APOTHEOSIS Spring 2023 "Slice of Life"

My Inspiration

Senior Isabella Howe

Digital Illustration

EDITOR’S NOTE

Welcome to the newest, and back to print, edition of Apotheosis; Lindbergh’s Arts Magazine.

Apotheosis is a publication produced by a club that showcases both literature and visual arts created by students in the Lindbergh district. We aim to obtain a wider audience for creative students in the school district and create more interest in the art and ELA programs provided by Lindbergh.

Each member of the magazine’s staff has dedicated their own time to the creation of this magazine and together has spent many hours piecing this work together, so I hope you can feel the love and effort each and every one of them put in.

I am elated to introduce the Spring 2023 theme: Slice of Life. Our theme was carefully selected to tie in with the fresh feel of springtime at the end of the year and is open-ended to display the lives and minds of the creatives of Lindbergh. Each artist has created their own rendition of what they believe Slice of Life to mean and portray it.

Please enjoy the hard work of both the staff and creative students at Lindbergh High School.

Editor in Chief

Lydia Hines Junior

Frozen in Time

Sophomore Zenya Sharief

Digital Photography

Untitled

Junior Elliot Greenwood Acrylic

Life of a Ladybug

Sophomore Elizabeth Rademacher Photography

Secrets in the Deep

Sophomore Kaleigh Crader

Acrylic

City Life

Graphite

Sophomore Macy Mattison

To My Ghost; Viva La Vida

Raphael del Rosario

The first day I saw the ghost in the forest was the week my sister passed. As nice as the day was, it wasn’t really fitting for the occasion. A sunny and crystal April day, gentle starlings sang their songs throughout the newly budding trees as nature attempted to cheer me up. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working. After I received the news, I crumbled in despair. She was my closest friend, the way most siblings could never dream of. We would always chat together as well, from meaningless banter to heartfelt exposure of our inner selves.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” She’d ask, genuine care and concern in her eyes as she saw me moping on our small faux leather couch.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “Just a bad day at work.”

“C’mon, you can tell me.”

“Seriously, it’s ok.” I shot back. She gave me that look again. Her classic side eye dug into my brain. This could continue back and forth until I broke down to explain. I always lost that battle. We nearly never fought, and when it happened on rare occasions we always knew what to say to forgive each other. What was I supposed to do without her?

After a few drudgingly long days, the stinging, unbearable pain had reduced to a heartfelt throb. I decided to go outside to collect my thoughts, which felt unbelievably

scrambled.

The forest extended far past our small, suburban backyard, and you wouldn’t expect much of it. It wasn’t anything exciting; a few scattered oak trees peppered the area, and the rocky ground was covered mostly in small, shriveled weeds rather than grass. However, it was calming, and it made me feel at peace. I always went back with my sister and some friends when I was younger to play hide and seek. Our high-pitched giggles would echo against the sturdy walls of the forest, as we excitedly waited to be the one to win.

I awoke from the nostalgic trance and gently sat down against a towering oak. I melted into the forest, feeling the quiet spring breeze and inhaling the deep scent of the forest. This felt like home. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

My eyes fluttered open to look around my surroundings. What was that? How long was I here? Maybe a raccoon? Or a squirrel? I quickly got up to examine my desolate surroundings. It was over there; a flutter of white, far in the distance, and deeper into the forest. No, wait, it was a person. I squinted to see a figure, covered in a white sheet with two small eye holes cut out. It was the kind of costume you might see from a cliche 80’s Halloween movie, but as it stared at me with the surrounding trees, I felt chilly, as you’d feel as if ice cubes slowly dripped down your spine.

Despite this, I felt something strange. I felt connected to the ghost costume. I had to go to it. It was a magnetic connection be-

tween me and that cheap white sheet, and it was powerful. I slowly crept in that direction, carefully calculating my every step. As soon as the ghost saw this, however, it turned and strode away. The movements had such deftness embedded in them, that it appeared like the specter was real. Almost like

it wasn’t just a ridiculous costume. What an absurd thought, I silently muttered to myself.

Nevertheless, I continued on, my pace gradually increasing into a run. My heart pounded. My feet relentlessly trampled into the dead leaves scattered through the ground.

