pointer press december 2024

PointerPressStaff

Editorial and Writing Staff:

Sophia Abernathy

Rennie Anderson

Ava Brennan

Isis Brown

Roy Bucher

Jaselle Cahill

Zoe Celestin

Tana Coulon

Danya Do

Alexa Fernandez

Ella George

Sunny Gray

Kianna Hughes

Annabelle Hullinger

Valerie Johnson

Naveah Lemus Robles

Maggie McAteer

Sloan Kleven McGann

Chance McGinley-Kase

Eleanor McGinness

Lily Peavey

Bella Pechtel

Hannah Smith

Cormac Sullivan

Celia Thome

Anna Wang

Nicole Witt

Josh Yochum

Isabelle Zarrin

Abraham Zipp

Design/Layout: Isabelle Zarrin

Social Media Manager: Ava Brennan Cover Art: Isabelle Zarrin

Creative Writing Cover Art: Anna Wang

monthly columns

Principal’s Profile with Mr. Jaffe

By Annabelle Hullinger

Principal Jaffe is greeting the holiday season with excitement. He enjoys watching and anticipating the monumental phases that the students experience on Point Loma High School’s campus. For example, Mr. Jaffe says that he enjoys watching the seniors begin to embrace the next chapter of their lives, he loves being able to recognize the maturity that sophomores face in their second semester, and observing the

young adults the students start to become. He aims for the school to be a place that helps guide young people along the way as they leave high school. Mr. Jaffe has watched too many students dropout of college and wants students to know their self-worth. Principal Jaffe also expressed, “I’ve heard a saying, there are Principal Jaffe explains his vision for the school, saying, “For every student who graduates from this school, they have a plan for what's next, and they base their plan off knowing who they are as a person. ”

two types of people in this world: the fountain and those that are a drain. The people who are fountains, are the people who you want to surround yourself with, they open up and are uplifting. Those that are the drain, bring you down.” He wants students to pursue the interests that lift them and to gain a solid understanding of themselves. online, and that life is precious and should be cared for.

Mr. Jaffe says, “It’s a good break before going into winter break, but right before the holiday season, everyone has different family circumstances. And for most, it’s a great time, but for some it’s challenging, so I keep that in mind.” As people face hardships, he wants people to care for one another. As our school year has faced some extreme challenges, he is appreciative of the level of district support and mental services provided. He found it inspiring with how the students came together. While he clarified that this isn’t related to any specific incident, he hopes that students will be more conscious about how they speak to one another, whether that's in person or

He advises students to find a connection with friends and family, emphasizing that, “Your path through challenges is through the connection of other people.”

While getting to know Principal Jaffe, we discussed his favorite pieces of literature. Mr. Jaffe is fond of author Barbara Kingsolver, noting the books Demon Copperhead and The Poisonwood Bible. He enjoys reading historical fiction and horror, delving into Kristen Hannahs’ The Nightingale and The Winter Garden, as well as the works of Stephen King. He looks up to the role models who have helped him through his life journey, including his wife, parents, and former mentor, Marilyn Pugh. He was an assistant principal to her and she was

key to his later success as an administrator. Pugh was an outside voice that had helped Mr. Jaffe through any difficulties and problems he faced. Principal Jaffe shared stories from previous jobs, noting that his initial plan was to be an attorney, and instead found an interest in working with young people. Principal Jaffe went into teaching history and he built up his career until he found his calling: being a principal.

Staff Member of the Month: Mrs. (Queen) Uong

By Joshua Yochum

When asked about what she’s learned from her 20 years of teaching, she said, “Being nice to students comes first, if I open up to them, I hope they can eventually open up to me. ” “It just feels like she always goes the extra mile for us. ”

If you ask students at Point Loma High who their favorite teacher is, you won’t have to go far to find someone who says Ms. Uong (or Queen Uong, as she so humbly calls herself). After almost 20 years of teaching at the school, she has built a reputation for making sure her students leave her room knowing the stuff and knowing that they can always learn more.

Math isn’t every student’s strongest subject, and Ms. Uong knows that. That's why she spends her mornings in the library tutoring any student who comes looking for help with other teachers in the math department. She wants to work with every student to ensure

that they know that any problem is solvable with the right mindset.

She values every single student she has, which is why you can find many students who come back to her to say hello, even years after they’ve had her class, a further testament to the care she puts into her teaching and her students.

Ms. Uong has been known to gossip with students (though she’d never admit to it) and has grown to assume many titles for herself that she thinks students should know about her. “I’m a math teacher first, but have also been known to be a matchmaker, therapist (unlicensed), counselor, psychologist (also unlicensed), artist, and of course, Queen.” I’m sure she has many more titles that she modestly chose not to list due to the multiple articles they would fill.

Throughout the interview, Ms. Uong made it clear that her favorite part of teaching is seeing the light in students’ heads go off when they finally understand a concept in math. “Making math fun and seeing students engage is my favorite part of teaching.” This shows in her classes where you can almost always find Ms. Uong with a student attempting to help them.

Overall, I, and I'm sure many others, believe that Ms. Uong calling herself a queen isn’t very far off the mark. She somehow exhibits personality and care in an environment that isn’t often permitting that, while making sure students are better at math once they leave. When asked why she thinks she’s so liked by the majority of students at Point Loma, she simply answered; “I think it’s because I care, they’re part of my family.”

