concerns for my daughter and the The rain had begun now, a steady drizzle, and I knew we were still a half hour away from the pickup antics of my colt, I had neglected to watch the skiesand what I saw now scared me. Oh, no. The thundereven at the frantic pace we were pushing our horses. We had lost the race. Making a snap decision, I called to head to the west was clearly bearing down on us. A storm was coming.

Abby as I pulled up the reins. "Abby, off your horse, "Abby!" I shouted. "Abby!" The girl's horse now! It's about to get very slippery." There was available cover, but it wasn't what I had hoped for-a couple of turned so she could face me. I pointed at the approaching storm front. "We need to head back, now!' scraggly pine trees that came up to my chin. It was She glanced to the west, and her expression as almost nothing, but it was all we had.

As we dismounted and crouched down in our she turned back to face me was pure fear. Her personal pitiful cover, the skies opened up and the rain began to feelings toward me aside, she knew the danger of the approaching storm. "Can we make it back to the come down in sheets. I could only grimace as my pickup?" she shouted back. clothes soaked up almost .instantly, feeling like ice I hesitated. We had been riding for hours; the against my skin. Abby's head was down, the water pickup was miles behind us. 'We have to try," I streaming through her hair. The old mare was partly over her, sheltering her from the downpour; I didn't decided. "Let's go!" dare do the same with a young colt who might trample The temperature was starting to drop as we raced toward the pickup. Gone was the leisurely me by accident. walking pace we had Then the hail came. set out on; now we Pelted by these hard "Jk, ~ktr w~e4 ~et ~ ~ were pushing the two nuggets, my colt-already horses hard, trying to past his tolerance for the ~et k~-:t~~wo~U-:r~ get back to the whole affair-spooked. I -;(/w:- ~+' ~~ ~~~. pickup before the clung tightly to the reins as he dragged me down storm could catch us.

My eyes flicked back away from my cover. I and forth continually, looking for any sort of cover. started laughing as I stumbled to my feet, hanging on If the storm caught us, I knew, we would be in tightly as the poor bewildered horse jerked hard against the reins, but l refused to budge. I had to hold on for trouble. In the dusty clay knobs, the footing was both our sakes'. If he spooked and ran off now, I'd generally sure and there was little grass to be had for grazing- the generally inhospitable conditions saw to have to walk out and he would likely get hurt in the that. However, when the storms blew in, they were not slimy clay hills.

"Dad!" Abby screamed. "Dad!" to be trifled with. The dry clay that provided such solid footing became a slimy mess nearly impossible to I barely heard her over my struggle with the colt and couldn't afford to turn my head to answer her. traverse; the gullies and washouts would channel feetA few seconds later, though, l was surprised as another deep fast-moving water dangerous to cross. The horse moved past me- Abby's old mare. An instant mighty winds and driving rain and dropping temperatures would turn the beautiful Badlands inhospitable. later the mare was alongside the colt, and his fighting ceased abruptly as its worries were eased by the presEven as the two horses raced through the rough terrain as fast as I dared, I knew we wouldn't ence of the older, calmer horse. lts frantic fight to make it in time. The storm was blowing up on us too escape was over.

Beside me, Abby stood tall and firm, her hands quickly, our horses were tired, and my colt was scared.

If I pushed him any harder, 1 would risk him spooking tight on the reins to keep her horse under control. I out from under me and leaving me on my back staring reached out with one hand and drew her to me, and in up at the darkening sky. the pouring rain, pelted by bits of hail, we clung tightly Still we rode on, trying to at least find cover to to each other until the hail ceased. The rain continued ride out the storm. These nasty storms tended to be to fall, but we were already soaked and it no longer squalls: they came in quickly and pounded hard, but mattered. passed just as quickly. If we could find some cover, I The storm would take another half an hour to figured we could manage to ride out the storm and pass, I was sure. But the storm clouds that mattered had then make our way back to the pickup, even if we already broken. ~*-

,

14 Impressions

Stonn in ~omin.J Ananta U prety Headed north into Montana, end of jul~, We watch a thunderstorm from across the Immense expanse o~ the shallow basin To the east of l-25, which rides its raised western rim.

Across impossible miles of vacant grass Is a thunderstorm, a single mushroom cloud above Whatever un~ortunate lite lies in its sinister shadow.

There is no other weather besides wind and sun that we can see An~where, but this one mile-high storm-cell demon in the distance Squatting vengeful!~ over some poor bastard's Alfalfa or wedding dance or trailer house Where a dog barks desperate!~ and hail grinds the garden to soup.

There, a bag bo~ at the tin~ grocer~ cowers behind the counter And the librarian makes her dream~ wa~ To the stacks in the windowless cellar as lightening snaps and snarls in a gra~ blue murk.

We buck the wind headed awa~, relieved we can, but Uncomforted b~ knowing the storm is too tar to touch us, As those in its umbra are uncomforted b~ the fact That the sun still shines elsewhere, be~ond its grip.

The portion of fierce blue sk~ that ~ails to us And the mocking sun dare us onward And a tune from the crackling radio urges: Come home! Qh bab~, come home!

Wom/er{ufWorfl Xi Ling

Impressions 15

(}BJofafion in North ()akPfa Amanda Lind

t;ranlmotkr 1'JiornBJfMII: 9nvsntory Kathleen Rockeman Tin~ grave. Dr~ welL 5oundar~ stone lost in the longgrass. f)arest footprint ot a creek bed .

Insult oF a cow walking out ot the ruined house. f)irds ascending through a recollection of roof.

Row of holl~hocks behind the ghost bam, 5ut no broom, no lantern, No crocus in a Jar at the window.

No one who remembers but 5ees droning like the distant machines.

16 Impressions

0Mth, ?Ufm ShaffCiJm8 ~r 1/ou?

Vanessa Escobar

What turmoil wrestles with me 1n the dark?

Can ~ou not see the vengeance that lies w1thin me?

And still ~ou tret ~ou precious pet, And still ~ou walk through rugged ghettos.

Never shall we meet?

Of course, but on I~ in t he wretched night.

Do dark e~es shimmer without light?

Take off that cloak, that hooded wardrobe, What is revered ot ~ou, d1smantled.

D1spla~ ~our hard and fractured bones, 5ee ~our breath, does is not fog?

Death, who shall come for ~ou?

I will wear no cloak, nor mask,

1lÂťJfufef'OJ1 Beth Hurt

nor rattle chains.

Alone, I will float as gre~ mist in crooked trees.

And ;JOU shall shiver in ~our dusted cradle.

Your deathl~ curdle reveals ~our birth, Unfolding a beginning, commg to end.

Shivering, 9uivering, ~our mask shall fall, And ~ou will tmd ~our thread as all. f' repare for the cut, I carr~ the shears, You find ~ourself, and tangible fears.

Death, I shall come for ~ou.

Impressions 17

f.ovsrs Amanda Lind

'Morni"J at 1/ome Cassandra Moos The Sun rises upon th1s old house E_ach morning with beams pla~ing a slow game of hide and seek I hide under the warm flannel covers As the beams seek me across brown wooden floors The same floors that creek below m~ toes As 1f to complain of wakmg up To harmonize with m~ mornmggroans Groans that tade as the dark roast blend m~ coFfee begms to fdl the air The dark brown ocean of- happiness That whirlpools around m~ favorite cup Calming on I~ atter the sea has turned A cream~ tan w1th the smell ot hazelnut The color ot 3our wav~ ha1r You who wrinkle 3our nose at m~ mornnig habit 5ut stare at me with pupp~ dog e~es The sof-t brown look that reminds me ot autumn trees How the beautiful hues of red and orange W1ll soon become mudd~ and become mulch tor the ground We too, slow!~ become those leaves Our beaut~ tadmg unbl we are but a part or the earth Crust~ brown age spots covering our skin Our hair no longer holding caramel or chocolate hues 5ut toda~ we are 3oung As ~ou pm me agamst the auburn cab1nets ~ou stubborn!~ mstalled, lean1ng m tor our morning bss

or

18 Impressions

humans. It was a vicious cycle that went around and around until two wise ones decided that the time had come for peace.

1Janci1lj 1lmon.J tk Stan Heather Kobilansky Have you ever flown through the starry night sky, the wind cool against your skin and the moonlight warm upon your back? Have you ever played amongst the clouds and shaken raindrops from your mane? Have you ever danced among the stars?

If you are listening to this, child, then you have not.

But to do those things is your dream, you goal. Am I right? You want nothing more than to soar through the sky, the earth small beneath your feet and your herd

mates around you. What is that? Did I sayyour goal?

Yes, I clid. I have already reached that goal, the goal to fly, as have all the others around you. It was once our goal, and now we pass it on to you. To fly...It is the most glorious dung in the world and the easiest. We all know how to fly, there's a knowledge that just exists within us. But in order to fly our best, we must understand our roots, our past. So listen well child, so that you may join us in the sky.

We call ourselves Aria, children of the air. At the beginning of time when the world was being created, Isis, the moon goddess argued with Apollo, the sun god. Isis wished to create a creature that would mhabit the skies and belong only to her. Apollo, covetous of his authority, forbade her to allow her creation to wander in the morning skies. And so lsâ&#x20AC;˘s created the Aria, who fly only at night.

She fashioned us after earth animals named horses, but gave us wings to set us apart. She colored us white so that we would always bear the mark of our maker and gave us the Intelligence to hide from Apollo's hunters. For Apollo, m a frenzy of jealousy, had given life to his own band of creatures. He named them humans and gave them one purpose in life: the domination of the Aria.

Centuries upon centuries, the Aria and the humans fought. Humans would catch Aria, but in their tgnorance would kill them before they could conquer us.

Aria would strike at the humans, but having an abhorrence of murder, would only succeed in angering the

From the Aria came Arya, shaman of our people. Her knowledge and patience were as great as the heavens from which she took her name. Her wisdom was renowned; her opcn-rnindedness frowned upon. It only took a chance meeting between her and the "l(jng" of the humans, Valerian, to spark reconciliation. Since that day, the Aria and the humans have coexisted peacefully.

