The Wayfarer 2007

“Yet I could never explain how the image and the reality merge, and how they somehow extend and beautify each other.�

~I Capture the Castle Dodie Smith

Staff Editors:

Lydia Lovell Emer Lucey

Assistant Editors:

Sam McLaughlin Louise Opel

Technical Editors:

Cedric Meyers Jay Sekhon

Editorial Board:

Josh Chiarkas Rebecca Gehrmann Auriana Gilliland-Lloyd Martha Mank Caitlin O’Brien Rachel Underwood Janelle Wanta

Layout Board:

Maggie Bracey Josh Chiarkas Rebecca Gehrmann Auriana Gilliland-Lloyd Martha Mank Caitlin O’Brien Rachel Underwood Steven Underwood

Cover Artist:

Portia Danis

Consultants:

Mr. Jim Ottney Mr. Mark Thering

Advisors:

Ms. Diane Mertens Ms. Teresa West-Lentz

Table of Contents Writers 4

Fences: Chris LaBella

28 English Trinity: Katie Ballweg

6

Key of Eb: Emma Dallagrana

29 The Trees Cast Shadows: Maggie Schwenn

8

Shake Shake: Liz Kremer

30 A Man to Admire: Dan Poquette

9

A Matter of Seconds: Jennifer Bishop

32 The Stage Manager: Kelly Kopish

10 Broken: Sam McLaughlin

34 Beautiful Trouble: Andree Ring

16 Polish Ladies: Cate Hall

35 It Came in the Mail: Kevin Axe

18 Brotherly Love: Mario Minnaert

38 Page 217 of 300: Emer Lucey

20 The First Snowfall: Alicia Kort

40 Drained Away: David Hackworthy

21 I See Outside: Colleen O’Connell

42 Winter’s Appetite: Cooper Brown

22 Caught In the Forest: Anneke van Lith

45 Catch My Disease: Maggie Raymond

25 Swing: Caitlin O’Brien

46 A School of Fish: Andrew Scheffer

26 A Different World: Courtney Halbach

48 Love: Sarah Merfeld

Graphic Artists Katie Ballweg: 42, 43, 44 Taylor Behnke: 46, 47 Larpamon Chatphaisal: 22 Lindsay Davenport: 10, 13, 14, 15 Megan Evans: 7 Stephanie Harrison: 20 Nicholas Hughes: 8 Liz Kremer: 9, 17 Caryn Kuprianczyk: 34 Jieun Kwon: 16, 17, 18, 26, 28

Jordan Lentz: 39, 40, 41 Peter Locast: 24 Cedric Meyers: 48 Charlie Miller: 35, 36, 37 Ben Mund: 4 Matt Neumann: 31 Caitlin O’Brien: 45 Min Jin Rho: 33 Jay Sekhon: 21, 25 Hilary Wallace: 29

Denotes Edgewood High School Writing Contest Winner

4

FENCES Chris LaBella (12)

artwork by Ben Mund (12)

5

Reinforced meek motionless empty electric singing dancing beautiful barbed wire keeping me Out? keeping me In? keeping me away at bay.

Electric Fences have one Weakness Power Outages of the Inner circuits with good reactions one can climb & hop the fence to the Other Side but where I stand

the engineers did their duty.

Back-up generators ensure that none can climb

to the Other Side without getting

B

U

R

N

E

D.

What’s worse is how the buzzing of the electric flow vanishes with the main power down and the back-up generators are Silent they Tease they are silent.

6

The Key of Emma Dallagrana (10)

O

b E

nto center stage, under the lights,

school, most students create paths with

out walks Luke, dressed in a blue

mileposts and markers leading to a job which

shirt and matching tie and black

will support them into the future. This was not

dress pants, his glistening bronze saxophone

the case for Luke, who goes with the flow and

slung around his neck. His foot begins to tap.

takes life as it comes, one day at a time. Luke is

Then, out of the silence, continuous notes

just an easygoing, laid back kind of guy who

sound, forming the path like an airplane in the

does what his heart tells him.

sky. Who needs written music when improvisation is just as good, if not better? His body flows with the music as he plays, doing what he loves best. One glimpse of him performing creates a vivid, lasting impression in my head. This is my brother, Luke, who decided to follow his heart and study music.

Luke’s musical journey started in sixth

♫ To me, the music was a distraction, but for my brother, it was his time to let his passion dance. ♫

grade band class. My brother with one hundred other clueless kids chose an

My brother, now in college, displays a

instrument, like indecisive children standing in

musical talent that does not start and end with

the candy aisle. This was when my brother

the saxophone. He has discovered the clarinet,

first picked up the saxophone, and he has not

the baritone, and the piano as well. New

ever let go. From concert band to jazz band to

instruments create new experiences. Luke

private lessons, the saxophone accompanies

plays the baritone in marching band, a college

him like a magician with his wand. On school

experience quite unlike Statistics 101. The

nights, blaring scales would come from my

clarinet adds to Luke’s versatility when

brother’s room and disrupt my peaceful study

auditioning for a part in a band if it does not

time. To me, the music was a distraction, but

need another saxophone. Before performing, it

for my brother, it was his time to let his

is vital to play the piano accompaniment to see

passion dance.

how the parts fit together.

My brother tends to keep things to himself,

For Luke, the Eb key opens up doors to

like a selfish squirrel gathering its nuts in

many musical opportunities. Music is his life,

preparation for winter. He is quiet around my

and no one can take it away from him. Right

family and me, but in his social circle of

now, Luke’s heart is in his music. The

friends, he is the complete opposite. After high

saxophone is his ticket to the world.

7

artwork by Megan Evans (10)

8

h k a S e

The sea of halides has dissolved.

It comes as no surprise looking at the negatives filled with explosions in the sky.

Before this photo was developed, I realized you are always blessed with luck and charm; Mother Nature’s son.

Quietly clever, you always disarm.

I am tied up in so many ways Your Fear and Loathing every day might make you striking might give you me but striking is getting difficult for me you see, I’m getting the fear

artwork by Nicholas Hughes (10) You say brief things, your love’s conscious

Sha ke

My love’s subliminal We should be through distance, bubble wrapped hands packaged eyes, vicious lips

I’m in the darkroom dear, you’re in the sky I’m in the darkroom dear, drop on by.