New Staff Member of the Month

By Ella George

Taylor Bobbitt made her Point Loma High School debut this year and has received a welcome that exceeded her expectations. The Point Loma community has been strong and supportive and she is grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this school. She hopes to continue to strengthen the pride within the PLHS community. She appreciates her students who never fail to make her laugh. The staff at Point Loma have been kind to her and made her transition from teaching elementary to high school better than she could’ve hoped for.

Ms. Bobbitt enjoys spending time with her wife, Shelbi Bobbitt, and her two dogs, Chilly and Sundae. Ms. Bobbitt graduated from Azusa Pacific University in January 2019 and started her teaching career soon after. Her wife Shelbi attended USD and played softball there when they met.

Ms. Bobbitt plays a variety of sports, including basketball, pickleball, golf, and kickball. Additionally, she finds value in bonding with her friends and family.

Ms. Bobbitt has always wanted to teach high school. When she found the opportunity to teach at Point Loma, she couldn’t pass it up. Ms. Bobbitt first started working at Point Loma as one of the women ’ s basketball coaches for six seasons. Ms. Bobbitt enjoys coaching basketball more than actually playing it.

Something Ms. Bobbitt is looking forward to this school year is the Unity Game, where our special education students play basketball with help from PLHS basketball players. She is also very excited to be a teacher involved in the practices leading up to the game. Ms. Bobbitt hopes to coach basketball again sometime in the future and is looking forward to teaching at Point Loma for many years to come. Prior to coaching at Point Loma, she coached at Granite Hills High School as well as Poet Christian Elementary, the same school that she attended. She has had the opportunity to coach many great players who have taught her how to see the world through their eyes. Through her students, she has gained an appreciation for how high schoolers experience the world. This has given her more patience which has made her a better teacher and coach.

San Diego and Sustainability

By Anna Wang

San Diego has had a long history of caring about nature. In precolonial times, the Kumeyaay lived in unity with the land, and today, native communities continue to champion environmental stewardship across the county. During the formal years of San Diego’s birth, philanthropists like George Marston and Ellen Browning Scripps funded the preservation of iconic places including Balboa and Torrey Pines. Decades later, activists of the 1970s and 1980s would push the bounds of the Environmental Protection Act to protect San Diego’s endangered species in a fight that is still ongoing. Our city’s legacy of sustainability extends to our zoo, one of the best in the world, and in citizens banding together to make a change, whether through community-led initiatives, activism and education, science, or more. Our green spaces, parks, nature reserves, and protected areas are a key component of our sustainability. Take, for instance, the Mission Trails Regional Park. At over 7,500 acres, MTRP is the largest municipally owned (government owned, and in this case, owned by the city) park in California. Home to endangered species such as the Quino-checkerspot butterfly, Western spadefoot toad, and California gnatcatcher, amongst others, MTRP is a gem of local biodiversity.

Mission Trails gave me a newfound appreciation for the details of things. Every native bumblebee and charismatic plant was a sight to behold. My time there exposed me to a world of information. I realized that I have yet to learn about the history and wild spaces of our home, and it added fuel to the fire of my curiosity to learn more about the whole.

I asked Alissa Lustgarten, the lead educator at the Mission Trails Regional Park Foundation, to explain how her love for nature has led her to a career in education and conservation. Lustgarten grew up in the Midwest, where she began her passion for the outdoors and protecting wildlife. “My passion for environmental education stems from that early connection to nature and a deep desire to protect it for future generations. …Helping people connect with the outdoors and take meaningful action gives me hope for a brighter, more sustainable future,” she says. In her career, Ms. Lustgarten works to “bring awareness and educational opportunities to my local community while fostering a love for the natural world.” As the lead educator, she ensures that Mission Trails is accessible to youth across San Diego. Programs like the Trail Tykes for toddlers, which allows them to explore nature through

storytelling, field trips for elementary schools, and an ambassador program for high school students, equip children of all ages with the tools to engage with nature and become the next leaders of sustainability, all for free. I met Lustgarten at the EcoAmbassadors program, an eight-week career program for high schoolers across San Diego that is currently accepting applications for winter. In my cohort of 20 students, 17 schools across the county were represented, and I met incredible youth working in everything from tide pool restoration to legislative work and activism. We connected with experts in the environment and sustainability, such as a professor of geology, whose description of San Diego’s formation transported us back millions of years to an era when

the whole of the land was one large, muddy delta. Our last speaker was a herpetologist, or a reptile and amphibian specialist. He introduced us to native lizards, frogs, and snakes, and let us hold several specimens in our hands. From other experts, we learned about native bees, river monitoring techniques, and ways to identify native flora. My favorite guest was a fire resiliency expert from SDG&E, who described how scientists monitor wildfire risks and work to prevent them.

Today, our city stands as a pillar of sustainability. People like Lustgarten, and places like MTRP, are a huge factor of that. Lustgarten describes how the ecosystems at MTRP contribute to San Diego’s overall health. “These areas safeguard biodiversity, support native ecosystems, and provide clean air and water. They also serve as carbon sinks, helping to combat climate change, and as critical habitats for threatened species.” This is a good start for San Diego, yet there is much more work to be done. Lustgarten explains, “Our city faces challenges such as urban sprawl, habitat destruction, water scarcity, and pollution. Climate change is exacerbating these issues, leading to more frequent wildfires, droughts, and heatwaves.” She predicts that in the future, “rising sea levels and waste management could become significant

concerns as population growth continues to strain resources. Addressing these challenges requires proactive urban planning, investment in renewable energy, and community-driven solutions to build a more sustainable and resilient city.”