Yet the day may come again, when the humans wage war against the Aria. For that day, that u~nlualiry some say, we must be prepared. Jlumans say "the best offense is a good defense." Our best defense is the ability to fl}'. Humans are afraid of heights and they are unnerved by what they call our "unholy" competence at flight. Their fright coupled with our excellent aerial strikes, causes them to falter in their attack whenever they sight us in the sky.

Flying is not aU fun and games, child. For every wonderful moment spent in the heavens, there arc two equally horrif);ng moments of terror. You have been sheltered all your short life. You have never been forced to flee swiftly, to watch your home being destroyed or to live when so many others perished. You are the summer children, born after the Great Winter and the I Iealing Spring. May Isis grant that you never live to see the horrors that we did, but if Isis deems that we need be punished, you must be prepared.

Aerial drills and escape procedures will become a daily part of your life after your first flight, and there will come a day when you will wonder why. Resentment will fester in your heart and rebellion in your breast. Pray

"fo-z- ~ k;. ~ u-~~~ ~~ ry. we- ~ ~ ~.,

that on the day you falter, we will not need you. Pray that you, in your ignorance of war and contempt for the old ones, do not commit the unpardonable sin of instigating a revolt, leaving your herd and your foals unprotected.

This may seem like a heavy lecture to be delivering to you now, just before your first flight, just at the mo-

Impressiotts 19

ment when your heart must be light. But flying is not something to be taken for granted. lt is a gift, a talent and a great power. With great power, though, comes great responsibility. King Valerian believed this and so do the Aria.

thing like you? Do we share any common traits or values? ln order to fly, child, you must share some traits with me. Overtime you will gain them all, as I have, your

character worn by the passage of time and life, My child, look at me now. See in my eyes the wisdom strengthened by the joy of love and the laughter of of the old, the courage of the young, the confidence of the pretty and the humility of "~ ~ ~-::the- w~~ cf~ cU, -:thethe homely. Look into my eyes and judge me.

Judge my heart, my temperament, my life.

r 7

ocfM;~e- cj-:the- 7-c~ , -:the- ocnf~ cj~

Not sure if you like what you see? Good. ~~- ~d--:the- ~ti;('r cf~ he~. " Why good? You seeyourse!fin my eyes, child, the reflection of your true self. Now look into friendship and sweetened by the sorrow of death. But my eyes again. See again those things of which I told you and judge !lle no\v. What do you see? Am I anyon this, your first flight, you need only have one thing in common with me. You must have the desire to fly, the desire to soar through the night.

Do you have it? Is flight the foremost thought in your mind?

Is dancing among the stars what you want to do? Is it? Good.

Then come along, child. Come and dance with me. -*-

()ancer Kodi Klym

20 Impressions

1/aikJ, Suuon CJc' Kathleen Rockeman

I.

E>ees bus!j in boughs

Of birches, audible blooms E>right bu.uing branches

2.

In th1s velvet tent Swan, phoenix, eagle, winged horse Are R!jing d1amonds

).

Sun through harvest haz.e, Gilded birch, berried tingers

?Uorn out 'Miffsm Lane Talkington

And tonight, that moon!

+.

The picnic table E>uned beneath h1p-deep snowfossil, relic, ghost.

Impressions 21

Ofl&rn Ryan Schlauderaff

'&wJer1&rk Heather Gall Morning dawns. The sunshine illuminates the red of the barn and the sound of chickens can be heard as they begin to awaken. Cows are mooing as they wait to be milked, and two brown horses trot around the corral. A robin softly calls from a nearby tree to signal the start of another day. There is only one sound missing from this morrung symphony: Bowser's bark.

savannah grass. Paul and Bowser were now completely surrounded by the vast African savannah and their hunt began.

As they walked through the tall brush, Paul saw his prey, a great male lion. Paul crouched low and watched as the lion basked in the sun. He was magnificent! His mane flashed a light brown in the warm savannah sun, and is his coat was any light, Paul would have never seen rum in the tall grass. This was a great cat indeed.

"Bowser, do you sec him? Just look at the size of him," Paul said.

Bowser simply wagged his tail in response.

"Now, wait for the right moment." Paul raised his imaginary gun and pulled the trigger. It was a direct hit.

The lion gave a great roar and collapsed, too hurt to run away. "Go get him, Bowser! Get him!"

Bowser ran after the stick Paul threw so he would

It was a typical fall day in October. Mama was baking wheat bread in the kitchen while Papa was out chopping wood. Margaret had just entered the henhouse to collect eggs, and her older brother, Darnel, was clearung out the stables. Only Paul, the youngest son, was firushed with his daily ~~~ ~()~7 ()~~~d ~ ro~~ chores. He had already fed the chickens, watered the cows and horses, and fed the ~ ~~~: ~()~ ~ ~. ,. family dog, Bowser. Now, he was off planning his next adventure.

With Bowser by his side, Paul walked through the play along. Bowser disappeared into the tress, and Paul trees behind the house and imagined that he was on a followed. Paul wasn't far behind when he heard Bowser safari in Africa. As he walked through the trees, yelp in pain, and shortly after the first yelp, a second everything began to change around him. The taJl one rang out clear as day. He stopped and thought evergreen trees became large leafy trees with giant about what he just heard. Then, almost as suddenly as it green leaves swaying in the breeze. The pine-needlehad appeared, the savannah was gone, and Paul was littered ground became covered in taU yellow-green back in the woods behind his house. A second later,

22 Impressions

adventure in Africa.

Paul took off at a run to reach his old friend.

Upon entering the kitchen, Paul exclaimed, "Mama, When Paul reached Bowser, everything looked fine.

He was sitting and looking at Paul with his pink tongue Mama, you'll never guess what Bowser and I did!"

"Probably not, Paul. Tell me," she said as she took hanging out as he panted. Paul looked Bowser over and didn't find anything that would have caused him to yelp a seat at the table to listen attentively to her youngest son. like he did only moments ago. So, he didn't give the yelps a second thought. His concern turned back to the "Well, you see, we went on a safari in Africa, and there was this big lion! I shot him, and Bowser went African safari adventure that they were just on. ''Bowser, let's go home and tell Mama that we got a and got him!" Paul said and his eyes glistened with lion today." excitement at reliving his adventure.

"Wow! What an adventure! How big was the lion?"

Bowser wagged his tail, and they set off for home.

Paul was too young to notice the limp that Bowser now Mama asked. walked with as they navigated back to the farm house. But, as they walked pass the barn "fie- w~ (;(, ~""!~( fl#- ~~ ~ (;(, ~k;( tu,w,_, where Daniel was working, U,., ~ w~ ~~ ~. ~ ~ rx>t:i/t w~ ~ Bower's limp was noticed.

'What's wrong with ~lvrl!/f,, p~ Wf)Uu ~f:, ~1!/f, ~ ~ U,.,~-;(t:f,tt Bowser, Paul?" Daniel asked. p~. w~ (;(, p~ ud" u,.,e:led,, , Paul stopped and looked at the yellow lab, and Bowser just wagged his tail. "Nothing.

Why?" "It was as big as me, Mama!" ''My, my! That is big," her voice tailed off as she "Well, he's limping." watched Bowser limp across the kitchen and lay down 'No he's not. He's just fine," Paul protested.

Daniel sighed and said, "Go see Papa. Let him look on his bed in the corner of the living room. ''What's at him," and then returned to work. Daniel knew there wrong with Bowser?" she asked.

Paul took a defensive stance and said, ''Nothing! was no arguing this with Paul. His little brother was just too stubborn.

Why is everyone asking what's wrong with him? He's fine!"

Paul looked confusingly at Bowser. He looked him over again and everything was fine. What was Daniel Mama looked from Bowser to Paul and back again. talking about? Paul thought about what his big brother ''Bowser, come here," she said.

Bowser slowly got up and limped heavily to Mama. had said, and decided to just go tell Mama about their Mama immediately looked at Bowser's right front left leg. She stopped to look closer at one spot towards Bowser's elbow and then said calmly, "Paul, go get ;t{ Papa. Tell him to come right away."

Sandy Weaver Paul looked confused, but then did as he was told.

He returned a few minutes later with Pap. Mama teld Papa something in a whisper, and he also took a close The 5ig Ficture look at Bowser's leg. Then, he patted Bowser's head, a beginning, a middle, and an end. looked at his wife, and then knelt in front of Paul so he Asking until ~ou know. was at his level.

What is expected?

Papa took a deep breath and said, "Paul, when you With some clear idea were in the woods, did anything happen?" of the scope and Paul said, "We were on a safari and shot a lion." possibilities onl~ Papa smiled at his five-year-old's response and ~ou can see. rephrased the question. "Did anything happen to So wh~ does life come Bowser?" onl~ one puzzling piece "He yelped twice. But he's fine," Paul said. at a time?

Papa shook his head. "No, Paul. Bowser is not fine.

You see, he was bitten by a rattlesnake on his leg. He

-iJ

11.#

f.i{e

Impressions 23

wasn't just bitten once, Paul. The snake bit him twice. tail when he was talked to. That day, Paul saw Bowser's They look like bad bites,'' Papa then took Paul over to suffering and finally decided that he was being selfish and that his friend needed his help. That afternoon, Bowser and showed him the bite marks. They were after everyone said already swollen and very red. their good-byes to Paul looked in "P~ ~ er~ w-ttA- -;t~ ~he- ~,ut Bowser, Papa took disbelief at the bites, him out to the woods ~ ~ved Ju~d IM/O~d ~ 1-l;uk, " looked at Papa, and behind the house and saved him from the asked, "He's going to be all right, isn't he?" pain that he was enduring.

"I don't know, Paul. It's a little early to tell, but it Papa returned with Bowser's collar, and handed it to doesn't look good. Bowser is already showing signs Paul. "Paul, I'm so sorry. But, he's not hurting anymore. that things aren't going well for him."

I bet he's on a safari right now, and he'll be waiting for you to join him one day," he said as he hugged his Paul's eyes filled with tears as he hugged his bdoved friend around his neck. youngest son.