I’ll be developing photos in the evening tide

Liz Kremer (12)

9

A Matter of Sec onds Jennifer Bishop (12)

Silence consumes the world, expecting a twitch, a single motion, to break its roar.

Intensity churns, electricity throbbing inside every organ of my body.

Shattering bang permeates all senses, dictating time and forcing compliance.

I am slapped and battered by lashes of air.

My bare flesh protests, screaming in defeat.

Sweat flees my defiant forehead, melting rivulets of salt into determined eyes.

Listen: a rhythm.

Discordant pounding and crashing command control.

Each second, fierce muscle spasms become more intense, sweet pain more acute.

I slice open moist earth, stretching my tortured toes towards rugged terrain.

Time snaps my brain like a circuit.

One crystallized vision lies far ahead, my reason to conquer every second.

Adrenaline kidnaps each limb, injecting flaming willpower into a nearly powerless system.

I see flashes of straining flesh inches away, seeking an escape.

The dual rhythm increases, intensifies, and explodes in wild exertion.

Chaotic, blaring waves of noise tell me I am strongest.

Chorus vanishes, a pallid whirlwind hailing me.

I smile in exhaustion at the shattered white line behind me. artwork by Liz Kremer (12)

10

artwork by Lindsay Davenport (11)

Broken Sam McLaughlin (10)

P

erzys sat next to the dying man, legs

walls and defenses, guns and swords flashing,

crossed, pale chin pressed into his

mages calling down meteors and lightning on

palms. With shadows drawn across

the thinly stretched defenders. Her father had

his pale-blue hair that hung in spiky locks

died on the walls, as had her brother; her

across his face, his eyes were drowned in

mother had been killed after the gates fell. And

darkness, and his hair looked black in places.

now we’re the only ones left to stop them from

Shifting to a more comfortable position in his

letting out the Light. We’re all that’s left of the

heavy, synthetic armor, Perzys watched the

Shadows. Blinking back tears, Ani’ai hugged

white-clad man lying, dying in the center of a

her knees, staff lying forgotten along the

crimson circle. He’s been lingering a while….

ground, its butt jutting into a pool of

Good, the longer the better, he deserves it!

congealing blood. This is a start, at least—one

“We should finish him off,” Ani’ai

border fort down. Now if we could just do more

declared, dropping down with a metallic

than that…we might be getting somewhere. Closer

thunk onto the flagstones next to Perzys and

to revenge…

the dying man.

“No, let him go his own way,” Perzys growled, running his gauntleted hands up and down the leather-bound hilt of his sword, turning the milk-white blade slightly, letting the tip rest lightly on the pristine flagstones of the fort. “They tried to stop us; he just wasn‘t lucky enough to die right away. He can go slowly; all of the Lit Ones can.”

Now we’re the only ones left to stop them from letting out the Light. We’re all that’s left of the Shadows.

Ani’ai shrugged indifferently and let her head knock back against the white wall of the

She stared at the ceiling for a while, white

fort. “If you say so. You’re the one who

tiles catching the light of the lamps and

fought him, anyway. I’d have just killed him

spreading it throughout the chamber,

and finished it, but….”

illuminating the tables, chairs, and maps

Glaring at her, Perzys said, “They can all

which crowded the office. Ani’ai kept her eyes

die like this, as slowly as possible. After what

away from the body as long as she could, but

they did to our city….”

inevitably, they drifted downwards—first to

With a sigh, Ani’ai nodded, fighting off the

the lamps with their silver frames and frosted

memories of the Light invasion: men and

glass casings, then to the shining, white surface

women clad all in white, storming past the

of the walls themselves, and finally down to

11

12 the floor and the moribund warrior. His hair

the tip of his sword, needle-sharp point

was brown, his face fair, but not as pale as hers

digging into synthetic armor.

or that of Perzys, his armor gleaming white, like nearly everything else in the fort. Not entirely ugly…but he fights for the Light. Ani’ai

“You’d be surprised how sturdy we are,” rasped the man, voice faint and weak.

Blinking in surprise, Perzys drew back up

scowled in disgust, eyes deliberately avoiding

against the wall for a moment, forgetting for a

the bloody gash that Perzys’ sword had

time that the fallen warrior was in no condition

opened up on his side. Rising, she picked up

to do him any harm. “I guess you are. Stupid,

her staff, giving it a flick, sending the blood

Light-loving….” Perzys growled and poked

flying from its end, splattering against the

his sword more sharply into the man’s

wall.

shoulder.

The dying man made an attempt at

“Yes. All I want is to get them to leave us alone, to let us live. So we fight them, we kill them, but there’s no point in making them suffer-that’s what they do! “

spitting, failed, and sank into a coughing fit that scattered flecks of blood across his chin and armor. “At least…I haven’t…haven’t sold my soul…to the Shadows.”

“Uh-huh,” Perzys said, nodding mockingly. “Can’t say I regret it, or that there’s anything wrong with it. Better than burning in the Light forever.”

“Happiness…is through the Light,” the dying man replied.

“Wrong,” Perzys returned sharply.

“Where are you going?” Perzys asked mildly, looking up from the dying man.

“Gonna find something to eat,” Ani’ai replied. “I’ll bring you something.”

“Alright,” Perzys paused for a moment and then smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Ani’ai replied,

“I guess…we’ll…see, in a while.”

Grinning cruelly, Perzys nodded. “Yes, we will. But don’t think that I’m going to hurry you along. You’re going to pay for what your brothers did to our city.”

The dying man shook his head weakly, but said nothing. Perzys continued to watch him,

walking across the office, slipping between

disgust and hate growing. He watched the

tables on her way to the door.

man closely as his eyes, liquid brown pools,

Perzys watched her go, golden hair the

slowly glazed over. A small grin broke across

last bit of her to disappear around the frame of

Perzys’ face, staring at the dying man until he

the door. He continued to smile faintly, and

blinked and rolled his eyes away from Perzys.

then looked back at the dying man, sour mood

Good, you should be afraid of me--I can make this so

returning in a flash. “You’re a tough little

much longer than it needs to be.… Perzys

bastard, aren’t you,” he muttered to himself,

continued his grim vigil until Ani’ai returned

poking the man lightly in the shoulder with

with two bowls of steaming soup, laced with

13 squiggly noodles and spices. Handing Perzys

Perzys rose, sword held loosely in one hand.

a bowl, she took a seat next to him, her

“I need some air,” he declared, exiting the

shoulder brushing his.

room, soup untouched.