So how can we make a difference? Lustgarten describes ways youth can make an impact, in conservation, the environment, and their own communities.

“I truly believe that no matter your age, your voice matters— and it can drive meaningful changes. I encourage young people to ask tough questions and actively learn about their local environment. I like to encourage people to find ways to get involved in hands-on efforts like habitat restoration, tree planting, or beach cleanups. These activities not only help the environment but also inspire

others to take action. …What inspires me most today is seeing the spark in others— especially youth—when they realize their ability to make a difference.”

San Diego is a beautiful city, and it is my hope that everyone can find their own proof of the fact, through embracing the joy of curiosity and imagination. It may start with something as simple as going on more hikes. While Mission Trails is impressive, there are countless other pockets of green spaces in San Diego just waiting to be explored. In Point Loma, the tidepools of Cabrillo and Famosa Slough give a taste of what we can find when we begin to look for the wilderness all around. Apart from spending time in nature, you can volunteer with organizations and nonprofits. At Point Loma High School alone, many of your peers are working to make a difference. Clubs like Greenpeace, Environmental, or Garden4OurYouth are spearheading that change. Beyond our campus, there are thousands of resources available online or locally. Learning from professionals and passionate people in our communities can be our first step towards caring about the nature in our home.

opinion & advice

A Long Walk to the Ocean

By Maggie McAteer

It’s golden hour and walking through Ocean Beach feels like old cinema. The palm trees are awash in orange light, everything seeming to glow in the perfect sunset haze. Out on the ocean, the waves sparkle as the sun inches ever toward the horizon. Moving closer to the Farmers’ Market brings the warm scent of the food tents, loud bass beats thrumming, and the quiet but constant hum of easy-going conversation. At this end of the Market there are a combination of minimalist jewelry stalls, usually detailed in shades of gold and white, and clothing stands selling brightly colored sweatshirts. Of course there are the food vendors as well, selling everything from pozole to bao buns to a place called “Taste of Egypt,” where three young women stop and check out the menu. Most of the people meandering past are white and seem to be in their twenties or thirties. They’ve come with their dates or a group of friends to see what all the fuss is about, and now spend their time perusing the different vendors, buying dumplings or lemonade or chocolate covered strawberries on a stick. Some have clearly just been at the beach, their hair sopping and bathing suits peeking out from underneath towels. Others pose in front of food stalls they think are cute, holding designer bags or their dog’s leash.

From afar it almost looks like there are two different worlds crashing into each other. On one side you have the pristine, neatly trimmed tents selling rings or bracelets, surrounded by the same air of quiet luxury found in the mansions lining Sunset Cliffs. Like the two young men randomly dressed in nice blue button-ups and tan slacks, their unusual attire causing them to stick out in the crowd. On the other you have the hippies, the ones who are probably smoking joints, who sell shirts with complicated tiedye patterns. Like the guy who walks past with a small brown

goatee and circular red glasses, holding a cardboard sign which reads “New Weekly Affirmation Sign Every Wednesday.” Sometimes it feels like the whole community is being bought out, replaced by Targets and Air Bnbs.

Closer to the ocean there are more kids, accompanying their parents as they shop for groceries from the eponymous farmers of the market. They tug on larger hands, bouncing around with boundless energy. The market itself is only a few blocks away from the elementary school. Many of the vendors grew up in OB, or have lived here for so long that it feels as if they did. Some of them have been at the market long enough that they’ve seen the kids living there grow up, watching

them pass from the school down the street to the one over the hill. The neighborhood tends to attract all sorts of people, pulling in the eclectic and eccentric. One man describes how he lived in the area and was simply bringing his art to share his process when suddenly he found himself selling recycled and repurposed sculptures for the next fifteen years. Another woman shared how when she was at her lowest – recently divorced with children, her house foreclosing, going blind in one eye – the man who manages the market came up to her and offered to let her sell bracelets. She hasn’t had to have another job since. It’s a community that takes care of one another, that watches out for each other’s dogs, that has a list of names ready when asked “Who should I talk to next?”

Nearing the end of the block that contains this whole world, everything starts to blend together. It’s not so much a clash of cultures as it is a meld, different people who all come together in a single space for a shared experience. The community isn’t being bought out so much as it’s being reborn. The young woman wearing a hot pink jumpsuit who’s been selling her Caribbean hair oil for less than a year is a small business owner just the same as the old man who has been selling glass pendants for over thirty. Both of them have found a way to do what they love and turn it into

a full time job. Both of them are just as much a part of the nightly scene as the people running the empanada stand or the young woman selling honey sticks.

Even if they weren’t there, even if it wasn’t their faces smiling as you approach them, it wouldn’t matter; no matter how many of the individual vendors are swapped out, the same culture, the same sense of community will always be there. From the beginning of human civilization, markets like this, communal spaces where people could exchange their wares and swap tales of their journey, have always been sacred. Today, in Ocean Beach, the Farmers’ Market still feels like a sacred place. Whether it’s someone returning a smile, or giving a child a discount on a really coollooking 3D printed dragon, or one of the vendors recommending a movie to a regular; the sense of belonging is so strong you can almost feel it wrapping its arms around you. In the words of one man selling laser-carved wood earrings depicting the chemical formulas of substances like caffeine; “It’s hard out here. Sometimes there’s drama. You gotta look out for each other.”