Papa put his hand on Paul's shoulder and said, After that moment, Paul ran from the house. Mama went to follow him, but Papa stopped her and said, ''You know what we could do to save him &om suffering."

"Let him go. He'll be ok." Mama looked at Papa and nodded.

"No, Papa! He's gonna be ok!" Paul shouted as he erupted in tears.

Paul ran down the back steps, across the backyard, and finally stopped at the pen where Bowser and he Three days passed, and Bowser deteriorated more and more each day. Papa always gave Paul the option to used to play together. As he sat next to the gate, he end Bowser's suffering, and Paul always turned him remembered all the adventures they had been on cried for his lost friend. As he cried, Paul thought he heard, down. But, soon Bowser wouldn't cat. He wouldn't faintly, a bark in the distance: Bowser's bark. ~*~ play. On the fourth day, Bowser wouldn't even wag his

ft&d

Our1/ouse Cassandra Moos Years were the foundation , the cement that held us together. atience was not a virtue built into our structure, nor were nails ot caution driven through our walls.

We forget to insulate our house with God's guidance while tin~ blankets of doubtcovered our beds at night.

The love that put the root over our heads was not enough tor the winds of change or rocks that shattered our translucent windows of trust.

Though broken and scattered our lives ma~ be with crumpled walls ot dreams to our side and shingles ot mixed memories at our teet, we part among the forked road ot the unknown before us.

You follow the stars that speak to ~our heart cutting the ties ot laughter, time and promises between us.

While I stumble over stones that cause me pain, because I do not ~et see the stars, tor I am stilltangled in the strings as I become unattached.

I)ut in that original foundation ot friendship is where we both shall be onl~ crossing paths on our wa!j to building a sturd!j home.

F

24 Impressions

1<Jw/

.f.eaVM on the Ananta Uprety The leaves fluttering on the road Wmd blowing it here And again taking 1t back Somewhere mto the far

It remmds me of You, nl<." and ever:~one else just like the leaves f=allen o~f the lree

E:>lown b~ the wmd Lost and wondenng joume:~mg w1th the w1nd Not knowmg where 1t takes

I was in the tree once Not a care 1n the world just l1ke ~ou, me and ever:~one else

I got out on the road To know for m!jself E_xcept for the w1nd I know not just like :~ou, me and eve r:~one e lse

Lk.havgasuren Baterdene

Imp ressiom 25

•tp,s''J • 'Man!J CoforJ Andrea Schock

rru{rams Xi Ling

1Jntitfsl YanZing

1Jntitfsl Zhou Li 26 Impressiom

Yinon oft{,~ .Sun Jason Walth

1Jntitkl Yan Zing

tR./mn~r Ross Loeffier

?Uaw 1/ot'iz~n .f.in~

Ryan Schlauderaff Impressiom 27

~

1funf

Por the last two years, the father had taken him along as they scouted the hills and coulees for patterns of deer Casey Neumiller movement. The old man had gone ro lengths to show the bov how the whitetail!; thev scalked mo\·ed from The trigger of the rifle was icy cold as the beddJ~g grounds to the corn fields where they fed at boy's finger, warm from its glove, \vrapped around it. night. The boy had learned to recognize the trails the Ea!), the boy breathed. Ea!)'· The image through the deer took as they mo\·ed back and forth and how to scope was haz> m the d~mg light, but the big whitetail conceal himself from sight while giving h1mself a good buck was Stj)J VISible. shot.

•\s long as the boy could remember, his father The buck wagged his big white tail, head up had loved huntmg deer. The old man had done more and looking around as if he had caught some faint than JUSt hunt deer, of course-at omes he was calling scent of the boy. The young hunter froze as the deer coyotes, or march1ng across stubble fields in pursuit of looked up at him, but breathed a sigh of relief as the pheasants, or lying in a group of ____ deer turned further yet. He doesn't decoys as geese descended in to ,n~•• -~:,.,.r_ 1 see 1//e. 1t would be the buck's last feed. They had walked long UUTTHD-f.llAfffM mistake, he vowed. lt was time to hours together setting traps for Meghan Bartz take the target down. His pulse valuable muskrats and fox. The quickened as he carefully lined intolerable heat of summer days 1 use utensils up his shot. faded mto warm evenings of 1 tr~ to be polite Before the boy could draw his fishing on the ri\'er With the old I don't hunt tor m~ own food youth license for his first deer man teaching h1~ son the basics d h rid b If hunt, his father had fallen ill. am trappe Wit In a WO U mrse of angling for big walleye. b .J Cancer, the doctors had told It IS no longer a out surv1va The bo) counted the them. Spreadmg quickly. It points again on the whitetail. /1 And ever~da~ alii do IS worl. quickly sapped his father's jil'e I?J'fin He i11mdible. The big mengrh, and the man who had old buck had no idea the bo~ I am human now 10\·ed the outdoors spent less was there. Oblivious ro the l1ve b~ the1r rules and less time out in the fields danger, the deer continued to walk when I'm allowed \\'Jth his son. lt was not the forage through the snow for don't pia~ w 1th other an 1mals cancer that took his strength, but pickmgs to sustrun him. The I'm luck~ it 1 see another l1ke rne. the treatment: the chemotherapy hunger in his bell} was a far 1Sit here and walt for their return. robbed him of his energy, and more immediate concern to the he could not keep food down. buck than the possibilit) of a ---All too soon, the boy ventured human he neither saw nor smelled. into the field largely alone, bringing back repons to his The boy had learned to love the outdoors. At bed-ridden father. his father's side, be had learned how to stalk deer, call The boy breathed out and held it, squeezing coyotes, and recognize likely hiding spots for game the trigger. The 1cy-cold slip of metal, however, refused birds. The old man had taught the bo} more than just to move. It took him a moment tO realize his mistake: that: the bo~ learned to clean the game they rook, ro the safety was still on. With another self-reprimand, the sharpen h1s knife and u~e it safely, to clean their rifles bo) 's thumb flkked the Ruger's safety off. His heartbeat and shotguns alike, and e\·en how m reload the rifle pounded in his ear~. so loud he was afraid the whitetail ammunition they used. would hear it and run off.

A bad breath clouded the rifle scope, and the The funeral had been the opening day of deer bo) cursed under h1s breath for the miscake as he tried season. While his uncles thought It was perfectly fitting, to see. ;\10\ mg ven slow!), he withdrew a soft handthe boy pnvatdy held that hls father would haYe hated kerchief from h1~ pocket and wiped the scope clean. it. The old man, he thought, would not have wanted The big buck still had not spotted him, bur the boy was e\·eryone situng around mdoors mourning on the quick!) runmng our of daylight. He estimated he had opening day of deer season. Had he still been alive, he another ten minutes of shooong rime before the would have preferred to be out in the field himself with season would lcgall) close for the year. half-frozen fingers and toes, waiting for a deer to The father and son had become inseparable. present the perfect shot.

I

s

28 Impressions

His heart raced faster than be could e,¡er recall.

The boy breathed twice again to steady himself, then centered the cross hairs of his scope once more on the deer's vitals, JUSt behlnd the front shoulder. The buck's bead was up and looking around, its tail wagging

u~

kr ~ owt ~ /,dd a:

~~-::t4e,-;(~,u., unconcernedly. With a last check to ensure the safety was off, the boy squeezed the trigger gently, just as his father had taught hlm.

AU of h1s uncles and some of the older men from his chmch had offered to take the boy out for his first deer hunt, but he had turned them all down.

Huntmg had been something for JUSt him and his father, and he was not ready to go with someone else.

Though he never spoke it, he felt going with someone else would have been betraying his father's memory.

Not only that, but he didn't think any of them could measure up to his father's expertise.

BOOM! The recoil of the rifle jarred his view through the scope for a moment, and for a heartbeat he could not see if his bullet had h1t its mark. A moment later, the view through his scope cleared. The big white tail buck was piled up and kicking on the ground. The boy finally released the breath he'd been holding before the shot, feeHng his heart pound in excitement. I got him. I got him!

He carefully ejected his spent shell and pocketed it, knowing that this parucular brass would never be reloaded-it would be mounted along with the deer's rack. Tears blurring his eyes, he set his rifle down and pulled out his tag and his hunting knife. "Thank you, Dad," he whispered.-*-

(}RJ to N!Jhf Andrea Schock

Impressions 29

~ f.wom of'Miifa~n .f.ovs

speaks makes it seem as though he's had no experience dealing with girls before. When explaining his feelings Ryan Bogner for Mangan's sister, the boy says, "1 pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: James Joyce's ''Araby" and John Updike's "A & '0 love! 0 love!' many times" (264.6). T hese words and P" both involve a boy who becomes intrigued by a girl actions seem like they should come from someone very and experiences new emotions because of the presence mature and deeply in love, not from a young boy talking of the girl in his life. The unnamed boy in ''Araby'' falls about a girl he barely knows. A reasonable explanation for his friend's older sister while Sammy, the boy in "A for this type of behavior is that this is likely the boy's & P," becomes fascinated with a girl who walked into first encounter with a girl whom he's attracted to. The boy has mistaken the grocery store where he attraction for works. The main difference ~ ~~ A~..:o~ love, something between the boys is their age and the amount of previous !ore;, :k>~ ~ ~ oo~~ .W.,.. ~ that is common in those who experience they've had in dealing with the opposite sex. wA-c ~~ ~ -;(/.,t:; o~e­ experience because he is Nevertheless, both boys find ~ ~ ~-:t~e-. , confused by themselves drawn to a girl, and them and doesn't the interaction leads each of them to experience an epiphany in which they learn know how to appropriately respond to them.

The unnamed boy speaks as though he is in a something about themselves.