“Still holding in there?” she asked, cocking

*

her head and looking at the dying man with

*

*

more curiosity than anything else. His face is

The cool fingers of the North Wind

paler…he’s not going to last much longer. Eyes

caressed Perzys’ face as he leaned against a

softening, she glanced at Perzys, looking at

crenel, watching the breeze play across the

him imploringly. “Just give him a little peace.”

sun-crisped wheat fields that surrounded the

“No,” Perzys replied. “I’ll keep his soul from returning to the Light as long as I can.”

“Does it really matter,” she asked quietly.

fort. To the south the sun rested over the open, golden fields that marked the border of the Light Lands, while a shadowy forest

“We go to the Shadows; he goes to the Light.

partitioned what was left of the Shadow Realm

A few minutes aren’t going to change

from the rest of the world. Hardly any of it left,

anything. He probably can’t feel the pain

Perzys thought bitterly. All because they think

anymore, anyway.”

we’re wrong, because they think we’re evil. Those

A harsh rasp emanated from the dying man’s chest. “If only,” he murmured.

Ani’ai looked at him sadly and shrugged, turning her attention back to Perzys. “Just let him go.”

Perzys chewed his lip, staring into the

evil, twisted…. He blinked back an errant tear as the echoes of his mother’s dying screams resounded through his skull. I’ll make them pay for all of this….

Head pressed against the crenel, eyes tightly closed, Perzys did not hear Ani’ai until

dying man’s eyes. He’s almost gone….Just a

she was at his side, a hand resting gently on

little longer and it’ll all be over. “He doesn’t

the center of his back. “Just let him go,” she

deserve mercy; none of them do.” Sighing,

murmured.

14 “It’s the same thing they did to us!” Perzys shouted back angrily, a tear sliding down his porcelain cheek. “It’s just….They…deserve… it.” Choking back a sob, rising from the crenel, Perzys gripped his sword tightly and strode along the edge of the defensive wall.

Perzys reached a steel ladder and slid down it to the courtyard that ringed in the bunkers which composed most Perzys turned toward her angrily. “How

of the fort. Ani’ai followed him across the

can you say that? After what they did to us?

yard to the command bunker, descending a

To our families? To everyone like us! Gaia,

short flight of tiled steps to a well-lit hall that

we can’t just let them go, can we?”

circled under the courtyard from one bunker

Ani’ai stared back at him coldly, then, slowly, nodded, hair dancing in a cascade of

to another.

Striding forward with increased purpose,

sunlit gold around her face. “Yes. All I want

Perzys entered the command bunker, pushing

is to get them to leave us alone, to let us live.

his way roughly through the desks toward

So we fight them, we kill them, but there’s no

where the man was lying in a pool of blood.

point in making them suffer--that’s what they

He heard the click a moment before the bullets

do! Isn’t it enough just to win peace?

ripped into his armor and the desk next to

Revenge…it’s sweet, but….Damn it, can’t you

him. Flinching in pain as the steel rounds dug

see what it’s doing to you?”

into his synthetic armor, heads pressing hard

Brow furrowed, Perzys struggled with that

into his skin, Perzys stepped forward quickly

thought for a moment, and then took in a

and lopped off the man’s hand. Try to shoot

reluctant sigh. “What the hell are you talking

me? Just going to be worse now! An animal

about?”

snarl breaking free from his throat, Perzys

“Leaving him alive, letting him suffer like

slashed open the man’s other arm, sending a

that,” Ani’ai murmured. “Before that,

stream of blood onto the floor. Eyes narrowed

though—the caravan we attacked. You killed

to slits, Perzys raised his sword for another

all of those people…all of those innocent

strike and was about to bring the blade down

people.”

when Ani’ai stepped in front of him.

15 “Stop it,” she screamed, tears running down her face. “Gaia, what’s wrong with you?

You’re…Gaia, I don’t even know what you are!”

Perzys blinked, hand paused in midair.

Get out of…He stopped as the weight of her words struck him. His eyes flashed from Ani’ai’s face to the dying man’s wounds and back again. Perzys grew faint, swaying on his feet. Oh, Gaia…what have I done? Eyes locked on the bloody holes he had opened up in the man, Perzys fought back a wave of nausea. He managed to lurch forward, driving his sword into the man’s chest. Moaning, Perzys staggered away from the man as the last dregs of life seeped out of his wounds. Perzys threw himself into the far corner of the room.

“Gaia….Oh, Gaia….”

Ani’ai was at his side in a moment, throwing her arms around him. She struggled to form words for a moment, failed, fell silent, and pressed her head against his. Perzys fought back tears, shaking, utterly disgusted with himself. “Why….Oh, Gaia, why did I do that….Oh, Gaia, I’m sorry….” Sobbing, Perzys clutched at Ani’ai. So sorry….

“You…you did the right thing,” Ani’ai murmured, cradling his head as the last few sobs wracked Perzys’ body. “It’s okay….I’m here.”

artwork by Lindsay Davenport (11)

16

artwork by Jieun Kwon (11)

17

POLISH LADIES Cate Hall (12)

Polish ladies Two of them, compact and petite Grandmotherly in stature.

Beneath folds of wrinkles Lay hidden, lipless grins.

Waltzing with a vacuum, Conducting with a feather duster on Plush leather couches and towering furniture.

Endearingly patting my cheeks, chattering Frustratingly, unable to understand.

The blonde drill sergeant, el jefe A dog, herds them like naĂŻve calves.

Like a Viking, plundering for gold, Leering at the glittering jewelry that Quickly cringes and cowers from her greedy eyes.

Fifty-two times a year Their motherly, innocent faces and affectionate hugs Abruptly taken from me.

Shipped as packages back to Poland.

Replaced, cruelly— All over again.

18 artwork by Jieun Kwon (11)

Brotherly Love Mario Minnaert (10))

s

19 ome brothers are ashamed of their

left a distinct scar that represents our bond as

younger siblings. They are too cool

brothers. We laugh so thunderously that my

for them and don’t want to be seen

mom awakes from her deep sleep and scolds

around them. Some older brothers make a decision to beat up the young ones to show

us for not sleeping.