At first glance the ocean seems like a lonely place. Looking out over it at night, at the waves forever crashing to shore even as the crowds go home, evokes a quiet solitude, the vast expanse of deep, dark blue provoking reflection. It’s easy to forget that below the surface are millions upon millions of organisms thriving, glittering like the stars in the night sky above.

Looking back on the glow of the Farmers’ Market, though the sun has long since passed below the horizon to shine on

some new world, the same feeling emerges. Hundreds of people, all with their own lives, problems, and stories, all existing, for one night a week, in the same space. It’s an odd sort of knowledge to possess. The fact that some of these people might never meet again, their paths crossing only for one brief instant. Or that some are old friends reconnecting in what one woman described as an “OB moment.” And, of course, that some will see each other every week, buying from the same tent until they build up a friendly rapport. That’s the thing that sticks around as fragments of different lives float by: the profoundly human interactions witnessed. “That’s what it’s all about,” one of the vendors says. “It’s always interacting with people.” And he’s right. Because once you remove all of the perceived divides, the only thing left is you and the people you ’ re with, and the long walk home from the quiet ocean. and the people you ’ re with, and the long walk home from the quiet ocean.

Special thanks to Paris (recycleeverything.org), Jara Young (@JaraYoungDesigns), and @caribbean_fine.

Should Thanksgiving be Celebrated?

By Eleanor McGinness and Zoe Celestin

YES

Imagine sitting down at a huge wooden table, the aromas of spice and delicious food in the air. The table is covered in homemade dishes, brought from different people, from all over. Your loved and cherished ones gather around and sit down, celebrating the gratefulness in our lives. Thanksgiving. It is a valued time that presents the opportunity of time to spend with people close to you, and the spirit of this holiday often provides goodwill towards others. Thanksgiving is one of the only times in the year where people can all come together from different backgrounds and places to see each other again. Having jobs and going to school makes it hard to see people we

care about, as most of us know, and Thanksgiving gives us the time to do that. One of my brightest childhood memories was one of a Thanksgiving brunch. One side of my family had come from all over California to join us in San Diego. I got to see people I had not seen in years, and catch up on each other’s lives. Even though I do not remember much from that day, I still remember the feeling of contentment I felt with my family, and that is why it is such a bright memory for me. A survey conducted by Pew Research Center reinforces my fond memory. When asked what the “most important aspect of Thanksgiving” was, “spending time with family”

was the most popular choice for the 73% of respondents.

Aside from spending time with people, Thanksgiving also shines a spotlight on activities like volunteering and participating in food drives. Thanksgiving is viewed as a time of giving; a time to share what you have to others. Organizations often take this opportunity to advertise Thanksgiving themed food drives, such as the San Diego Food Bank Turkey Drive. The San Diego Food Bank tells us that “ many food drives take place during the holidays,” and UT Dallas Magazine notes that,

“Volunteerism typically increases 50% during November and December.” Local food banks are not the only ones who take advantage of this increase of giving. Quite a few schools around the United States encourage students to bring canned goods into the classroom that will be taken to a local food bank. Even though there are lots of examples of Thanksgiving being a happy and grateful time for most people, some think that Thanksgiving should not be celebrated due to the myth that was built around it. The myth about the Native people gathering around a table with the English settlers was taught to us as children to hide the actions of the settlers. However, there are

respectful ways to celebrate this holiday, and not all Native American tribes are against Thanksgiving.

All in all, Thanksgiving should be celebrated. The spirit of giving that the holiday radiates brings so many people joy and happiness. It gives us the time to spend with people you care about, while also giving people in need supplies and helping them out.

NO

When posed with the question “should I celebrate Thanksgiving this year?”, most wouldn't hesitate to say yes. Between the food, family, and fun, what isn't there to love about the holiday? These things, although pleasant, fail to paint an accurate picture as to what the holiday is all about.

Beneath the joyous facade, the true history behind

Thanksgiving, and the practices it encourages, don't align with its reputation. The truth is, Thanksgiving is solely based upon a false narrative, and nowadays only serves to perpetuate overconsumption. Thanksgiving did not begin in 1620, when the Pilgrims ended up in Plymouth Harbor, but rather on October 3rd, 1863, when Abraham Lincoln firsty.”

established the special day.

According to Potawatomi.org’s “The True, Dark History of Thanksgiving,” it was put in place “ as a way to improve relations between northern and southern states as well as the U.S. and tribal nations.” Even though only a year before there had been a prosecution of tribal members in the Dakotas. Thanksgiving was established less to bridge the gap between cultures, and more so to cover up cruel treatment done to Native Americans. Dr. Kelli Mosteller, the director of Potawatomi Nation’s Cultural Heritage Center, says, “It just disregards (the centuries of brutality) against Native Americans and chooses to take this one tiny snapshot, and in the world of social media, it puts all the pretty filters on it so that it doesn’t look the way it truly did.” Additionally, she notes that, “It was to try and build this event so that you could have a deeper narrative about community building and coming together in shared brotherhood and unity.”