Waiting for the Metro

Senior Fate Wallbridge Linoleum Print

“Who are you??” I shouted, my throat stinging from the aching cold. “What do you want??” I continued the fruitless act to receive a response. The ghost, nevertheless, ignored me. This continued for some time, my desperate pleas for soundness falling deaf upon the ghost, whatever or whoever it was. Eventually, I couldn’t even take it anymore. I stopped, bending over to face my aching legs as I gasped for the energizing air of the forest. With my hands on my knees, I turned up to lock eyes with the poltergeist, or person, or whatever the hell it was. It appeared to only be around fifty feet away.

I still couldn’t view their eyes, remaining fixated only on two seemingly crudely cut holes, and the

matte ebony of them seemed to return the stare. Despite the silent forest surroundings, and how the eerily quiet atmosphere brought chills even without any cold, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I finally felt an unspoken connection, after hastily chasing after the ghost for what felt like an hour. This is alright, this is what’s supposed to happen. As I sat down against the muddy bark and rested my eyes once more, the ghost turned away as gracefully as it wandered away from me. When I awoke the phantom had disappeared, and all that remained was the soft white sheet and a note.

Junior Amanda Lovell

April showers bring May flowers. ¡Viva la Vida, lo mejor está por venir!

The Ferret

Freshman Zachary Hallemann Alcohol Marker and Pencil

The Day My Life Changed Forever

Senior Blayke Helfrich

I pulled a stroke and felt myself choke on water. But I tried to ignore it. I pulled again and my vision disappeared, the bottom of the pool replaced by a void of white emptiness. But I still tried to push through it. I pulled a third stroke and saw myself from the pool deck, as if I was my coach, who had seen this same motion thousands of times but never expected this to be the stroke to end it all. I watched in slow motion as my bicep tensed, then groaned, then nothing. And then everything. I was snapped back to my own body as I stopped kicking, stopped swimming, and grasped onto the lane line like my life depended on it. I realized I was crying. I kicked back to the wall and barely got myself out of the water with the little bit of strength I had left.

“Take a few days to rest.” But it was over. I couldn’t function anymore. I couldn’t lift my arms above my head for more than a few seconds, I could barely wash my hair in the shower, it hurt to write, and even lifting up my backpack at school was a full-blown battle. The day I got my diagnosis, my dreams were crushed. As that doctor spoke, I felt my entire world come crashing down around me. Impingement Syndrome. It felt like my life ended. I spent nearly thirteen years of my life swimming competitively, putting

every drop of my heart, soul, and body into the water, and it repaid me with punishment.

Even as I started physical therapy and my life came back in small increments, I didn’t feel whole. I had lost the one thing I loved more than myself: swimming. And, as the months drew on, I realized I was never getting it back. Even years after my diagnosis, months of physical therapy, and daily stretching, I cannot swim the way I did. The only way to get a glimpse of my old life back is a surgery that I’m ineligible for. As time went on, I began to understand that the only way I could truly take my life back was to accept the change that had occurred and move on to new activities. As terrible as the situation was, I realized that I could turn it into an opportunity to discover myself.

Even years after my diagnosis, months of physical therapy, and daily stretching, I still cannot swim the way I used to. The only way for me to get a glimpse of my old life back is a surgery that I’m unable to get. As time went on, I began to understand that the only way I could truly take my life back was to accept the change that had occurred and move on to new activities. As terrible as the situation was, I realized that I could turn it into an opportunity to discover myself. With the sudden influx of time I had been spending with Miss Angie, our athletic trainer, I was given a second chance in the world of sports. I learned about the passion I have for sports medicine and first aid, and that what I truly care about is helping those in need.

I watched as students came into the office with the same outlook on their sporting careers as I had been given. But never once did Angie let them give up on their passion. I watched as she motivated them to not give up, to keep pushing themselves in other ways, all while helping them heal from injuries. Then I got the chance to do the same. I have never felt more satisfaction and pride than I did in the Sports Medicine club. When Eli was diagnosed with Athlete’s Heart Syndrome, I motivated him to stay involved in wrestling through reffing. When Emma got her concussion, I kept her up to date on cheer practices so she knew what to look forward to. Due to my own experience, I aided people through some of the most difficult moments in their highschool sporting careers and helped them become stronger.