Sammy, who is 19 years old, appears to have serious relationship with Mangan's sister. He elaborates had some experience 'vith girls before his encounter in on his feelings when he says, "Her image accompanied the grocery store when he says, "You never know for me even in places the most hostile to romance . ... Her sure how girls' minds work" (268 69.2). T his statement name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers suggests that he has been around gi rls and possibly and praises which I myself did not understand" (264.5). pursued some before, since he comments on having a The boy appears convinced that he loves a girl whom lack of understanding about them and how they think. he has hardly spoken to before. In "The Structure of The unnamed boy, on the other hand, is much younger 'Araby,"' Jerome Mandel compares the boy's pursuit of than Sammy, probably around 10 years old. The way he Mangan's sister to a quest. Mandel explains, ''As a lover totally possessed by love, [the unnamed boy] moves out of time, and all worldly, public, and temporal considerations pass from him" (SO). The boy is on a mission to pursue the girl and convince her how much he loves and cares for her.

The problem arises when the boy attends the bazaar because Mangan's sister told him he should go. He becomes infatuated with going and bu}'lng her something in order to impress her.

However, when he gets to the event and it's nearly over, he begins to understand .f.ovs that he made a mistake, and this is where he experiCassandra Moos ences an epiphany. The boy states, "Gazing up into the

P""'

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P""'

1/ant!J of

30 Impressions

P""'

darkness I saw myself as a creature ter" (272.33). As Walter Wells in dnven and derided by ,·anity; and ~ "John Upclike's 'A & P': A my eyes burned with anguish and !JOU Return Visit to 'Araby"' states, anger" (267.37). It is at th1s point Jason Walth "Sammy's promise is also in vain; that the boy realizes bow foolish but, like Joyce's young protagoRoaming e~es, nist, he's stuck with it" (132). he acted over the situation. As Mandel declares, "T he boy discovThrough the inFinite sk~, Sammy knows that be made a All the luminous bodies; bad decision and that he can't ers not that Arai!J is worldly and take back what he clid. He can, impure but that he is" (53). The boy is ashamed of how he dealt The lace oF twdight, however, look back on his with his new and confusing I see ~ou there mistake and learn from it. \'\'ells emotions, and realizes h1s feelings While ~ou tr~ to hide, claims that "Sammy looks for Mangan's sister are not as The most beaubful star, ahead-into the life that lies In all the ntght sk~. before him, even perhaps (given strong as he first belie\'ed. While this seems like a negative result, that concluding word) at his own uncertain path to the H ereafter" the boy still learns a lesson from the ordeal. Mandel explains this point by asserting that (133). Sammy may view his future as a clifficult path, "the quest is successful smcc it leads to vision and but he will see that this cxpencnce will equip him with epiphany: coming to some understanding of oneself" the knowledge necessary to make a better deciston the (53). The boris better off after this experience, and he next time he encounters a similar situation. will be better able to cope with a simj)ar situation in the future.

The boy in each story finds himself reaching out to a girl in a way that he feels will impress her and In the case w1th Sammy, he doesn't know the show her his worth. Wells points out that each boy girl whom he refers to as "Queenie." She simply walks offers a gift as a means of expressing his feelings. The into the store and that is the first time he sees her. I Je unnamed boy attempts to offer something material watches her for a time, and then she and her friends while Sammy extends his gift in the form of a promise come to his checkout lane. Sammy is obviously atbased on a principle (131 32). Unfortunately, both tracted to the girl and even pictures himself with her attempts fail, and the boys come to a common realizawhen he says, "All of a sudden I slid right down her ,·oice and into her liYing room" (271.14). He sees her as tion that appears to have a simlar effect on their lives.

"Both protagonists," writes Wells, "have come to a girl whom he would be interested in starting a realize that romantic gestures ... are, in modern times, relacionslup, so when h1s boss confronts the girls, counterproductive" (133). This epiphany is something Sammy that both characters may use to make decisions in feels he future situations and to obtain a better understanding must do ..~ k'1 ~ tX>~oed of themselves and the world around them. -*some~ ~ t,-ved- "'1-Vd wA-c~ ~ ~ thing to Works Cited protect ~ ~~ ~ them.

Joyce, James. "Araby." Schilb and Clifford 263-67.

Sammy

r

kfo«-. ,

states, "so I say 'I qwt' to Lengel loud enough for [the girls] to hear, hoping they'll stop and watch me, their unsuspected hero" (271.22). Sammy makes the decision to quit his job in hopes of impressing the girls and showing what he's wtlling to do for them.

Sammy seems to regret his decision to quit when he gets no response from the girls. Lengel even tells him "you'U remember this for the rest of your life" and Sammy agrees with him (272.32). Sammy's epiphany comes when he says, "I look around for my girls, but they're gone ... my stomach kind of fell as I felt how hard the world was going to be to me hereaf-

Manda!, Jerome. "The Structure of 'Araby.'" Modern Language Studies 15.4 (1985): 48-54.

Schilb, John and John Clifford, eds. Making Arguments About Literature: A Compact Guide and Anthology.

Boston: Bedford/St. Marcin's. 2005.

Upclike, John. "A & P." Schilb and Clifford 268-72.

Wells, Walter. "John Upclike's 'A & P': A Return Visit to 'Araby."' Studies in Short Fiction 30 (1993): 127-33.

Impressions 31

~fA~ Sandy Weaver Oh, it I were thin and composed in the narrow self-confinement ot confident dothmg, a picture ot self-control, knowing who I am.

Instead, J a m largel3 looking tor t he next act ot eating what I love. Forgetting the vague notion t hat such satisfaction is short lived.

So, I look to tind m3sel~ within t he strict con~ines ot a balanced diet t hat makes its wa3 upon the tight roped path.

Well,

whatever it is I need to ~ind within m3sel~ ~ades when hunger s t rikes and once again I ~ind m3sel~ looking ~or acceptance at the pantr3 door.

'MyferioUJ Me Amanda Lind

32 Impressions

1/ou can 'f Save tkm 1Ji(

dened hand wiggling with thickened veins that stood out like rivers amongst the hills and valleys of wrinkled, Jenny Marboe papery skin.

Simmora stepped over the threshold, painfully She had a face that made the guards bite their aware of the blackened stones that had crumbled under tongues while in her presence. Even the hound, a brash the heat and shattered into an array of alabaster creature that would bring down a boar w1thout hesitapebbles coated in charcoal. EYery once in a whde, her tion, would avoid her steady gaze. It wasn't because she foot would crunch on the remnants of a page from one of the was overly hideous that her appearance stirred the bestiaries crowds to silence; rather, It was the sheer enmity her stare managed to the infir~~~~w~~uttr~~ convey to every living th~ng around mary had her. It hadn't always been this way. kept for the F¡~m~P"~., children In fact, S1mmora was once the life who were of the town, trampling through the village in billowing skirts hiked up above her ankles, a confined there. As a child, Simmora herself had taken basket of herbs looped over her arm, a grin firmly pleasure in flipping through the large \'olumes and lodged on a honey-coned face. Nm\ her smile was as running her fingers over the illuminations. Now the evanescent as the squalls that swept over the cliffs in the images were faded away from the elements and disintespringtime, her laughter more rare than the grating of grated at the merest touch. can wheels along the paved road that ran through the marketplace.

Since she had cloistered herself within the confines of the palace walls, S1mmora found solace onl} in tendmg to those who had suffered the face as herself.

Day after clay, usually under cover of darkness and with a veil drawn across her face, Simmora would tread on bare feet from her room in the northern tower down to the remnants of the infirmary that nobody had bothered to fix up after the incident.

Slanted, cracked roofs dipped in ninety degree angles at some points and shingles lay in a sad, charred heap around fallen beams. Some of the more secluded wings of the infirmary had escaped damage and provided approximately a dozen people with shelter and marginal warmth. Even Sirnmora didn't Sighing, despairing know exact!} how many men, women, and cluldren had at memories lost and nearly remained forgotten, Sirnmora Beth Hurt in the wove through the "~~ f~d ~~ confines network of fallen beams, ducked behind warped of the walls that threatened to buckle under the pressure -;(~~wk> ~+ut fUIOS. of the water-logged rooftop, and maneuvered her -;(~ ~e~ ~¡ Many of way up and down crumbling staircases until she thetr reached the secluded cells that had more or less injuries left them sensitive to light and even more escaped the ravages of the flames. It was here that her sensitive to the stares and derision of their peers. Few patients hid, sheltered from the world and its hurts, would accept even Simmora's touch and took from her Simmora their only tie to the village and its people. only a claj cup full of broth and a crust of bread at Simmora still wasn't sure what had caused the times. The most she saw of such recluses was a redfire. Nobody was. The attendant in the infirmary's

1Jnfiffu{

o"'-7 m

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"

Impressions 33

she felt confident enough in the capabilities of a scarf chapel had felt badly enough, blaming himself for to hide her deformities. She didn't care that the people leaving a lantern on the altar and falling asleep just largely ignored her. She could tell from the way they before a wind blew in and knocked the lantern onto a hastily looked away, shuffled their feet, or hurried in the pile of manuscripts he had been studying. Simmora opposite direction that they didn't scorn her so much as suspected that one of the village brats had been trying fear her. The scourge that had plagued them not too to smoke a rat out of his hole and let a fire get out of long ago, with its hideous buboes and the foul odor of control. death, still consumed their minds. Jumpy, frightened of Simmora shook herself out of her musings. losing another child or sibling, the fear that the plague Whatever the cause was, it was of no concern to her. would return \'Qhat riled her affected all areas most was the of their judgmanner in which ment, but the people especially when it responded. Every came to the waking moment, crippled and even deep in infirm. sleep, Simmora Still, was haunted by Simmora the bland faces, couldn't blame the indifferent them for the stances. People extra care they had been pouring put into keeping out of the out of her path. infirmary in The manner in varying degrees which her right of distress, many eye, glazed and screarrung or pearly, roved crying out in blindly off in a pain. Simmora had been one of them. Not a single direction of its one of the villagers, much less the court fops in own accord was their gaudy nightgowns, lifted a finger to help. If Ryan Schlauderaff enough to startle anything, their lips curled up in a snarl and their anybody, even nostrils flared against the odor of sizzling flesh as Sirnmora herself if she was to glance in a mirror. By they neatly sidestepped the wounded and brushed off now she had gotten used to it, but she would never the bleeding and blistered hands that grasped desperbecome accustomed to the feel of the smooth, raised ately at their clothes.