The story told to us when we were young is that the Pilgrims and the Native Americans were two groups who bonded despite their differences. However, in reality, it wasn’t so simple. The Pilgrims were assisted by the Wampanoag tribe and taught to survive as they settled, but this was not done out of their good faith for each other. The alliance between the two groups was established because the Pilgrims were politically advantageous to the Wampanoag, and in turn, received help from them to survive in the unfamiliar environment. In the article “Why the Wampanoag Signed a Peace Treaty with the

Mayflower Pilgrims” by Sarah Pruittt, soon after the Mayflower landed, diseases spread from the foreigners into the Americas, where it decimated native populations whose immune systems were not accustomed to the bacteria that the Pilgrims brought with them from England. As Wampanoag numbers dwindled, an opportunity was provided for their rival tribe, the Narragansett, to attack. In order to combat this weakness, the Wampanoag decided to form an alliance with the Pilgrims, as their presence might offer political protection. Ironically, this protection that the tribe was made desperate for was due to the diseases brought over by the foreigners. Dennis Zotigh from the National Museum of the American Indian writes, “The Thanksgiving myth has done so much damage and harm to the cultural self-esteem of generations of Indian people, including myself, by perpetuating negative and harmful images to both young Indian and non-Indian minds.” While Thanksgiving may be a commemoration of triumph for the first White settlers in America, the day represents a different story for the Native Americans already living there. This holiday represents

the grim events that led to being uprooted from their homes. The National Museum of the American Indian says, “The ‘First Thanksgiving’ as a national story is incomplete and inaccurate. The whole history is more complex and includes the Wampanoag voice and perspective that have been largely absent from this narrative.”

That isn't the only issue surrounding the celebration. During Thanksgiving, overconsumption spikes.

Stephanie Feldstein, population and sustainability director for Center for Biological Diversity, reports that, “Between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, Americans throw out 23 percent more trash than the rest of the year. ” She estimates that hundreds of millions of pounds in turkey, potatoes, vegetables, and bread rolls are thrown away each Thanksgiving. The waste isn't even the worst part; as a result, almost half a million metric tons of greenhouse gasses are produced. All things considered, the Thanksgiving tradition needs to be retired. It is a celebration built upon falsehoods that only further buries Native American history. Beyond that, it encourages extensive food waste, further pushing our planet past any point of return.

Op-Ed: The United States and Israel Should Recognize Rojava

By Abraham Zipp

Above: Soldiers of the YPJ, the all-women militia of the Syrian Democratic Forces. used chemical weapons against his own people many times. The Syrian people have toppled statues of the Assad family and rightfully rejoiced at the end of the regime. (The ex-ruler fled to Russia, an ally of his regime, where he was given asylum). However, there is still much uncertainty around how Syria will be ruled from now on.

The Syrian civil war had a major development recently, with Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), an Islamist militia designated a terrorist group by many countries (allied with Turkishbacked rebel forces) toppling the rule of Bashar al-Assad. Assad was a dictator who killed hundreds of thousands of civilians in his attempt to keep power in Syria, imprisoned and tortured many dissidents, and

The war was brutal, with war crimes committed by many sides. HTS has committed numerous crimes against the Syrian people. Another prominent side, the Islamic State (better known as ISIS) has committed numerous war crimes in Syria, has been responsible for many terrorist attacks abroad, and has published videos on the Internet of their fighters beheading prisoners. However, there has been one notable bright spot in the war.

The Kurdish-led (Kurds are a distinct ethnic group mainly in parts of Turkey, Syria, Iraq, and Iran) Syrian Democratic Forces were founded in 2015, and the main militias, the male-led YPG and all-female YPJ, have carved out an area of northeastern Syria (Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria or AANES, known as Rojava) with a decentralized government, where minorities in Syria such as Kurds and Yazidis can live without persecution. While most prominent militia groups have records littered with war crimes, the SDF has a pretty clean record. Rojava has successfully created a decentralized democracy with many decisions made at the local level, standing as a beacon of hope in a region characterized by autocracies and theocracies. It would be prudent militarily, politically, and ideologically for the United States and Israel to recognize Rojava.

For one, such a move would be geopolitically beneficial to all parties involved. Recognition from the United States and Israel would not only benefit Rojava itself by opening doors to key military and civilian aid. It would also benefit the US and Israel.

A Rojava allied with the US and Israel would serve as a key check against Islamist groups in Syria, including many funded by the Iranian regime, the biggest threat to global security in the Middle East. By giving aid to Rojava and forcing anti-Israel groups to relocate significant forces to the northern front, Israel would bolster its own security through its support of Rojava. For the United States, it would send a message to Rojava’s enemy Turkey - a stain on NATO through its support of Islamic terrorist groups, imperialist incursions into Syria, anti-democratic crackdowns under the Erdogan regime, support of Russia, and use of its status as a NATO member to gain concessions from other countries - that these actions which run directly contrary to NATO values will be no longer be tolerated free of consequence. The US and Israel recognizing and supporting Rojava would be beneficial for regional and global security.