The greatest thing that ever happened to me was a direct result of the worst thing I’ve ever been through. I had the best experience of my life in that club and I wanted to pay forward the good fortune I’d had onto others. I found that another way to help people and give back was to become a lifeguard. The knowledge I gained of basic injuries to complex muscle strains all led me to passing my Red Cross First Aid and CPR Certification course at the top of my group. I took the insight I had been given and turned it into an expertise, allowing me to become the best lifeguard I could possibly be. I saved a woman’s life while working over the summer. I held her above the water as it flowed against us, when it

ripped her legs from under her and I was the only thing keeping her afloat. She never stopped thanking me for that moment.

While I recognize that that moment is a standard part of a lifeguard’s duty, knowing that I made a difference in that woman’s life, that I was able to help her when she couldn’t help herself, in that moment I knew that I had found what I truly wanted. Ironically, I’m glad my injury happened. Now I know what I actually want for my future. There is no better feeling to me than being able to help someone in need. I’ve learned new ways to interact with the sports community without hurting myself further and helping others in the same situation as me, and giving back to the public community through lifeguarding and teaching swim lessons to young children.

Even now as I wake up and stretch for 15 minutes before starting my day, I still feel my shoulders cry and whine at the movements they do every morning. No matter how much it hurts, it changed me for the better and allowed me to grow further than I ever could have imagined and helped me discover my true passion for aiding others in any way possible. Every day I want to get back on the field, wrapping ankles, taping wrists, icing knees, and helping those who need it. Even as I sit on my stand at the pool, I always remember how I got there and who helped me succeed in my time of need. I think back to the start of my journey and see where I am now, and I recognize that it’s all worth it in the end.

Unbe-leaf-able Junior Vanessa Barni Oil Pastel

Merida

Sophomore Lydia Krob

Acrylic

Untitled Junior Elizabeth Stolzberg Photography

Crackling the Secret of Death

Freshman Quynh Phuong

Acrylic

Bathtime

Senior Michael Shaw

Charcoal

Hedwig

Senior Mallory Broom

Scratchboard and Acrylic

Panda Express

Junior Mila Snowert

My first shift started at two o’clock. I twiddled my thumbs in the backseat of my Tita’s 2008 Saturn Aura. Despite my protests, I wasn’t allowed to sit in the passenger seat even though I was almost eight. The radio blasted, buffering my nerves as we bumped into the parking lot. Walking through the glass doors, I took note of how Tita’s Panda Express hat bulged awkwardly over the hump of my high ponytail, but I couldn’t help but smile.

Tita had been working at Panda for a few months, and on her off days, I would drag her back for a kids’ meal string bean chicken with fried rice. When I found out that Tita was allowed free meals when she worked, I knew what I had to do. The sounds were the same: a steady swish of frying foods, muffled conversations, and a friendly “Welcome to Panda” synced by all the employees. As a professionally trained soy sauce reorganizer, I swiftly began my first task. Stacking one by one, labels facing up, pushed neatly into the back of the container. As I settled into a rhythm, I surveyed the establishment. In the corner, an old couple sharing lunch, smiling over orange chicken. To compliment them, a few stray peas and a plastic fork littered the floor.

With the last soy sauce packet placed carefully in the front, I searched for my next task. A tall broom and dustpan tucked neatly behind the kitchen called my name.

I swayed with the broom, working from corner to corner. I swept up every pea in sight. Then a shifting in the corner signaled the orange chicken couple was about to leave. I scurried to their table, offering to take their plates for them. After a hesitant blink, the woman kindly smiled.

“That would be lovely sweetheart, thank you!”

As they walked out the doors, I decided to try a farewell.

“Bye!” My seven-year-old voice pierced through the room. The strangers waved, and I returned the broom and dustpan back behind the counter.

After my long day of work (around 10 minutes), I was ready to eat. I faced my fellow employee from the customer side of the food display case. The golden glow of fried rice was mesmerizing as they stacked it high on a styrofoam plate. Despite all my soccer participation trophies up to that point, this was the best reward I’d ever received. Tita and I munched on our food, and I gave her hat back.