When at last a passing shepherd who had been scars that pulled the skin taut on the left side of her bringing his flocks in from the fields stopped to muster face. Still less could she forgive the way the flames had left mottled red ripples across the back of her hands. people into gathering sloshing buckets of water and Staring sadly at her hands, once slender and quenching the flames, the damage had been done. creamy with youth, Simmora Those who ducked through a low doorway had perished were thrown and welcomed herself into the first of the makeshift hovels. together in a 4~, c r t?l-t-~ wc-t-d, C-t~ Though made dark by a scrap common of tattered cloth that had been grave; the ~ ue:( ~""/ ~ oc~~ ~~ , survivors tacked over the window, Simmora moved about with an were ushered into the back rooms, encouraged to remain out of ease she had acquired from continuous practice. A sight and out of mind. Simmora was the only one who woman in her early twenties had taken up residence had returned to life outside the infirmary, but only here with her five year-old daughter. The mother had after her own injuries had healed to the point where been tending the little girl, a victim of some mild

OriftawaJ

fu;-rn-

34 Impressions

malady, when the fire consumed the building. Both had evening, the ships in the harbor could see the tiny been badly scarred and neither wtshed to risk the scorn, beacons flickering in the window of her tower room.

There was a time when the scene with the fear, and curiosity that would follow them every day mother and her child would have bothered her, but had they left the infirmary.

As Simmora slipped to the rear corner of the Simmora had long since learned to ignore the dull ache that pervaded her heart. She had lived through an room, where the mother had dragged her daughter's that left her in perpetual pain of both body and ordeal bed so that she might betler be able to hear the birds mind, but the incident singing through the had taught her the most narrow window, she valuable lesson of her knew instantly that "O~~~f:/V~.~~~~ medical career. With a something was ~k-r, vo~~~-;(~ ~~~ sigh that nearly brought wrong. The mother tears to her eyes, was slumped over ~ ~ ~ w~w ()/~-:to we-t- 1,(}() 111-. " Simmora adjusted the her daughter's bed, scarf around her face her shoulders rolling forward and back in muted sobs. Simrnora placed a and stepped back across the threshold and into the hand on the mother's shoulder, auempting to encourcrisp evening air. A ring of white light outlined the fine age her to raise her head and speak to her. The woman crescent of the moon against the red-orange of the sky, which quickly faded mto a blue as deep and continued to grieve in her qwet way, her fists clenching depthless as a storm-tossed sea. Shivering, Simmora and unclenching the cloth of the cot, as Simmora peered o,¡cr her shoulder. The little girl had died in the plodded slowly along the outer edge of the courtyard night; her face slumped toto an expression of peace, back to her tower room. As she knelt by the window her thick golden curls arranged absently in a halo about and lit the new candle, she ran a hand over the words she had carved into a stone under the windowsill, the her head. Except for the paleness of her skin and the stench of the amputated stump of an arm that had words she had learned lo live by: You can't save them festered, Simmora would have thought the child was all.-*merely sleeping.

Simmora patted the mother once more on the back with as much sympathy as she could put into a gesture and continued on her rounds to the remaining rooms. Thoughts chased one another through her mind as she trudged through the blackened corridors, stopping here and there to change a dressing, offer a reassuring word, or chase a rat away from a comatose patient.

The work of a healer was never complete, she thought as she adjusted the sheets on the bed of an adolescent boy. A gravedigger would have to be called, a priest bribed to enter the infirmary and offer the last rites, and a candle would have to be found to light for the lmle girl's soul. By now, Simmora had collected nearly five candles, which she lit Lane Talkington every night for those who had she had not been able to protect from the ravages of disease and fire. On a clear

SeaSklf

Impressions 35

tJ<J{fscfiom of Me Rondale West This is the stor_y of me, the girl who seeks to tind herself ever_yda_y searching a little deeper inside, f)ut seeing something different each time like the reRection of water with each glistening shine.

Scorched _yellow land is hovered b_y vast bnght skies with a touch of California smog, as children spend each da,!:j pla,!:jing tag, capture the Hag, and leapfrog. f)est of best friends, jill, Charlene and I cr_y was we realiz.e it is time to sa_y goodb_ye.

Nine happ_y _years closed l1ke the chapter of an old book, another chapter to begin when I board the train I took.

I exit the plane, instantl_y covered b_y chill_y Seattle a~r,

all the while th1nking that th1s 1sn't fair.

School has begun tor a sh,!:j girl, and ever_ythmg IS new but deep down I know I will have to make ado.

I make a few fnends and learn a tew things, growing older and taking advantage of what opportunit_y brings.

Cht.rcoaf Kodi Klym

The goals I set tor m_yself, and what I aim to achieve, have become a part of who I am and what I bel1eve.

Making the grade and number one on the team, _yet I have learned that success isn't the most important thing.

M_y tamd_y and m_y friends, who mean the world to me, I hope we'll alwa_ys be as close as we can be.

And m_y love tor m_y church and what I bel1eve are the things I value most m importance to me.

This is the stor_y of me, the girl who seeks to tind herselF ever_yda_y searching a l1ttle deeper inside, f)ut seemg something d1tterent each time Like the reflection of what with each gl1stenmg shine.

36 !tJJpressions

¡.

11.Jkn 9 SMrch 9 Newr 11nl

those five-dollar flowers she saw advertised on the way to the hospital.

Alicia M. Haich Jannett checked some things on Mike's monitor and in his chan; then smiled over at Erica, who Erica stared at the tan-colored wall in front of remained standing only a few feet in from the busy her, her eyes unmoving and her hands lying motionless hallway.

'Well, I guess I'll leave you two alone," Jannett in her lap. ".Miss Yeager? Miss Yeager?" said. "There are a few chairs there, a bathroom, and a nice window looking out over the park. Let me know if Erica blinked, looked away from the wall, and you need anything." The nurse smiled one more time changed her gaze over to the nurse addressing her.

"Yes?" The nurse stood there smiling, wearing purple and then walked out of the room.

For a moment after the door clicked shut, pants and a sponge-bob-designed shirt. The nurse's hair was pu!Jcd back into a sloppy ponytail which made her there was silence throughout the room. Erica held her breath for a golden highlights appear rather limp moment so around her round face. Her smile was "g,v~,UJ~- ~ 11'0-ioe- -:t'f,Mtu/, 1>/f ~d ~ as to keep the friendly, but her eyes looked to be thinking a million other things besides room quiet ~1>/u.d e4Jw., ti/( 711~ ~ ~d. " and still; then talking and leading another person i\.1ike's through the hospital hallways. Her smiley-faced nametag labeled her as Jannett. ventilator clicked on and the silence was gone. Enca "You can see your brother now." The nurse shook her head slightly as a strange thought entered her mind and she pulled a chair O\er to Mike's bed. continued smiling and then started walking down the hallway, an understood invitation for Erica to follow "Sorry it took me so long to get here, Mike," Erica said. "Drhmg sucks." after her.

Erica stood up slowly and rubbed her eyes. She The ventilator clicked in answer. didn't know what she should really be prepared for"You don't look as bad as I'd thought," Erica which only added to her already-existent anxjety. smiled crisply. "I was picturing mangled body parts and severed arms, but I always did over exaggerate."

Erica distantly followed Jannett down the hallwa\ to room 239. She stayed back far enough that His eye-lids were purple-tinted, there were cuts the nurse wouldn't have to chatter on about any useless on his face, and there was still a brace around his neck. filler, but close enough that Jannett's bright ye!Jow I le looked severely thinner than the last time she'd seen sponge bog shirt wouldn't be lost in the mass of other him-which would have been six months past. That at nurses. As their path wok them past one of the hospital least, she knew, wasn't from the car. windows, Erica thought distantly how nice it looked "Your doctor says you're doing a lot better. He outside. thinks you'll wake up any day now ... " Jannett stopped in front of 239 and turned. She Erica's voice trailed off and she looked down smiled at Erica again before knocking on the door. at Mike's hand. T hat, too, had tubes hooked up to it "Just want to let him know we're here," she said, and it looked bruised. It was thinner than she rememstill smiling. bered too.

Erica didn't reply.

The last time she'd seen Mike had been those The nurse opened the door after a moment of six months ago, saying goodbye at his apartment. He silence from the room and Erica slowly followed her was too busy with work and, as she saw it, too resentful mside. to come to the airport and say goodbye to her, so she'd The first thing Erica noticed upon entering was gone over to his place the night before flying out. the stenle look He had had more weight then, but of the room still been comparatively thin. There had Mike was in: been no real sign at his place that he ate ''1'11~ ~ "V~~'f, dfdu,d f ) . , there were no anything, except for some drinks in his flowers or cards ~d~~~w~p1>~." fridge and some empty Subway wrappers. anywhere, just He didn't like being "material" and owning medical equipment and a linoleum floor. As she walked a lot of things, but the food-thing was more than farther 10 from the hallway, Erica regretted not buying simply a matter of possessiveness.

Impressions 37

Erica looked away from Mike and searched the massage Mike's hand- it was so thin.

Dishwalla's song, "Once in awhile," began to room, desperate for something to say, something to replay in Erica's mind and she rubbed her forehead keep talking about and to drown out that clicking with her right hand almost in protest against its renOJse. peated lyrics. It was an unexpected song that she'd "I'm going to have to pick you up some heard on the long drive over to the hospital-and an flowers. I had no idea your room was so emp---so unwelcome one-that made tears start to burn behind boring. We really need to bring some color into this her eyes. drag place.

Mike had never seemed to like anything about "The nurses here seem nice- though a bit on the plastered-smile side. When you wake up, I'm sure himself, no matter what he accomplished or what he you'll be deprived his body of. Food, hitting on rest, them-like reprieve ...anything you always he could withdo."

Erica hold from his body and clasped her himself had hands in her lap and always seemed to looked down. give him some No one had sort of powerbeen here. or, at least, that was the whole Mike had been in psyche-analysis Erica occasionally the hospital for three days gave the matter.

He was now and no always secondone in the best in his own family had been here. mind.