Recognition of Rojava would also be beneficial for the leaders of the United States and Israel. For Donald Trump, it would display a commitment to democratic values and ease fears of him trying to make the United States an autocracy; those fears turned many moderate Republicans Democratic. If President Biden were to recognize and support Rojava before leaving office, it would show a commitment to stability by the Democratic Party, which could be valuable in elections down the road. For Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel’s prime minister, supporting Rojava could improve his standing in the world after his - and the State of Israel’s - international reputation was destroyed by the

war in Gaza, which has killed tens of thousands and displaced over a million Gazans (along with earning him an arrest warrant from the International Criminal Court). Improving Israel’s standing through promoting democracy in Syria, previously one of the most brutal autocracies in the world, could potentially help the unpopular prime minister’s Likud party in the 2026 elections in Israel. Lastly, it would show a commitment to the ideologies that formed the two nations. The United States formed a democracy because many colonists felt that they didn’t have representation under British colonial rule. Similarly, Rojava was formed for ethnic minorities (chiefly Kurds) to have a safe haven amidst regimes who hated them. However, this even more so mirrors the Zionist movement to create the State of Israel - an ethnic group (the Jews in the case of Israel, the Kurds in the case of Rojava) with a history of being persecuted has, despite being surrounded by enemies (the Arab states in the case of Israel, Turkey, the Assad regime, and ISIS in the case of Rojava), carved out a homeland with the goal of freedom from persecution, while also establishing a republic in a sea of theocracies and brutal dictatorships. However, Israel would not have prospered as it has without the help of allies such as France and the United States. The US and Israel should commit to their ideologies and recognize the revolutionary de facto state, helping the security and prosperity of the region while also benefiting themselves.

pop culture

Gladiator

II: Are You Not Entertained?

By Lily Peavey

In the age of seemingly unnecessary sequels, another iconic film has been given an additional story that seems pointless. Gladiator, the 2000 smash hit directed by Ridley Scott, won numerous awards, including the Oscars for Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Director, Best Original Score, and more. The story follows Russell Crowe’s Maximus as he falls from grace as the commander of the Roman army and is forced to be a gladiator. As he does, he battles in the Colosseum and vows to kill the Emperor Commodus, played by Joaquin Phoenix, and avenge his murdered wife and son. The story ends neatly with the death of both Commodus and Maximus, with the end of the film suggesting that the gladiator is at peace with both his wife and son.

Yet, it has been given a sequel that takes place fifteen years after the death of Maximus. The film centers around the character of Lucius, the son of Commodus’ sister Lucilla who is also heavily implied in the original to be Maxmius’ son. Starring Paul Mescal, Pedro Pascal, Joseph Quinn, and Denzel Washington as primary characters, the film also brings back Connie Nielsen reprising her role as Lucilla, Lucius’ mother.

The film follows Lucius (Paul Mescal), who goes under the alias Hanno for much of the film, from his peaceful life to his capture by Roman general, Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal). Thrown into gladiator training under the watchful eye of Macrinus (Denzel Washington), Lucius is brought to the Colosseum to compete in a series of games, during which Lucius swears to kill Acacius for his role in his wife’s death. However, this plan quickly unravels as it is revealed that Lucilla (Connie Nielsen) and Acacius have been married in the time that has passed between the two films and are staging a coup to overthrow the twin emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) but also wish to keep Lucius from harm as he fights. Over the course of the film, characters like the ex-gladiator and healer Ravi (Alexander Karim) are introduced and prove to be Lucius’ allies. With a political subplot that hopes to restore Marcus Aurelius’ dream of Rome, it’s easy to see how this film may just be an echo of the original. The film features classic Gladiator tropes including fights with animals, a thwarted rescue mission, and a duel between sworn enemies under the watchful eyes of those in the Colosseum.

The original and returning characters prove intriguing within the new context of Gladiator II. Lucius, for the beginning half of the film, can be seen as a raging embodiment of the Roman mob on steroids that just chugged three Monster energy drinks that suddenly changes at the height of the second act. Acacius himself proves an intriguing

anti-hero whose purpose can be boiled down to a single question: what if Maximus had bowed to Commodus? The exhausted general is seen as more than a simple villain, and his time in the film unfortunately leaves his character underdeveloped. Macrinus is seen as simply a one-dimensional, manipulative opportunist, with hints of complexity later in the film, but those are simply wasted and could have created a better, more intriguing character if allowed more time. As with most sequels, Gladiator II is an echo of the original. The characters are no different. However, in an effort to create more original characters, it seems, the characters that the film provides are reminiscent of the same

archetypes presented in the first movie, but are split into various characters. The archetype of Maximus- a former military commander seeking revenge- is split between Acacius and Lucius, while Lucilla’s is split between herself and Acacius. Commudus is split between the twin emperors and Proximo, the friend of Maximus and former gladiator himself, is split between Macrinus and Ravi.

Overall, the merit and the story of the film itself is visibly weaker than the original, though that is something that was to be expected. The scenes are cut jarringly, jumping back and forth between the large cast that

spends more time apart than they do together. With this lack of meaningful scenes, many things feel unearned, such as Lucius forgiving his mother after their last interaction was harsh and loud in comparison. Despite this, there are some heartfelt scenes, like Lucius wearing Maximus’ armor before the final battle and Ravi and Lucius speaking about their families.

The film also suffers from repetition when compared to the original. The opening battle to Gladiator II follows the same beats as Gladiator: protagonist dreams of his humble life on a farm before facing battle against

a longtime enemy, the brute force enemy appears, protagonist makes speech to his loyal soldiers (all of whom laugh at his jokes) and a connection with a powerful leader of the society that protagonist belongs to is introduced. Most clearly, however, is Lucius and Maximus’ most clear shared element: the loss of their wives is their primary motivation that fuels the vengeful crusade that causes them to kill their enemy. Though perhaps intentional, it further hammers home the idea that the movie seems to be trying to push over and over: that Maximus is Lucius’ biological father, a fact that was implied in Gladiator. Beyond the plot, the film offers a stellar cast. Paul Mescal, most known for playing a leading role in the Emmy-nominated miniseries

Normal People, stars as the lead, Lucius Verus Aurelius. Mescal’s talent is shown in one-on-one scenes with Connie Nielsen, who plays his character’s mother, and Alexander Karim’s Ravi. These softer scenes play to Mescal’s strength as an actor, creating a complex Lucius that, unfortunately, quickly disappears when he is seen on the battlefield. Mescal falls short when rallying troops, and is simply unable to measure up to Russell Crowe’s powerhouse and iconic performance in the original. Two-time Academy Award winner Denzel Washington stars as a cartoonishly over-the-top character that fits incredibly well for the actor, effectively drawing all attention in whatever scene he is in.