I do not see Alex that much at school, but

them who is boss. When the young complain,

whenever he sees me, he says, “Hey, Mario,

the elders respond with a wise, “It’s just tough

how’s your day going?” as he reaches out for a

love” comment. A number of older brothers

classic high-five. “Good, how about you?” I

simply ignore their siblings. My older brother,

reply as we continue on our separate paths.

Alex, is not like this. Those of you who see

The day goes by fast, and after school and

Alex at school may think he is a quiet, reserved

practice, we drive home together. Sometimes

introvert. But I see him on a more personal

exhausted from the day, we drive in silence as

level. I see his good and bad days, and the

we listen to soft music. Other times, we blast

Alex I know is a loving, caring brother.

After a long day at school, I settle into my little, comfy bed and across the way, in the same room, Alex rests.

On some stormy nights, neither one of us can fall

Other times, we blast the music so loud you would think an aircraft just took off, as we sing Shania Twain’s Greatest Hits without a care in the world.

the music so loud you would think an aircraft just took off, as we sing Shania Twain’s Greatest Hits without a care in the world. It doesn’t matter what song it is, who is watching us, or the fact that both of us

asleep. Lying in bed, I ask him, “Hey, are you

are terrible singers; all that matters is that we

asleep?” and Alex responds with a simple,

are together and having fun. Those are the

“No,” in his quiet and gentle voice. Then we

moments when I realize what an awesome

talk about sports, friends, school, and girls.

brother I have.

We reminisce about the old days when we

Everything between Alex and me isn’t

would lace up in full football uniform and play

perfect all the time because we’re brothers and

tackle football in the backyard for hours. Or

arguments are bound to happen. But the next

we remember the time we played hockey in

time Alex and I are quarreling, I’ll just think

the basement, and I accidentally sliced his

about him singing, “Man, I feel like a woman!”

smooth, mocha-brown skin with a hockey

by Shania Twain, and I will laugh. Alex is one

stick, requiring several stitches to repair. This

of the most caring people that I have ever met.

20

The First Snowfall Alicia Kort (10)

White grasps at cold dirt Falls among the colored leaves Unknown, unwanted Resists warmth for existence Quiet, rebellious snowflakes.

artwork by Stephanie Harrison (12)

21

Colleen O’Connell (12)

Sun still sleeping behind the hills Nut scavenging squirrels Hoarding for hibernation Leaves transforming hues As they trickle from the tree Raindrops descending from the clouds Like tiny, midnight meteor showers Frost covers scorched grass Wind whispers, “Winter’s near” Days of snow men, Snow fights, and snow dogs Excitement strikes inside Like a shot of penicillin

artwork by Jay Sekhon (12)

22

Caught in the Forest

Anneke van Lith (11)

artwork by Larpamon Chatphaisal (12)

23 The Crucible is Arthur Miller’s classic play concerning the Salem Witch Trials. When a group of teenage girls begin accusing members of their highly religious Puritan community of being witches, they wreak havoc in the lives of the townspeople. The girls had been found dancing and making spells in the forest and tried to defer the blame to “witches.” In the following “Caught in the Forest,” the author imagines the young girls dancing and attempting to conjure spells, a scene omitted from Miller’s original play.

A dark forest outside the town of Salem,

they died. That’s really the only reason she

Massachusetts.

sent me. I don’t know what she’ll do if she

In the center of a clearing stands a blazing fire

doesn’t know. It tortures her, not knowing.

around which several young women are gathered. A

Tituba, knowingly: Maybe them just ready to

large pot hangs over the fire, stirred by Tituba.

leave the world.

Tituba, afraid: I don’t like this, Abby. I made

Abigail, agitated: Alright, enough of this!

promise to Mister Reverend to never conjure

Where’s my potion, Tituba? I’m ready for it

after he take me in his house. I made promise

now!

never to talk of no spirits. I made promise never to sing no Barbados songs. I made

Tituba: Abby, yours is comin’ next. She reveals

promise—

a smaller pot with dark red liquid in it. A darker

Abigail: Shut it! I will not have you speaking

want her dead?

such nonsense, Tituba. My uncle will never know we were here. He will never know what things we consorted with this night. Now menacingly turning to the girls: As long as everyone just keeps their mouth shut. Right,

potion, a darker magic it calls for. You really

Abigail, wildly: I will not put up with your questions! I know what I want! I want that sniveling woman out of this world! Goody Proctor should die for her bitterness. John and

girls?

I will dance on her cold grave!

Mary Warren and Betty shrink back in fear.

Mary, shocked: Abby! I didn’t think you

Mercy: Sure, Abby, it’s all in good fun. No one

capable of such hatred.

will say a word.

Betty, timidly: I do not think this is what God

Ruth, annoyed: Of course, Abby. Now can we

intended. My father would be very displeased.

get on with it? Is the potion nearly finished

would want. I do not think this is as He

Tituba?

Mercy, warningly: Both of you shut your

Tituba, more assuredly: Aye. You near ready to

just sport. Quit your judgment and your

see your baby sisters’ spirits? They’ll be

prayers. Abby doesn’t need this.

comin’. They’ll be comin’. Your mother be pleased to know they come willingly. No hesitation. Conjure real easy.

Ruth, uneasily: My mother wants to know why

mouths before I beat some sense into you. It’s

Abigail: Exactly. Turning to Tituba, Now give it to me! She snatches the potion, It looks vile, Tituba! What can it possibly be?

24

artwork by Peter Locast (11) Betty, horrified: It…it looks like…blood.

Betty, standing off to the side, horrified, watch the

Tituba, hesitant: Aye, she’s right. It be chicken

scene unfold before them.

blood. It charm Goody Proctor to her death, if

Abigail prods Mary and Betty until they join in by

that be Abby’s purpose. You sure Miss Abby?

swaying back and forth. Mercy becomes extremely caught up in the ceremony and takes off her dress,

Abigail proceeds to quickly drink the blood without a second thought, and looks up in defiance as though it has not fazed her at all.

Abigail: I’m always sure.

dancing naked.

None of the girls notices when, at the far end of the clearing, the bushes begin to rustle. Suddenly, Reverend Parris bursts from the bushes.

Parris, aghast: What is the meaning of this?

Tituba: Ruth and Abby, you both got your potions now, but they’re incomplete without a charm.

Betty screams and faints.