I had a total of three shifts at Panda Express, but I circle back to them often. Not only is fried rice still my favorite food, but now I get to sit in the driver’s seat of Tita’s old 2008 Saturn Aura. Moreover, my past profession as a soy sauce reorganizer works great in Student Council. I get to bring new ideas to the table that transform my school environment. When I’m stuck on a math or physics equation, I take a step back to survey. Although it may not be stray peas standing in my way anymore, getting to

know all I have to work with helps me find a solution. Engaging in conversations, with a now sixteenyear-old voice, opens my eyes to different perspectives, cultures, and information.

From a young age, I’ve been captivated by the power of opportunity; trying new things has helped me discover myself in different sports, clubs, and

Celebrating Win

Junior Eli Wendel Digital Illustration

communities. I’ve learned that little moments can carry a lot of weight, as they continue to impact me through new experiences. Even failure is a chance to learn. So, as I seek out new opportunities, I see myself as I did when I first walked through the glass doors of Panda Express. Excited. Nervous. And I can’t help but smile.

Loggin onto Twitter

Back Here Again

Junior Jessica Ratermann Ink Wash and Watercolor

Sophomore Dillon Phruttitum Acrylic

Perspective

Senior Gracelyn Weltman

Acrylic

Senior Matthew McBride Charcoal

Maximalist

Junior Lydia Hines

Acrylic

Structured

Senior Olivia Stephens

The air is filled with exhaust and exhaustion, sounds of blinkers and music, smells of coffee and Black Ice air freshener, and he is sitting in his car that his mother called a death trap before she died. The time is 8:47 in the morning, and the man is right on schedule, his stomach a small swirl of satisfaction despite the unusual glare of the sun, shining straight into his eyes. This unhindered view of the morning sun is a new development; a result of the unexpected demolition of an old dentist’s office that used to block it at this time of day, and he has found himself to be quite disgruntled at the spontaneity of the city planners. It was all quite

unprofessional, the way they had hardly even tried to put out an announcement to the public, and he often finds himself thinking rather reasonably that had he been in charge, he would’ve done the whole thing better.

He certainly would not have put up a sign with the company’s logo - EAP, “Eastern Architectural Productions,” unless he wanted a sure increase in one star reviews of the business, certainly coming from a wide range of similarly disgruntled commuters.

He switches lanes at the red light for the intersection of Bryant and Polk to get in line to turn left, his eyes flicking upward to the newly painful view of his rearview mirror, half-considering investing in a pair of sunglasses. However, his thoughts screech to a halt when, in the mirror, he sees her face. She is sitting in a deep red Subaru, and she has a widow’s peak and low cheekbones, all illuminated by this unexpected sun, and she is looking at him through his mirror, and he feels like a fool, an idiot that cannot look away. There is an amused smile tugging at her lips when she lifts up a finger to point toward the sun, surely an acknowledgement of how luminescent, how glorious she looks, but then he hears a honk from behind them both and he jumps, gaze shifting to see that she had not been pointing at the sun, but rather the traffic light - now green in front of him.

The Lady

The clock turns to a minute that it shouldn’t read until he is far on his way down Bryant, and he feels the palms of his hands clam up. He

Senior Ella Trucano Acrylic

slams his foot down on the gas and his car lurches forward, coughing in protest, and he flings himself onto Bryant, lips twisted downwards, eyes darting between the clock and the road. He manages to catch up to his schedule by dodging expertly through the traffic, and it is only after he cuts through the parking lot of a gas station that he is able to settle back on track for the full ten minutes left of his commuteyet it feels as though only a second has passed when he’s cutting his engine at exactly 9:00 and staring up at his tall, pale, window-scarce office building. He picks up his computer bag - genuine leather, terribly expensive, perfect for the work laptop that he had purchased in the very same shopping tripfrom his car’s backseat and makes his way inside. ***

His computer bag really is very good. Even though he hasn’t yet removed his laptop, despite being already twenty-four minutes into his work day, his beautiful bag hasn’t burst into flames, or blown up, or grown sharp teeth to bite his hand off, or even a mouth to scream abuse at him. It’s for the better, because he can’t seem to bring himself to touch it. He’s tried. He has tried, but when he reaches down to do it, his stomach twists and he feels warm all over and her smile tears its way into his brain, which just makes him feel even warmer, and it’s a vicious, vicious cycle. Determined not to acknowledge the feeling, he assumes the calmest disposition he can manage, sitting straight-up and stock-still, one hand tapping

against his desk, the other playing flappy-bird. Then his little bird dies at the score of eighty-six, then when he restarts it he dies right away at the pathetic score of two, so he turns his phone face down.