Pedro Pascal’s character is unfortunately given far less screen time than deserved, as Acacius’ role as a unique anti-hero is incredibly memorable in his limited appearances. Alexander Karim should also be applauded for his heartfelt portrayal of Ravi, who provides a mentor figure for Lucius and offers a welcome break from the action. Furthermore, Joseph Quinn shines as Emperor Geta, creating a sadistic villain. He is accompanied by Fred Hechinger, though their back and forth discussions and petty sibling rivalry weakens both of their characters, reducing them to nothing more than whiny children.

But credit must be given where credit is due. The film looks beautiful. Overhead shots of the city provide a detailed look at ancient Rome and its clustered buildings and groups of people. This allows for, as seen in the first film, another intriguing look at the Roman mob and its madness as more gruesome scenes are shown on screen. This is further heightened by the dark and gloomy score provided by Harry Gregson-Williams, known for composing the music for The Chronicles of Narnia, after original composer Hans Zimmer opted not to create the soundtrack for the sequel. It fits

the new mood of the story, individualizing it from the original in a way that helps the new characters, allowing them to shine. The film must also be applauded for how it handles flashbacks. The opening sequence effectively recaps the entire first film in a smeared art style, providing no dialogue and focusing only on certain moments, reminding the audience only slightly of the first film instead of spending its two and a half hour runtime reminiscing.

Though it falls back on the original in weaker moments, there are only a handful of visual flashbacks, which are expanded on, while the rest are simply seen in voiceovers.

All the good, however, cannot block out the inevitable and predictable truth: the film is simply eclipsed by the original. No amount of new characters can overpower the original Gladiator, and Gladiator II is compelled to remain within the shadow of its predecessor, a forgettable movie with a few standout moments. And yet, one may argue that that further proves the film’s point.

Despite its recent release, the film has already grossed close to $400M worldwide. People have flocked to the theater, lured by the return of beloved characters and enticed by an old story. Promised blood and violence and spectacles beyond one ’ s wildest dreams, the film has

garnered attention, good and bad. As such, it can be speculated that Gladiator II is meant to be an action-packed feature meant solely to momentarily entertain the mob and then be forgotten once it is over. It is a fleeting moment, a distraction, just as the Romans saw their Colosseum-held spectacles. For that brief moment, it is true. We are entertained.

Thanksgiving Films

by Sloan Kleven McGann

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving (Unrated) 1.

Even though Charlie Brown plans to see his grandmother for Thanksgiving, Peppermint Patty invites all of their friends to his house for a Friendsgiving. Snoopy makes his version of Thanksgiving dinner for them, which includes buttered toast, popcorn, pretzels, and jellybeans.

2. You’ve Got Mail (PG) This 1998 romcom, starring Meg Ryan (Kate and Leopold, French Kiss) and Tom Hanks (Big, Bosom Buddies), is set in Manhattan during the fall season (Thanksgiving movie?), towards the beginning of online dating. It is a romantic comedy about Kathleen Kelly and Joe Fox, who hate each other. She is a struggling bookstore owner, and he owns a large bookstore chain that is putting her out of business. But online, they have an anonymous romantic relationship. When they meet, will they be able to put aside their hatred and have a real relationship?

3. Hannah and Her Sisters (PG13) Hannah and Her Sisters is a 1986 romantic comedy directed by Woody Allen. The film focuses on the love lives of sisters

Hannah (Mia Farrow), Lee (Barbara Hershey), and Holly (Dianne Wiest). Holly feels that her acting career never took off and envies her friend April (Carry Fisher, aka Princess Leia) for her singing voice.

Hannah’s husband, Elliot (Michael Caine), has to hide his attraction to Lee at the family’s Thanksgiving dinner. Lee is unemployed and dating an older antisocial artist. Hannah’s ex-husband, the hypochondriac Mickey (Woody Allen), is a writer for a TV show. Mickey’s doctor thinks he may have a brain tumor.

4. Thanksgiving (R) “Thanksgiving. This year, there will be no leftovers… ” Originally, Thanksgiving was just a two-and-a-half-minute trailer directed by Eli Roth, tucked into Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez’s 2007 Grindhouse. Made to parody

cheesy eighties horror, Roth made it into a full-length feature in 2023. Because I mean, why wouldn’t you want to see a serial ax murderer murdering teenagers and startled ladies?

5. Knives Out (PG-13)

Knives Out is one of a few great modern whodunits. Although this movie is not set on Thanksgiving, it is set in the fall in New England, and feels rather Thanksgiving-ish. It is nice that this “Thanksgiving movie” is about how this family doesn’t like each other very much and is willing to kill each other for money.