Immediately, Tituba stops her chanting, and all of the girls stop dancing. As the girls stand sickened

Abigail, irritated: Well, get on with it then.

by the sight of Parris, a naked Mercy runs into theforest to conceal herself. Tituba hurries to care for

Ruth, frightened: Yes, I want to get out of here.

the unconscious Betty. Mary and Ruth tremble in fear as Abigail stands boldly glaring at Parris.

Tituba begins to sing and chant in her native language, while waving her arms over the fire. She sways back and forth which prompts Abigail and

Parris, livid: Tell me, what is the meaning of this?

Mercy to dance and frolic around the clearing.

Abigail, feigning innocence: Why, it were

Ruth reluctantly joins in the dancing. Mary and

merely sport uncle.

25

Caitlin O’Brien (12)

Stubborn realities melt into playground laughter Eager spirits pump higher, higher Hurtling upward through infinite space Childhood abandonment embraces mighty rule.

Skipping thoughts collide and blend Present and pretend become inseparable Suspending simultaneously in now and then Grains of life sprinkle onto imagination’s sandcastle.

Gravity eagerly pulls heaven down to earth Illusions of the newly formed dream slip, slide away Reality rushes as ground reaches out to tag “it” Swinging back into youthful nothingness.

artwork by Jay Sekhon (12)

26

A Different World Courtney Halbach (10) artwork by Jieun Kwon (11)

27

T

he cold metal outline of a door stands

ing down the terminal. A monotone voice

empty with a little green light flashing

over the loud speaker reiterates the rules and

atop it. Two men in black, with gold

regulations. Women whisper over walkie-

badges and a belt filled with gadgets, stand

talkies like sentinels watching the nonstop

just beyond. A woman in a white collared

stream of people walking by.

shirt takes my identification card and ticket,

I take a sip of my cappuccino. Marab sits

examines them closely, and waves me through.

quietly ignoring the vicious stares from our

As always, the green light turns into red like a

neighboring tables.

bull’s eye on a dart board. I’m ushered aside

“People these days are hawks,” I say.

where the men in black with gold badges wait

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Marab replies.

for me. They order me to take off my shoes,

“Doesn’t it bother you, being watched as

remove everything from my pockets, and take

though you are the enemy? They can’t judge

off my belt. As I am doing so, my bags are

you just on your appearance. You know what

taken aside without my permission and sifted through with white gloves; samples are taken and put into a computer which declares them negative. They say I’m cleared, while their grim faces with expressions of suspi-

Doesn’t it bother you, being watched as though you are the enemy? They can’t judge you just on your appearance.

cion watch me dress and gather my possessions.

“Terrom,” calls my friend, who is waiting for me at a coffee shop, holding today’s news-

people say: ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover.’”

“Well, they say it, but they don’t really mean it.”

“One day, do you think we will all have forgotten that horrible day, and others will not look

at us as though we are bombers?”

“Haven’t they already forgotten that day and changed their focus to blame people like us for it?”

paper with the headline reading “Five years

“You have a point.”

after 9/11.” His face is tired and forlorn, as

It is silent between us; the world is still go-

though he has been put through the same ob-

ing about its daily routine. The carts with

stacle course.

flashing lights speed by, young adults speak

“Marab! It’s so nice to see you, a familiar

on their cell phones informing their loved ones

face in an ignorant crowd,” I say, setting my

of their significance, and security personnel

bags among his and ordering a cappuccino.

walk by, their badges banging against their

Signs warn us not to leave our bags unat-

chests, hands ready for their next move as I sit

tended and to report any questionable lug-

watching the planes disappear into the cloudy

gage.

sky through the window behind me.

Heavy boots hit the stone cold floor, echo-

“ ‫ﺑﺎرك اﷲ اﻣﻴﺮآﺎ‬,” I whisper under my breath.

28

The English Trinity Katie Ballweg (12)

There are many people in the world, artwork by Jieun Kwon (11)

But in English, only Three: The First, Second, and Third Named accordingly.

The First is me and I, No outside information, Just feelings of the speaker, With few other relations.

The Second is confusing And meddling to boot.

You shouldn’t use it often Because it uses you.

The Third is he, she, it, A narrator, if you will.

Omniscient writing of this sort Often takes a bit of skill.

So now you know the tricks The three united in one, The English Trinity, not Holy Spirit, Father, Son.

29

The Trees Cast Shadows Maggie Schwenn (12)

The trees cast shadows And dappled your skin Your eyelashes grew leaves And the sweet, thick air Pressed our silhouettes Into the earth

And our veins Grew into roots And our hair Grew into branches artwork by Hilary Wallace (12)

And I forgot where I ended

30

A Man To Admire Dan Poquette (10)

U

pon meeting Kevin McAleese for

he suddenly had a revelation. He discovered

the first time, one is put

that his dream was to study Irish history. Off

immediately at ease by his

he went to Catholic University in

outgoing and engaging personality but a

Washington, DC, leaving behind financial

little in awe of his powerful and athletic

security and the expectations of his parents.

build. With the first shake of his hand, one

There he became interested in poetry,

can feel the strength surging through his

painting, and writing. During his last

mammoth hands. As the Director of the Sand

semester, he completed his M.A. in Dublin,

County Foundation, a non-profit

Ireland. While there, he worked in politics,

conservation organization, he shakes many

including running a campaign for an Irish

hands from around the world. He works

Representative to the European Union. This

with many diverse people, including poor

experience helped to develop his skills as a

third world farmers, conservationists,

negotiator and diplomat.

scientists, politicians, landowners, and

When he returned to Madison,

developers. He consults with them about a

Wisconsin, he strongly considered getting a

wide range of environmental issues and tries

Ph.D. in Irish History. But stronger forces

to help these groups find a common ground

intervened, and the Sand County Foundation

for working together to understand and

persuaded him that his future was in

achieve their goals. So how did this

conservation work, beginning his twelve-

personable, 41-year-old conservationist

year career. Kevin currently manages a two

become what he is today? The path leading

thousand acre wildlife reserve. One of the

to his current profession is not the one you

things he loves about his work is its size and

might think he would have taken.

scope. Even though the Sand County

After high school, Kevin, like his father,

Foundation is small, it still works with the

decided to study civil engineering. At the

most innovative conservation ideas today

University of Wisconsin, Kevin devoted most

and has the opportunity to associate with

of his college career to athletics. He was the

some of the greatest scientific minds in the

Captain of the UW’s crew team and, in 1986,

world. The foundation collects ideas as far

became a national champion. After

away as Africa and brings them into practice

graduation, he went to work for Conoco Oil,

in the United States. In the future, Kevin

where he prepared to settle into a stable and

plans to write more about conservation

well paying job. After a four-year internship,

work, putting his creative writing to use.