Nobody had Born the sent anything. When Karen had had her tonsils out and second son, he had Ross Loeffler had been in the hospital for a day, the room had been fought desperately full of flowers, cards, and people. A massive mess, but for attention from anyone could have seen where their interests lay at the indifferent and insensitive parents.

And now here he was. time.

Mike might be comatose from his attempted Alone in a hospital room. A desperate cry for suicide and nobody had been here and nobody was help and attention, and no one was here, no one was here. listening. Again.

Erica furiously wtpcd at her eyes and forced Erica rubbed her eyes again and looked back at Mike's bruised face. herself to look out the window and away from the still "Boy, was it a rush to get a plane and a car to and thin body of J\.1ike. get here," Erica said. She reached for Mike's hand and "Stephan was married to Karen by my age," held it limply in hers. It was cold.

"Just picrure me trymg to explain in my kindergarten-level Ukrainian speech that I "~.w( ~<>~ oo-U k:w-e- ~ w~e­ had to catch a plane out of the Ukraine to go -;(~ .wvt~ ~ td'-;(/,.e, -;(~e-. , see my brother. I really think they only got it when my host mother came and helped me out--or rather, saved me."

Mike's voice of two years ago rang in her head and Erica closed her eyes and saw Mike.

Erica started to rub and absentmindedly

(Jafa~

38 Impressions

He laughed and smiled when she had visited

him over spring break. Joked and p1cked on her

It was always easier to give advice and to leave.

To throw some "pick-me-up" and feel that the stupid good duty was done-but it was selfish and wrong and she knew that now. She just hadn't wanted to concentrate on Mike's obvious

constantly.

But the breakups with Brittany, Lacy, and, of course, Shannon, had always lingered in his eyes and had "_S'Xe. w~ktu;(, ~w~, problems, didn't want always been just one word away from to sympathize with his every thought and word. emotions she couldn't And his poetry ... Oh, his empathize. poetry just ripped at her heart and What was mind. She knew where his words were corning from in stupid to her had been important to him, had been his poetry and it hurt to remember; it hurt to acknowlknocking him done to this extent-and she hadn't acknowledged it. edge the pain and loneliness she wanted to push aside.

So she avoided reading them.

Erica was broken out of her thoughts when Erica had avoided mentioning anything about she heard a knock on the door. The nurse in the purple Mike's old girl friends and had tried to steer his converpants and sponge-bob shirt, Jannett, entered the room. sations away from talking about girls or about mar"Just wanted to see how everything was going riages, but they were al\vays there. They were somein here," Jannen said. thing else Mike had failed at, something else he couldn't "Fine," Erica said. " I s Doctor Nigel still measure up to h1s brother with. He was past Stephan's around?" "married" age and he wasn't marned, didn't have a "Oh, yes of course," Jannett smiled again.

'When you're finished in here, I'll find him for you so girlfriend, and was damaged from his frequent breakups. you can talk about everything."

And the only sympathy Erica had offered at "That's not necessary," Erica said, looking the time was co move on. away from the nurse and back at :Mike. "I've already spoken with him."

Jannett was surprisingly silent for a moment and Erica began to wonder why the nurse had come in here at aU. "Well," Jannett said in a rushed voice. "I'm Meghan Bartz glad you're here now for him. I heard you had to rush back from the Vkraine- what a wonderful job you visibl~ cr~, must have- but I'm glad you're here for your brother. when thmk ot how ~ou mspire me.

J low nice." wh~ did go back?

Erica wanted to roll her eyes when she recogI could not disappotnl m~ memories nized the familiar congratulatory tone in Jaonett's voice. couldn't dtsappomt m~selt Erica forced herself to smile at the nurse as she said, after all the work put mto tt.

"Yes, well he's reaUy important to me." ''Arc you two the only sibJjngs in your family?" did it tor me Jannett asked.

"No," Erica said, a little bite edging into her I did it ~or ~ou voice. "There arc five of us and then our parents."

You are engraved m m~ memor~ "Oh, but nobody's-" to be alwa~s.

"Look, I'd love to chatter all day," Erica said, standing up. "But I did come back to sec my brother I express m~ love, loneliness and pride and I didn't come back to talk about my family Jjneage. when I cr~ and thtnk o~ ~ou If you woulc.ln't mind, I'd like to be alone about now."

"Take care ot ~oursel~" You ~elled.

The nurse looked taken aback, but simply Truth ts m~ respect and love ~or ~ou nodded and walked out of the room. wtll never dissipate and ~ou'll Erica shook her head m anger and turned back alwa~s be with me no matter where go. to 1-.fike.

J fer anger and frustration left almost instantly

ptf

ptf

----

9fliJib~C'J

I

I

I

I

I

I

I

ImpressiotJs 39

as she looked at Mike.

She didn't move from the spot she was standing in. She felt weighted down, felt heavy and immovable.

Her headache from lack of sleep, her swollen feet from being in the same shoes for two days, and her burning and dry eyes numbed away to the background of the ache she felt inside.

CoffonwootftfJMfure Ryan Schlauderaff

5e!ftsb Arroga11/ 5e!f-5ervi11g Failure Each word caressed her mind and added more weight to her as she stared at l\1ike's skinny and bruised body. She was everydung she had set out to be and she was nothing but wrong in aU of that everything. Weren't they the same?

But no tear fell as she whispered, "I'm sorry," and sat in the chair beside Mike's hospital bed again. -*-

-1herrw Jason Walth Twisted in torment, Confused b:~ movement, Uke bllmg 1n the darkness.

Sick and in love w1th morbid thoughts, The trees of ntght adm1re the storm, E:>ecause acbon IS a signal from the consetous.

The wh1rlwmd of war is between them.

Slashing through one another 1n the morning, Still pitch black; mamed to three A.M. Tomorrow never comes tn the wake o~ the storm, E:>ut soon the:~ wtll be stlent tn the l1ght o~ da:Ji Comtortabl:~ asleep until the dawn o~ another war.

40 Impressions

â&#x20AC;˘t;rown-11(Âť.

Shelly Renae What're grown men made ot! Made o~!

What're grown men made ot?

Hot coal which cooools; Cold ice which thawwws; Rough!~ ALL thmgs RAW--What're grown women made ot!

Made of!

What're grown women made ot? ier~ Lava; flooding Rain; Fair!~ E_ver~ Th1ng mSane.

r

That's what grown-ups are made

of.

MJ 7=a~r1 ~chn.J Chair Lane Talkington Impressions

41

.fmtfiir{ Candice Hegstad

~

11pon a 1imA..

Maria Haag

complete with ruff and Protestant principles. No, heaven forbid! Any decent fairy talc must make time its It is the fate of all the good old stories to begin with these words: "Once upon a time". Those own; it must tread upon it, float upon it, as the case ancient and halJowed tales have a magical pull on the may be; it must make of time a mag~cal, universal stage imagination; when spoken, they seem to draw a upon which the "once" is continued and reenacted. charmed circle about e,·ery listener "once upon a \~'ho can resist the chance to watch any drama per ume there was ... " and the story goes on. However, formed on such a platform? Or, to rephrase the same the first phrase is, to my mind, just as fascinating as question, why is fantasy so popular? Why, for instance, the rest of the story, though wizards, princesses, and was Lord of t/;e Ri1w so universally acclaimed? The even dragons plaj their part in it. For, although every answer for these IS the same- find one, find all. But 1 character in the talc might have magical power, yet the leaye it to your 1magmation, for It IS the principall) the first words have a greater imagination upon which fairy influence than all others, for they tales work their magic, upon bind their listeners more strongly which the stage of time is set, "T~e- ~~ ~-:t. ~ and the "once" develops into a than any wizard could, and ~"1/i,t»-;t~ t?r-tt-:t~t». " transport them to an enchanted terrible or wonderful saga. stage, whereon a wondrous talc Could the answer be found in is to be enacted: and that fairy stage is the stage of the ~fag~c concei,·ed by centuries of folklore, sung in song, fantasized into fiction? umc. ln tales like these of which I speak, time matters Or, is it merely the child in everyone reaching out to a not, for such stories transcend all times; they effecbright delusion, a wonderful talc of love and evil and tively combine the eternal and the enchanted, to charm and captivate any audience. beauty? Suffice it to say, that once the barrier is broken, and time is conquered and flattened on the earth, the To define a certain time in the telling of such a tale is well-nigh impossible; just imagme a 16th tale begins: "once upon a time" has accomplished its spell, and the fames arc free tO fly, through and beyond century Snow White, or an Elizabethan Cinderella, Time.-*-

p-t-

42 Impressions

while I readjusted my chair to be more centered with the paintmg.

"Oh, I'm not feeling anything," He said mocking!), while I staned to laugh because his face was starting to sparkle a little bit. " 1 told you that we didn't need anymore, but what the hell. I'm tripping prett} She arose out of the water wearing a white good.

Stop looking at that pruncing man. It's all in your flowing dress, which was nearl} the same color as her head. Look at the ceiling that's what I've been staring skin. In all reality she looked like a ghost, but beautiful at."

He said while watching the ceiling in his apartment. and alh·e. The dark blue sk) started flowing as she I looked up, and at first it seemed like a regular looked at me, and the wind star ted to blow the branches of the trees all around. It was like the whole scene came old ceiling, but that changed quickly. I jerked my head out of the way as the texturing from the ceiling started ali\"c at once. I thought about how peaceful and serene it was before I saw her, but now that she was looking at to drip. "Fuck that," 1 said then returned to the lady 10 the water, but she was gone. "God me everything was a sea damn tt. Now she's gone," or so it saturated wJth energy. I "7~ ~tt ~tt1 k toolu.d tilw- ~ seemed, but as I scanned the couldn't look away even lwt ~rt ~ ~tw~. ., painting to sec if she was hiding though I felt strange behind a tree I saw her dancing staring the way I was. on top of the water in the calmly She slowly started to of the lake.

1 thought to myself, 1csus she was middle sway in a somber dance, which was all the more surreal.

T he wind seemed to blow her dress in waves of rhythm there the whole time and I didn't even see her. I must as she spun around slowly. She looked weightless as she be tripping out.'