He hears keyboards clacking, all around him, and his gaze wanders to the side of his desk, where there is a plaque that reads Employee of the Quarter. He knows it’s likely only there because no other employee has ever left their work day just to continue working at home for another two hours every night, that there is no other employee who always shows up right on time, no other who has never once used his vacation time or his sick time or turned down coming in on Christmas or Saturdays. But he figures he is sure to lose that plaque if he is seen slacking off the way he is, and so, finally winning the fight against this unnatural feeling of trepidation, he unzips his leather bag, pulls out his laptop, and tries his very best to do his job. ***

The man makes it all the way up to his lunch break before he starts to feel annoyed. He has done only an hour’s worth of work in the three hours that he’s been there, and he has many a time found himself staring blankly at his screen, unable to process anything he sees. His routine has been interrupted before, of course; he can’t control the weather, or if traffic is extra slow, or whether or not he wakes up feeling perfectly incapable of opening his eyes to face his world - on those mornings,

he skips breakfast to allow himself an extra fifteen minutes of keeping them firmly shut in his dark room. But there hasn’t yet been a morning where his routine has been thrown off as a direct result of him getting distracted.

He prides himself on being studious and alert, and his mother called him a perfectionist before she died, so the only explanation he can see is that the woman he saw in his mirror must be of some higher power. She can do what he has never before let traffic or weather or an extreme lack of motivation do - keep him from doing his job correctly.

So, he is annoyed, at himself and at the woman and especially at the sun, because he is sure he has seen her car behind him in that intersection before, and if it wasn’t for the sun, he would never have noticed who was driving it. He is annoyed that the old dentist’s office was torn down, and he is annoyed at the car that honked at him and he is annoyed that the salmon he brought in for his lunch is just as disgusting as it always is. He is still annoyed as he makes his way home, leaving work at exactly 5 in the evening, passing the gas station and the dentist’s office and the park he used to play at as a child, and he is annoyed at the soggy, single-serve chicken pot pie that he has for dinner. He is even more annoyed when he finds he doesn’t particularly want to bring his computer out to catch up on everything he didn’t do that day.

He is also annoyed that, despite his better judgment, he hopes to

see the woman again.

***

He sees her again. He sees her again, and she smiles at him again, but this time he is paying extremely apt attention to the traffic light, so his foot is on the gas as soon as it turns green, and he forces her out of his mind.

The next day is the very same. She smiles at him, and he makes himself forget it. This continues morning after morning, and he never, not once looks back at her when he is finished turning, and every day, by the time he has passed the gas station, she is no longer behind him.

One morning, as normal as any morning can be under these new circumstances, he is sitting at the intersection and looking at her, and she is looking at him. But today, for no apparent reason, his gaze travels downward, past her face for once, and he sees that she is wearing a lanyard. The lanyard is covered in a logo, one that he can hardly make out from so far away, but he squints hard and manages to read it: EAP. The light switches to green, as his breath catches and his arms get tingly, and without thinking, even though he is already on Bryant, he looks back at her through the mirror. He sees her deep red Subaru turn into the parking lot of the old dentist’s office to pull into a comfortable looking parking spot, surrounded by official looking construction equipment and tables covered with paper.

His stomach drops. His car still speeding away from her, he looks at the clock - a perfect 8:47 - then

Lonely Fortress

Senior Carter Beck

Graphite

up at the mirror again. His heart hammering, mouth dry, he keeps driving, and turns into the parking lot of the gas station, just like that very first morning, but this time when he leaves it he is driving the wrong, wrong way, and the old office is on his left now, instead of his right like it has always been in the morning. Yet, he’s still going, turning left from Bryant instead of left from Polk, and it’s 8:50, and he knows he will be late to work, for the first time in his twelve years of working there, but suddenly he’s parking and he isn’t grabbing his computer bag, instead walking empty handed toward the motionless red subaru, inside of which he sees the silhouette of the woman.