31

He suddenly had a revelation. He discovered that his dream was to study Irish history.

artwork by Matt Neumann (12)

32

The Stage

Finally, static gives way to the words “All’s Clear Backstage”

Manager

The butterflies latch onto her stomach

Adrenaline courses through her veins, Forcing her awake

And fly up through her throat Threatening to choke her

“Light Cue One Go” “House To Half” “Standby Sound”

Kelly Kopish (12)

Her voice sounds distant and strained “Go Sound Cue 2.8” “Spot 3 Squeeze In Tighter”

Far removed from the murmuring house

Her commands take shape

In the shadowy booth, she perches unseen

As a sea of light floods the stage

Waiting to take flight

And confidence slowly creeps into her shaking hands

Her eyes illuminated by the harsh glow

The actors NT, recite, and gracefully XT

Of the board’s digital clock

Far removed and invisible, she, too, performs

Whose numbers demand that the show commence

A different version of the play

Exhaustion creeps into the crevices beneath her eyes

She recites the final lines; “And Blackout”

And takes up residence

The audience explodes

As she strains to keep them open

Congratulating the actors on a job well done

She fiddles with the clear com dial

She smiles and sinks back into her chair

As the cold, metallic headpiece presses against her ear

She knows that they’re clapping for her, too,

And rubs it raw

Even if they don’t

33

artwork by Min Jin Rho (10)

34

Beautiful Trouble Andree Ring (10) Words from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Her father says to be this beautiful is trouble.

Hips are scientific, they bloom like roses.

Them are dangerous.

Little lemon shoes are so beautiful…

Come closer…please, come closer.

I love you, I love you, Spanish girl.

What’s your name, pretty girl?

Those boys look at you because you’re pretty.

He kisses hard on the mouth and doesn’t let go.

I love you, I love you, Spanish girl.

I didn’t want it, All the books and magazines, Everything told it wrong.

Close your eyes and they’ll go away.

Everything is holding its breath inside me.

We are tired of being beautiful.

artwork by Caryn Kuprianczyk (10)

35

It Came in the Mail

I

Kevin Axe (12) t came in the mail. An envelope addressed

long. Allen's right ear also stuck out a little

to him. Allen rarely received mail, as he

farther than his left.

had few friends and family, and even less

When Allen opened the envelope, it was

ambition. Allen Gorski was a fairly average

with some apprehension. He had recently

looking eighteen-year-old with fairly normal

gotten a parking ticket and hadn't paid it yet.

height and build. His looks allowed him to

Even though the letter was from Sacramento,

blend in with a crowd, a trait that he

he still feared it might be a fine. He sighed

appreciated. Allen enjoyed watching his high

with some confusion when he saw it was a

school's football team play, although he hated

birthday card. It was a few days late, and his

playing sports himself. He wore t-shirts

friends had already given him a card. He

advertising local punk rock bands and faded

looked at the name on the envelope, but it

jeans. He had his mother's last name but didn't

didn't sound familiar. Aldo Contadino? Who the

resemble her very closely. Her short blonde

hell? Allen wondered with befuddlement. He

hair and tiny nose contrasted with his roman

opened the card and ignored the $171 check

nose and the greasy, tangled hair that he kept

that fell out. The letter read:

artwork by Charlie Miller (9)

36 Dear Allen,

found it to be poorly written, so he drifted off

I am sorry I haven't written to you sooner, but

to sleep. He hadn't slept much, and all he

I wasn't sure you would understand. Now that you

could remember from his dreams was a

are an adult, I hope that you have the maturity to

prevailing sense of confusion and doubt.

understand. You have no doubt wondered what

The landing was turbulent. A super cell

happened to your father. Perhaps your mother told

was moving in, and Allen's plane was the last

you that your father died, or he ran away. Well, it

to land in Houston. The other planes were

was the latter. Your mother and I were young,

diverted to airports east of Houston, to land

barely older than you are now. But we weren't as mature as you probably are now. When your mother told me that she was pregnant, I wasn't ready. Like a coward, I ran away. I hitchhiked to California without telling anyone. Please accept this apology, and one hundred and seventy-one dollars, the money I should've sent you every birthday, added up.

Your father, Aldo Contadino.

Allen was filled with disgust. His first

before they ran out of fuel. By the time the plane reached the terminal, the sky was already nearly pitch-black, and lightning could be seen in the distance.

Allen was the last to leave the plane. He hated lines. He would rather wait longer to avoid lines. During lunch at his high school, he would wait until the line was nearly gone.

Unfortunately, since his high school was overcrowded, this often meant that he didn't

instinct was to crumple the card into a ball and throw it away, but he couldn't. He locked himself in his room, only coming out to eat.

His mother didn't notice that anything was wrong. It was summer, so he usually didn't leave his room much anyway.

His mother didn't notice when he ran away, five days after he received the card, until she found that the secret box of money that she checked every day was empty. Her grandparents lost everything during the Great Depression, and taught her never to trust banks. By then, Allen had a twelve-hour head start and nearly 500 dollars in cash. He was on a mission.

Allen lived in a tenement just a few miles from BWI Airport. He paid, in cash, for a flight to Sacramento via Houston and got on a Boeing 737 a few minutes before it left the terminal. He had brought along a book about a local punk rock band, The Room-Hangers, but

His first instinct was to crumple the card into a ball and throw it away, but he couldn't.

37 eat at all. Similarly, Allen also hated theme

"My name's Allen."

parks and the DMV.

Al chuckled a bit, then asked, "Where you

When he saw that his flight was delayed a

headin'?"

few hours, which came as no surprise, he took

Allen answered, "Sacramento."

a seat between a sleeping woman and a

"Sacramento? I just came from there. I

somewhat worried-lookng man. After absent-

think I brought the storm with me. Sorry about

mindedly staring into space for a few minutes,

that."

something he did quite often, he opened the book about the Door-Hangers and read.