"Kenny," moved with perfect grace through the water. I wanted "What's up man?" to start a conversation but it would have ruined the "Let's get out of here. I'll watch this damn moment, because 1 knew she was there only for me. pamting all night, if we don't get out of here for a Even though I felt persuaded to interrupt the silence, I while." felt more than content to just watch her.

"Cool. These 'shrooms are too good to waste When I finally looked away, I only realized aU night. You driving?" sitting here there was absolutely nothing as entertaining as what 1

,k»1.

1

was watching. The longer 1 watched her, the more hypnotized I became. I was consumed with a strange fcc:ling all over me, and then for a second there would be a calm; only to have it return stronger than before. It \\~.as like watching a shaman performing ritualized dance. Even though I couldn't understand what it all mc:lllt, I h.1d this strange feeling that something spiritual was happening. I couldn't control 1t, but by seeing it I was somehow part of it, or it of me.

"Why do you keep staring at that fucking painung man?" Kenny asked \Vhile tucktng hts long hair behind his ears.

I could only respond by saying, "T hts ts the coolest painting 1 ha,·e ever seen." ''~fan, you can trip out on anything IJ ke that man." "'' . a Iad y .... o, .tt 's awe!iome K enny. There ts dancing, and it seems like she trying to tell me something. 1 don't know man; the sky is flowing in sink with the wave:- in the water. It's actually pretty damn cool. I've never seen anything ' luite like it." I said while I squinted to sec my hallucination a bit better

1Jna{hr Cassandra Moos The cnd ..of. ~our re1gn, surel.':l un-noble An.';Jthmg and ever.':lthing but hopeful f.or a retum f.rom the words that !:JOU lied leavmg !:JOur one lo.':lal peasant beh1nd !:JOU <~nd that Casanova wa.':l of.lif.e Chasing an.':I old maiden or w1f.e I s1gh as !:JOU travel down the road changing from Frince Cham1mg to a toad _ M.';J happd.';J ever af-ter no more f ecling no better than a two bit whore but He will go on and the sun shall set Trusting another m.':l heart I will let Now JUSt w1shing 1t wasn't a cnme Knowmg !loved !:JOU ... Qnce Upon a Time.

Impressions 43

unaccountable variable in the Theory of Relativity.

When Kenny asked me, ''You look pretty deep in ''Well, I'm not. Hell no." He said shaking his thought."

"Some scientists argue that achieving the head laughing a little to himself, while contemplating speed of light is impossible, because in the eguation it what it might be like in the state we were in. ''Let's walk over to Geitzen's then. Shit they're works out that mass is directly proportional to energy.

So if this is true, then the closer an object gets to the probably having a parry. It's Friday right?" speed of light the greater its mass would also be. I was "Wednesday." thinking "Yeah it's Wednesday. So they about my are probably having a party." high school ''You want to walk over to physic's there. It's far man."

-;(~~. ~d k>w ~~ ~~ ~ teacher and "l t's like a mile you pussy." how she "Alright, fuck it let's go," he oo~~~ -v~~~ -in.~ 1A.e-o~ described a said with instantaneous enthusiasm. ship getting He was already to go while I mentally bigger and said goodbye to the lady in the bigger as it approached the speed of Light, which never painting, and we were on our way. made sense to me because there is no way that speed When we stepped out into the cool spring can create atoms. The mass of the object increases only night, I looked around wildly at the street Lights and because the amount of thrust behind it is increased. the illwninated business signs. Everything was more prominent and exaggerated, but also more interesting.

The law of inertia states an object will stay fixed on a I smiled in an1azement as the street light rose up all the given trajectory unless outside forces are working on it. way to the cosmos. I thought about the speed of light So as !looked at the street light, 1 realized the terms of the eguation were not universally defined. My concluand Einstein's Theory of Relativity. I thought about the oneness of all things, and how inertia is the sion this evening is that the speed of light is achievable, "Fuck no. That's a terrible idea. Jesus Christ,

man."

of

rhe 11M that f!,jntf Ryan Schlauderaff

44 Impressions Iâ&#x20AC;˘

as long as the fuel dilemma gets fixed. All that would be needed is different power source."

"What the fuck are you babbling about?"

Kenny asked. ''Well, because of the types of fuel we use in our shuttles, it's completely inconceivable to begin to image achieving the speed of light. The more power you need the more power you would have bring with you, we're screwed in terms of using liquid fuel, because liquid is heavy. The more fuel you would have to take with you; the harder it would be to even break away from the atmosphere, because you're then adding mass to it by adding more fuel. Now if we had a refueling station, maybe orbiting mars, we could at least move forward in terms of exploring the outer solar system, but shit I wonder if that will even happen in our life time. We have the technology to at least have a plan in motion in terms of serious space exploration, but something is holding progress back man. I swear to god we're standing on the edge of the space age, but no one will take the first step forward. It just doesn't make sense."

"O.K. Mr. Wizard," Kenny said in a way which let me know he had not processed much of what I had just said. ''Look at the street Lights man."

"Dude, that just what I've been talking about."

"Naw, you've been talking about the speed of life, and shit."

"The speed of light, dude."

"Oh yeah, that's what I said," he began and the switched completely to "Holy shit," we had just started walking on the over pass for the interstate on State Street in Bismarck, and each time a car or semi would pass by, it would leave a stream of light behind. All Kenny said was "tracers." ''What's that mean?" I asked him plainly. ''Whenever your doing hallucinogens man, and you see a trail of light behind something. It's called a tracer. Fuck, I've been seeing them all night man. See that little guy over there. Hey little guy." He said laughing at himself, and I realized he was being funny and had not fallen of the deep end yet. Kenny was cool as long as he had a good amount of drugs in his possession, but when

he was waiting on a call he would just stare out the window almost as though he in a trance or meditating. We made good time over Geitzen's place, we opened the door.

I never knocked because he would have should told me it wasn't necessary. ''What's up Jay Dub? What the hell are you guys doing? What's up Kenny, long time no see man," Geitzen said shaking Kenny's hand, briefly abandoning his task of hollowing out a cigar.-*-

'Beauu{ufackimon MengAn

Impressions 45

OmniJci~nf Alicia M. Haich Isolated 111 an a9ua desert; on a ll sides peer unblinbng unfocused e~es; finding and not finding the Side conrormtng.

Shadows pla_y with the concrete and the pupds dtlate fmdtng OmiSSIOn. Seal the spot, e_yes sa~. And the water swells.

You curb the surge awa_y w1th no thank _you You watch blinking but do not remove the e_yes or the desert.

46 Impressions

Commofion Ross Loeffler

'Enlof'Mtq Khatanbuuvei Munkhtur He:J dear reader, what a beautiful da:J the cold chiii:J wind combined with snow I'm like a stranger, until the end ot Ma:J E.ver:Jthmg mside me that nobod:J can know I saw a poster that said "Impressions" made me remember the month ot m:J depress1on Ong1nal works, that's what it asked tor for the readers, I decided to write tor about the wa:J that I came to write this piece about the da:J a snowflake landed on m:J fleece I reel cold, cold, cold, cold M:J heart is sold, sold, sold, sold The real truth IS, I don't know what to write about I'm sorr:J m:J readers, it's a disappomtement I'll JUst cl1mb a mountain and shout with fhe coulds I'll make an appomtment 5ut wh:J, I don't see an:J mountams M:J location is clear, D1ckmson, North Dakota it's kind ot breez:J, l'lljust take m:J coat ott I will get a cold, should throw awa:J m:J soda Don't mind the m1stakes, I made them on purpose Th1s isn't a work 1n the store :JOU purchased I sometimes don't care just let m:J mind rlow Ma:Jbe one da:J I can have m:J own show!

NOpe, I'm dreaming step into realit:J E.xpunge m:J name, keep m:J contidentiallt:J I wdl not edit this poem I promise :JOU all Then I won't be new l1ke the sunlight in Ma:J Hall I will send m:J hrst draft that I have written Trust me I'm in the USA not 5ritain M:J ideas just diFfused m:J readers IS contused but the point IS there is no main pomt 1r the poem is long no one will read now I have to s~ m:J wrist and go now ...

Go now? I hat's a bad wa:J to end for the reader, has now become lll:J friend You have no dues, ::;~ou have no fees 5ut please thank me tor writing with ease.

'MJ ~avorife /JttfB CanvaJ '&J Lane Talkington

Impressions 47

()efuminafion: ;tl v~ 1'owet{uf 'EnfifJ in an 9niHmluafJ /Jfe Robert Morgan As I sat there and watched others pass before me step by step stride by stride I sunk even further.

The power, the energy, the all out effort, race after race, that persons like me seems to be exerting as if to be p1stons in an engine. I trembled; howe,¡er, I knew on the inside I would be b~ner. I kept repeating to myself, "You can do it" for my own motivation. Today was not the usual; coach was not there to administer his usual remedy to me, normally some unnecessary fable on some stupid stuff in his past. The thought of that day and the events leading up to it taught me so much as an individual about my body, its capabilities, and that my limits are just what others place on me; however, the hunger and deme for something extremely passlOnate breaks down those limits placed on me by the opposition.

"Asafa Powell, number six hundred and thirty one," announced the official. At that one instance 1 could hear again; hearing was the most difficult thing that day, due to the deafening sound of nervousness.

My internal chant of encouragement seemed to work

because it made my steps more bearable as I approached hun. "Lane four for you, sir," he said as he gave the sticker for me to attach to my leg. As I stood by the side of the track, it seemed so new to me. The texture of the chevron seemed so much like a water ~ed, one that one would not be able to resist diving IOtO.

The official signaled us to come in his direction . .As I watched in that dueccion, I glanced at my seven other competitors, a funn} moment for me because these guys I had beaten or had a faster time than, but this moment was different. This moment I saw titans who were enormously taller than I was. I was the mouse in this race, and I began to squeak and squeak real loud. "Test and adjust your blocks," said the starter. Testing and pushing off my block, I felt empty and as if I had no purpose. The announcer began to call us out by name and marks made in previous heats.

¡~safa

Powell," he said and 1 jumped in fright As 1 stood there I could feel my insole; in addition to that, every word written on the insole along with the sweat from my legs running down.