Her car is facing the sun. When she steps out of it and turns around and looks at him, stopping him in his tracks, her face is not glowing in the way he is used to seeing but, somehow, he still feels just as entranced.

“You,” He begins. “You knocked down the building?” Her brow furrows as she shrugs, but she is smiling now, her familiar smile.

“I didn’t knock it down myself, they wouldn’t let me near the wrecking ball. But I did help plan it all. It’s nice to actually meet you, I see you and your car in front of mine every morning.”

“You should’ve given people more warning. Nobody knew about it until it actually happened,” is all he can think to say, “It was poorly planned.”

It’s silent now. She is simply looking at him, her expression mild. She reaches out her hand. It takes

him too long to realize she wants him to shake it, and he does so hastily, resolutely avoiding her eyes. Her hands are soft and she has welltrimmed nails. “It’s nice to actually meet you,” she repeats, “We can talk more about my poorly planned architectural project over coffee?”

He sees on her watch that it is 8:54. He drops his hand and looks up to see her looking at him intently, the question still on her face.

“I don’t like coffee.” He says dumbly. There is another long silence.

“Okay,” she finally replies. “Is that a yes or a no?”

He looks at his own watch. 8:55. If he sprints back to his car, and speeds, he might be able to make it. He looks back at her, and her widow’s peak, and her low cheekbones, and her eyes that he can confidently state the color of, now that there aren’t sheets of glass and fifteen feet between them.

“Yes,” He responds. “I’m sorry. Okay. Right now?”

Nobody spares him a second glance when he walks into work at 10:36.

***

The air is filled with her laughter, because he said something funny, and he marvels at the sound of it. His morning smells like coffee and Cherry Blast air freshener - a new scent that he did not choose, and she is holding his hand across the center console of a car that his mother wouldn’t recognize. The time is 8:47 in the morning, and he is turning left onto Bryant, then into the parking lot of the old dentist’s office - which is slowly but surely

being replaced by a library. He gets out of the car at the same time she does and hugs her, taking extra care not to jostle either of their travel mugs full of coffee that he poured that morning.

She gives him her smile and he commits it to memory, for the millionth time, even though he wholeheartedly intends to get another one, or two, or three during their lunch together that day. He thinks of that smile the entire rest of his drive to work, but doesn’t

Time Travel

resist it; it is pointless, now that he thinks of it whenever he smells the air freshener she hung up, thinks of it every time he walks past the single serve chicken pot pies or frozen salmon at the grocery store without slowing. He is thinking of it as he parks, as he picks up his lovely leather computer bag. He thinks of her smile, and how a pair of sunglasses is a small price to pay for a life like this.

He makes his way inside, at 9:04 on the dot.

Junior Colin Yarbrough Photoshop

Chillin in a Coffin

Papillon

Freshman Emily Ellison

Photography

I Love Jax Weafer

Junior Emily Aguinaga Acrylic

For the Needed

Sophomore Adam Schwarm Ink Wash

APOTHEOSIS STAFF

EDITOR in CHIEF ............................. Lydia Hines

ART EDITOR ...................................... Karen Bose

WRITING EDITORS ......................... Elizabeth Cleary

Elizabeth Stolzberg

RECORDING SECRETARY ........... Lily Andre

SOCIAL MEDIA CHAIR .................. Lydia Krob

LAYOUT & DESIGN STAFF ............ Ivy Bani

Sylvia Hines

Fate Walbridge

MEMBERS at LARGE ..................... Lilly Burrus

Paige Andre

Quinn Prouty

Lavia Raof

CLUB MODERATOR ....................... Mr. Matty Kleinberg

COLOPHON

APOTHEOSIS, Lindbergh Arts Magazine, was published in the Spring of 2023 by the Apotheosis Club studetnt staff at Lindbergh High School in Sappington, St. Louis County, Missouri. The magazine was designed by staff members using Adobe InDesign and Adobe Illustrator. The Headline font is set in Elephant Italic, the Subtitle font is set in Craft Gothic Bold Extended and the body copy is set in Craft Gothic Regular.

All attempts were made to accurately list names, titles, and represented written pieces. Any error is unintentional. All works of visual art and written pieces are used with permission.