At first, he didn't notice when the man next

For the next two hours, Al and Allen talked about the Door-Hangers, punk rock, apathy, and life in general. Allen didn't notice the

to him chuckled. After a few seconds, he

storm leave and didn't notice the boarding call

looked over at the man.

until the final one. He ran to the gate, only able

"Hey, what's so funny?" asked Allen.

to blurt out a quick "See ya!" before he boarded

"I just can't believe anybody would read

the plane.

Allen had a twelvehour head start and nearly 500 dollars in cash. He was on a mission.

When Allen's plane landed in Sacramento, he hailed a cab and handed the cabbie a piece of paper with an address on it. When Allen got to the address, he was struck by how similar the building was to his own home. It, too, was a tenement, five stories tall made with red brick and with a few boarded-up windows. It smelled of abandoned garbage and hope. Allen walked up to the third floor and knocked on the door. It was ten o'clock, and the occupant ought to be home by now. After knocking on the door and waiting a few more minutes, he knocked on the next door up the hall. After a minute, it opened as far as the chain holding it

about The Door-Hangers, much less anybody write about them," the man replied.

The man had bags under his eyes, but his face was paradoxically wrinkled by laugh lines. He had a large nose and raven black hair that almost went down to his shoulders. He also had a small scar near his right eye, an unforgettable reminder of a past shame.

"You've heard of them?" asked Allen.

"Yeah, although I'm surprised anybody else has. By the way, my name's Al."

shut would allow. The woman behind the door looked kindly and trusting, but Allen's appearance didn't inspire trust, especially in a particularly run-down part of Sacramento.

"The man who lives next to you, in room 305. Where is he?" asked Allen.

"Oh, Allie? Honey, he left for Baltimore today. Said somethin' 'bout making up for an old crime. He told me it, whatever it was, was going to be a surprise," replied the woman.

Allen's eyes opened wide.

38

Page 217 of 300

H

Emer Lucey (12)

ow about you go first, hun?"

sweaters instead of sweatshirts, and straight

How about I don't? Please? I'm the

hair instead of curls. I finally decided my

new girl. I get at least half an hour

"style" would simply be different. Keeping up

to pretend not to understand Wisconsin

with trends I found hideous proved too

accents and to choose not to follow directions.

difficult. The disparities did not stop with

"Umm... okay?" Inside, I did not feel okay.

attire. I was also told I spoke too fast, had to

Speaking in front of an unknown audience is

take a special math class, and pronounced

greatly unnerving, and I like to be in control. I

"schedule," "Oregon," and "milk," among other

felt a hot blush creep into my usually pale

words, shockingly wrong.

cheeks. "My name is Emer Lucey, I moved here

I had never realized that suburban

from Philadelphia, and my favorite show is

Pennsylvania could be so different from

Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

suburban Wisconsin. Everything I said, wore,

Silence.

or did was weird. No one played field hockey

"Sweetie, could you speak a little more

or lacrosse; instead, every single girl was on

slowly next time?"

the volleyball team. In English class, no one

I hate middle school.

knew what a

The worst part of being a preposition was, but being a new student is new student is not, as some everyone understood not, as some might when Mr. Russell might think, the lack of think, the lack of friends. called for D.O.S., which friends.

Most people are friendly to the stood for Daily Oral The worst part of

new kid, at least until curiosity wanes. The

Sentences. The only part of this name that

worst part is not knowing the unwritten rules

proved to be true was “sentences,” as they

of where to sit in the cafeteria or when class

were neither daily nor oral. I was the only one

participation is appropriate. At Edgewood, no

to question this, not surprisingly, as it was

one carried a backpack around, as I was used

normal to them.

to doing. I even had the wrong type of

I had to stop thinking of my classmates as

backpack; apparently L.L. Bean was unknown

“them” before I could actually fit in, a feat

in Wisconsin. My peers stared at me as if I had

much more easily named than achieved. After

committed a felony as I walked into

a while, I began to consider the class as not

homeroom wearing the cursed bag. My attire

"them” and “ me" but "us," which was a

was similarly perplexing. I had never been to a

welcome change. I still refused to play

school without uniforms, so everything I wore

volleyball, though – I would not be a lemming,

was wrong. I wore corduroys instead of jeans,

and volleyball was too much to bear.

39

artwork by Jordan Lentz (9)

40

Jordan Lentz (9)

artwork by Jordan Lentz (9)

41

Drained Away Inspired by the Chippewa River and George Inness’ “Lackawanna Valley” David Hackworthy (11)

Cement, metal, the minions of Industry Go to work for their gloomy master.

The glossy surface is broken.

Like the shards of a broken mirror, the glossy surface is defaced.

Peace and purity have retired to its icy depths.

Who shall aid the silent listener?

The moon illuminates the bright night On the glossy surface of the river, Gliding its way through the forest like a black snake, Scales composed of a billion galaxies Hide the river’s abrasive bite.

Stepping in breath is stolen.

The icy water burns to the bones, Tempting one to escape its icy grasp.

Avoiding its stony teeth, sinking beneath the surface, The pure water thaws the soul like a hot fire on a cold winter’s eve.

Refreshed and awakened, one steps out And enjoys its master’s peace.

42

Cooper Brown (12)

T

he horn sounds, ending the game.

proposition. Although the two are in the same

Players from the opposing high

grade, they rarely cross paths socially. In fact,

schools shake hands and skate off the

these are some of the first words exchanged

ice, while spectators descend from the stands.

between the two. The unfamiliarity would

Outside the arena, snow falls heavily from the

usually make the situation awkward, but now

night sky. The cars outside are masked with

Mike sees the charitable gesture as his only

inches of snow.

option.

“Hey man, I don’t think I should drive

“Mike will be spending the night with us.”

back to Stoughton. Can I crash at your house

Mike stands silently between the other two.

tonight?”

His mind races, searching for something to

“Yeah, sure. I’ll call my dad and tell him to order pizza.”

A boy outside frantically dials numbers on a cell phone.

“You think he’s trying to find a ride home?”

“Probably. Good luck to him. He’s from Stoughton too. His parents are lazy as hell.”

The boy shoves his phone into his coat

say, something to make a good first impression. The pre-existing bond of friendship between the two boys intimidates him. He remembers the stories he had heard about the two friends, their infamous weekend escapades. He thought of them as untouchable masters of social affluence. “What if they hate me? They will surely tear me apart tonight,” thinks Mike. He shakes his head, knowing that

pocket. His face is marked with despair as he

his insecurities are unfounded. “It’s not like

searches through the faces of the fleeting

I’m among ruthless cannibals.”