"To your marks," said the starter. I got down in the blocks. I recalled thinking of two things: Pslams 23,

'&rf from the Milv.mt Jason Walth 48 Impressions

was great. Ho\\'e,¡er, greatness was an understatement and the story of DaYid and Goliath. It was so interestto the actual feeling I had. The cheers from the spectaing to me, the fact that David, a small boy, faced a tital tors roared in joy, and some in animosity, both sounds Goliath with nothing more than a sling and stone. I le at the least affected me. defeated a titan known to be much bigger and more l was in full motion and could feel that talented than the average human. The lion within mechanical beast within. My face bouncing all over and began to roar and wanted to be heard. I roared my I could feel the wind pushing against my body. ~1y engine for mv opponents to feel my presence. The shoulders and my arms were just responding with starter said "set.." At that one moment a tip of sweat uncontrollable power and coordination with my legs. fell from my forehead and I could feel every vein My icy heart slowly regained warmath as the grief that within my arms and legs, the blood flowing through had filled it was now being replaced with happiness at them and that extra strength in them. being able to run again. My legs felt so powerful as if At the sound of the gun, my fmt two steps lift the track out with each step and demanding what seemed almost perfect; exactly on the third one l was to come. The heat did not matter to my body; time recalled the events that had taken place three months was counting down on what counts. The grief, the ago. I remembered being warned to avoid a specific struggle of the last three months had to be released on race and how disobedient I was. This disobedience had that day. cost me my Achilles tendon, which the doctor warned me not to aggravate it or else I would not be able co 1 was almost at the end of my journe)'¡ l could recall words my coach had always been preaching at walk agam. Tears of my wounded determination were every moment he could, "Oh father , let it not be lack not an easy thing to soothe; by the grace of God the situation turned and made this all partially go away. The doctor had a tc~ ~~. ~ -if--:t~ ~~ 0~ ~ "however" in his statement. lie said I could do other stuff just not ~et~ w e-u- ~of ~ o~ ~. enough to stress the tendon. At that moment I thought that Jesus was of trying why I failed but trying and seeing." I Iowever, really looking out for me. Taking those precautions as those words never applied to me because 1 was on my my weapon to continue to get back where I was. Pain, this was not the word to explain what I had felt in an way to that success from a very weary trial. I was a attempt to walk even so run. I made sure to state starved caged animal and I was not going to let anything prevent me from earning my success in this sport. clear!) at the top of my mind that I would never be classed as a quitter; even though I \vas not able to run, I took my final steps to cross the line first. It I found alternative exercises to do to build the other was so overwhelming, I felt proud and super. I could feel the meaning of my life being defined again. 1 could areas of my body. After a month and a couple weeks I could walk comfortably but not run, this pain was see friends of mine cheering by the side with shiny and overwhclcmed faces. Winning was not the only thing I determined to get the worst of me but I never allowed had accomplished that day, I had ran a totally unexit. l tried and tried so hard w attempt jogging, and one day bra mpaerious turn of events my ability to jog was pected personal best also. I looked to the heavens; all restored. 1 felc born again, as if the heavens opened up that went through my mind was thanking the Lord for and there were rays of light shining on me. 1 took that all he did for me by putting me on top of my tasks. I moment as an advantage, and started constructing looked to my opponents, they all gave their version of those leg muscles day after day to get to that level I was congratulation and l returned with a pat on the back. before.

Every time I recall that day I feel the exact warmth and accomplishment 1 felt that same day, As a graceful dancer ,~.¡ould moYe smoothlr and elegant!) on the stage, so also did I feel when I was which made me feel so free and accomplished. Re cently, I made a call to my teammate Michael Frater. on the track. I could feel the wind brushing against my face as 1 was mechanically elevated out of the drive Speaking about it, he said, "It was quite a race." In phase. I was solely focused on my red carpet, seeing addition to that he said, "If most people fell in your hearing and feeling the motivation internally and position they would have packed it up. You were too stubborn and determined." I thank God every day for externally; IL felt like a dream I always had. I could no longer feel my opponents' presence by my side. I was that moment; it shows so much what I am capable of alone at the top as the race should be and the feeling if I really wanted something. -~ -

"?fit

ti.pivt

"

Impressions

49

~1<Jmm Andy Hall This painfully small box holds my entire world and everything that means anything to me.

The not so subtle blues and the oh-so bright whites are agonizing to the eye. The workspaces on either wall show signs that someone else was driven mad, like me, by the confinement.

Slowly, my world has been collapsed into a twelve foot by eight foot cubicle. I feel the sadness flowing over me.

The most noticeable aspect of the room is of course the bed. It may look like a king sized mattress, but in reality it is two pitiful twin beds mashed together so that I have more room to sleep. Most people would just look over the sleeping area like a wad of old chewing gum. To me it brings back memories of love making and seemingly endless "pillow talk." The nostalgia washes through me. I feel overwhelmed with the thoughts of our glorious nights together.

They weigh on my heart as I wish I could be nearer to her, but my decisions prevent that. The clock is showing 12:30. I am tired and need sleep, but I have better things to do. I need to get some homework done. Such is the life of a student. Late nights and early mornings. The moments ticking away as our fate draws nearer.

Can it be true that in just a few hours I have a test that will decide my college career?

Pictures line the wall above the head board of the oversized bed and they too bring back fond, distant, and painful memories. To add to those age old tales of happiness, anger, and sorrow you will find a small and well worn stuffed mouse. He used be Five) Mousekawitz and he even has his own story. A gift, from my now dead grandmother, that has since lost its luster. His clothes are missing and I remember the time I bet my brother that he could not fit into them when we were young, I lost.

The pictures show a young man in Air Force Blues fresh out of boot camp. Those days are long gone. The pain I feel when I look at them is nothing compared to the joys I remember I had when he was still around. Though he 50 Impressions

lived a thousand miles away and didn't get to see me very often, he cashed in on the times we did have. In some other photos I can see a new couple cuddling on the couch of some distant house. The smiles show a surface of happiness and love but the both of knew what was really bubbling beneath the surface.

The barren wall opposite the bed holds nothing but insanity in its dips and divots. Many a man has looked upon it and quietly contemplated his situation in life. The phone never rings unless someone needs something or if they need me to cover a shift at work. The hatred I posses for that wretched thing is indescribable. When it does finally ring I, more often than not, refuse to answer it. I am half tempted to just unplug it.

Wandering eyes would likely move over my desk. A cluttered area. Spit cups and McDonald's wrappers litter the workspace.

Almost every inch of the table top is covered by something. In between the computer and me sit several pictures of the world I wish I could be a part of. I am stuck here staring into the infinite whiteness of a blank page, a blank canvas that my words must dance across to form a picture in the minds of my non-existent audience.

The speakers of my computer blare out some Jimmy Hendrix. I am not a voodoo child but someday I might actually understand what the song means and then I can call myself an artist. As my attention wanes for a brief moment I see my cans of chew stacked up on the far comer of the desk. The point where the walls meet is almost stuffed full of my horrible vice.

There is evidence everywhere that I am overstressed. The bits and pieces of me can be found tacked to the board on the background of my monitor.

A picture of a girl smiling, moving right you can see that this girl has grown into a beautiful woman. The woman of my dreams. I cannot let her go. She is long gone by now. She probably doesn't even remember the places and times we took those pictures of each other. Empty promises ring in my ears like the echoes of a bad dream. I will keep this by my pWow so that I can wake up to you everyday. Not so true any more,

she is gone and I am broken. I drove her from me but I am unable to shake the shades of better days from my mind.

I look sky ward to see a bookshelf with all of our favorite books on it; various novels of sex, violence and the preternatural. In a feeble attempt to block out those happy memories I have placed a herd of dip cups in front of the titles of the books. Again, even farther up there are more books that remind of the bird that I let fly away. Stuffed together like anchovies between the wall and printer are even more of those books that we would spend nights discussing.

I am forced to look away from the pain, to run from it. In the center of the wall is a window; a decent view, just one small luxury in this meager existence that has become my life. It is closed and I am too lazy, or is that too depressed to open it and let some fresh air in. My eyes travel over the fridge stacked with a microwave and the latest gaming system. Even there I cannot escape my feelings, my memories. We would cook popcorn in that oven and sit for hours watching movies on the TV. Yes, the TV sits on the desk opposite mine. It has gotten dusty. I have not gotten around to cleaning it, or that's what I tell people who comment on the dust. In truth she wrote me a note in the grime that coated the screen. !love you always! It said. Now there is so much dirt that the message cannot be seen. Sitting next to that is one thing that brings no pain, no sorrow, and no memories. My stereo.

This monster has out done just about everyone on the floor for sheer output power. At just 17 volume it can be heard throughout the building. The speakers teeter precariously atop the book shelves. The slow pervasion of trash accumulating on the bolster next to the main console of the radio is becoming overwhelming. The trash can is but a few feet below it but I am too lazy to take it out and too busy to deal with it. A coffee pot that hasn't been cleaned out in months steeps with a squalid liquid. More memories flood into the forefront of my mind. We used to sit and sip on cheap coffee all night and just stare into each

other's eyes.

Looking about I can see the closets that still hold some of the most painful times in my heart. A dress she wore so red I didn't think I was awake, but dreaming of something so sweet that God's hands had formed from the clay of life right before my eyes. A tee shirt that I won at a fair once long before we were tainted by the strains of the real world hangs dauntingly over a pile of dirty laundry. The garments are arranged in a fashion that looks almost like an alter to us. I worship it with my tears every night.

The door, it is the most important part to any living space. It is strong and hard, like love is supposed to be. I open it and feel the beckoning call of freedom. Slamming it hard I can feel the wood vibrate and the sound leaves a ringing in my ears. I throw the old bolt lock into position not to keep people out but to keep myself in.

Locked inside my room I am safe. It's not big and it is definitely not pretty but guess what?

This room is mine and for now that is comfort enough.

Impressions S1

MlmJofiaon ?Uamor Enkhtamir Otgondemberel

52 Impressions

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1918