“Hey Mike, why are you shaking your

crowd for a ride.

“I’m gonna see if he wants to stay at my house tonight… Hey Mike, what’s up?”

Mike confirms that he has no way of getting home because of the road conditions.

“Dude, if you need to, you can probably stay over at my house.”

Mike’s freckled face lights up at the

head?” Mike looks at the two boys smirking at him.

“Let’s get going. We still need to scrape the ice and snow off my car.”

Mike is offered the shotgun seat of a blue Dodge pickup. He sits back, trying to gain composure over his nerves.

43 “Mike, what kind of music do you like?”

Eventually, their minds drift from the

Mike’s shoulders tense up at the direct

television. The two boys begin talking about

question. “How about some Sublime?”

how wasted one of their friends was at the

Mike has never heard Sublime but has

game. Mike listens to every word, hoping that

always associated the music with rebellious,

he can contribute to the conversation. He

pot smoking youths from Southern California.

begins to feel accepted. As the conversation

From what he deciphered from the lyrics, he

continues, Mike finds himself feeling drowsy

was right. Nevertheless, the music appeals to

and drifts off to sleep.

him. “Maybe these guys aren’t so different. I might be able to hold my own with these guys,” thinks Mike.

“Good stuff, huh?” the driver yells over the music. The car continues crawling down the icy streets.

“Dude, are your parents asleep yet?”

Mike awakens, suddenly full of energy.

“Let’s go for a walk outside.” The boys creep up the stairs to the mudroom to fit themselves with layers of winter attire. They sneak back down and out the sliding glass door. Mike follows

“Dad, this is Mike. He

Mike feels his life the boys through the yard and onto the so I told him that he leaking from his head, golf course across could stay here.” Mike stands awkwardly in like water escaping from the street.

Everything is calm; a the presence of the boy’s a rusted-through slight wind blows through father.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear about bucket. the leafless trees. The thin, brisk couldn’t get a ride home,

that, Mike. Yeah, it was really coming down

air hits Mike’s nostrils and eyes, making them

out there tonight.” Mike thinks that this man

water. He feels a euphoric sense of freedom

could be the most obscure person he has ever

looking at the fresh snow before him.

been introduced to. He doesn’t even know the man’s son.

Pizza is waiting for the boys. The boys stack slices onto white glass plates and hurry into the basement. Mike descends the stairs to find a blue leather couch wrapped around a television.

The two boys vault over the back of the

Mike stands on a hill and looks down at the plain before him. A harsh gust penetrates his clothes and stings his bones.

“Let’s head back. I’m freezing. This was kind of a stupid idea.”

The boys make the journey back to the house to find the sliding glass door has locked behind them automatically. The boys face a

couch and into its forgiving cushions. Mike

decision: endure the winter night or ring the

walks over to the couch, taking a seat on the

doorbell, admitting to sneaking out. The two

end. Through the sliding glass door behind the

boys make eye contact and nod in unison.

couch, Mike notices that the snow has stopped.

The three of them watch “Family Guy”, bent over their pizza, laughing between mouthfuls.

“I think we are tough enough to make it until the morning.”

The three of them drift back toward the

44 golf course, the snow crunching beneath their boots. Hunger pangs sprout in their bellies.

They settle in a drainage ditch to protect against the wind. Mike sits on a large rock that is embedded in the ground. He stares at the boys.

“So, what’s your deal, Mike? What have you been up to lately?” The offhand question catches Mike off guard. His confusion shows on his face, making the boys chuckle. Mike stutters out something about pep band.

“Man, you’re tweaking out tonight.”

The two boys banter about girls, a topic which excludes Mike.

Mike leans back on a rock. He feels safe in his many layers of winter gear. Mike begins to feel drowsy and slips off to sleep. The last thing he hears is something about being murderously hungry.

Mike is pulled from his slumber by a scarf shoved violently over his nose and mouth. He tries to kick his legs, flail his arms, and force his way up, but his appendages are pinned down by superior strength. He flails, kicks, and thrashes, thrusts, tries to scream bloody murder into the indifferent winter night, but is muffled into a low nothingness by the wool scarf shoved deep into his mouth. His lungs burn as he chokes for oxygen. His energy dissipates as his lungs stop burning. Mike feels his life leaking from his head, like water escaping from a rusted bucket. Mike lays motionless.

The boys glance at each other, wide-eyed, their mouths gaping. Then, they remember how murderously hungry they are.

Mike begins to feel drowsy and slips off to sleep.

The last thing he hears is something about being murderously hungry. artwork by Katie Ballweg (12)

Catch My Disease

45

Maggie Raymond (12)

Abundant sugary endorphins, You send through my veins, Made me diabetic.

An instantaneous affliction, “She didn’t feel any pain.”

Now infected, immunity pathetic, Addicted to glances and wit, And desperate for karma to exist.

Forced to puncture my skin for a proper analysis.

Diagnosis: love.

artwork by Caitlin O’Brien

46

A SCHOOL OF FISH

artwork by Taylor Behnke (10)

47

I stand alone, watching as the world swims by.

The waves of sidewalk throngs, The swarms of torrential rapids, The surrounding sea of oppressors, The school of fish longing to be independent, Yet yearning for others.

I witness a world of stooped strangers, Shapes ever bent As worries burden their frail backs, Compliant to the currents, Searching the obscured, sparse sea floor While possibility drifts above.

Possibility that one will wait a lifetime for, But will never dive across waves, against rapids, through seas, And swim alone to find.

I see oceans of possibilities Lost.

~ Andrew Scheffer (12)

48

LOVE Sarah Merfeld (10)

All she wanted was to love, And nobody could call that crazy.

She is the one nobody comes for, An ugly daughter.

She couldn’t do anything but cry, Cries every day for the man that left.

Her luck is so unlucky.

She sits by the window all day, A red balloon, tied to an anchor.

She wants things all her own, To pick or choose.

She waits for a car to stop, A star to fall, Someone to change her life.

And that’s how it goes and goes…

All she wanted was to love, And nobody could call that crazy.

Words from The House on Mango Street

by Sandra Cisneros

artwork by Cedric Meyers (12)