6. Addams Family Values (PG-13)

7. She’s Gotta Have It (R)

The black and white She’s Gotta Have It is Spike Lee’s 1986 feature film debut. The story surrounds Nola Darling (Tracy Camilla Johns) as she decides what kind of man she would like to date. Which one should she pick, the rich narcissist Greer Childs (John Canada Terrell), the overprotective Jamie

Overstreet (Tommy Redmond Hicks), or the dorky Mars

Blackmon (Spike Lee)? Darling just can’t decide, so she dates them all.

Our favorite creepy family, especially after the release of the TV show, has another baby. Wednesday and Pugsly are not excited. After trying to kill their baby brother a few times, their new nanny convinces Gomez and Morticia to send them to summer camp. At Camp Chippewa, Pugsly and Wednesday are shunned by the popular and snobby Amanda (Mercedes McNab). The reason this is a Thanksgiving movie, is that Wednesday is cast as Pocahontas in their Thanksgiving themed play. She eventually agrees, but instead of saying her lines as she is told, she goes on a riveting speech about how the Pilgrims betrayed the Indigenous people and have treated them terribly ever since. They capture Amanda and the others, and burn down the camp, typical Wednesday fashion.

8. North by Northwest (Unrated) This 1959 action thriller never explicitly mentions the

holiday, but if you pay close attention to the dates in certain newspapers, it is evident that the movie does take place in the fall. And really, do we need a reason to rewatch this Hitchcock classic? Carry Grant plays the ad executive Roger O. Thornhill, who is mistaken for a government agent and hunted down by a spy, Phillip Vandamm (James Mason). On his escape across the country, Thornhill meets the mysterious Eve Kendall (Eve Marie Saint) as Vandamm’s henchmen begin to close in on their target.

9. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (R)

This is a hilarious comedy

adventure movie starring Steve Martin as Neal Page and John Candy as Del Griffith, two travelers trying to get to Chicago before Thanksgiving. Steve Martin is a bit of a control freak, who melts down when his plane is rerouted to somewhere in Kansas due to a snowstorm. When all the hotels are full, he has to resort to sharing a room with the talkative Del. We also have a couple of cameos from some of John Hughes’ other films. At the beginning of the movie, we meet Neal’s fellow employee John (Lyman Ward). Or, as most of us know him, Ferris Bueller’s dad. Also, we get Ben Stein’s famous dreary tone as the Wichita Airport Rep. We see Edie McClurg as the car rental agent, who is of course Grace, the principal’s secretary from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. There is also a cameo by Kevin Bacon from She’s Having a

Baby, who plays the “Taxi Racer.” Martin and Candy have a great dynamic that transfers very well to the big screen.

10. Fantastic Mr. Fox (PG)

This astounding stopmotion animation film by Wes Anderson again does not mention this holiday, but it just feels like a Thanksgiving movie. The fact that they have a feast at the end just adds to this. With voice acting from some of the biggest names in Hollywood, such as George Clooney, Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman, Merryl

Streep, Owen Wilson, and Willem Dafoe.

11. The Gold Rush (Unrated)

A wonderful silent-era film directed by, and starring Charlie Chaplin as his famous Little Tramp. The Little Tramp goes North in search of gold, but in an unexpected blizzard, he must share a cabin with a fugitive (Tom Murray) and a successful prospector (Mack Swain). When he can leave, he falls in love with a barmaid (Georgia Hale) and attempts to earn her affection. Chaplin makes a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner of a cooked shoe while trapped in the cabin. This movie is a bit

controversial because at the time Charlie Chaplin was 35, and the love interest, Georgia Hale, was only 16 years old. As most know, Chaplin was known to date and abuse young girls, marrying some of them.

12. The Last Waltz (PG)

The Last Waltz is a documentary directed by Martin Scorsese. It documents the final concert of The Band, a Canadian-American rock band from the late sixties and seventies. Famous songs by The Band include, “The Weight,” “Up On Cripple Creek,” and “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” The Last Waltz shows their final concert on November 25th, 1976 (Thanksgiving) at San Francisco’s

Winterland Ballroom. Early in 1976, after 17 years on the road, the Band decided to become a studio-only band like The Beatles. The band had many of their fellow musicians play at their final concert, making this a musically diverse movie. They performed with musical legends Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, Neil Diamond, Ringo Starr, Muddy Waters, Howard Johnson, The Staples Singers, and Paul Butterfield.

sports

Athlete of the Month: Noel Allen

By Celia Thome

Noel Allen, an eleventh grade varsity girls tennis player at Point Loma High School, continued to rise this tennis season, and reached the top of the leaderboard for Point Loma’s team. Making it to the quarterfinals for CIF this year, Noel proved to be a very impressive player and an incredible addition to the team. Playing at this level, she not only faced the physical and mental struggles that tennis has to offer, but she was also given the responsibility of taking on an important leadership role on the team by leading both JV and varsity throughout the season.

“I really love the team, everyone is super supportive. Especially this year, we had three other people go to CIF which didn't happen in the past,” Noel says, describing her positive outlook of the team.

Tennis is ranked in the top ten hardest sports, and requires incredible mental and physical strength. Not only does winning involve the toughness of the game, both on and off the court it can be an incredible struggle to

focus while coaches and opponents fight to get into your head. While this can take a toll on a player's well being, Noel pushed through and remained a level-headed player, showing good sportsmanship in every match. She also demonstrated kindness and support to both her teammates and her opponents.

“It’s difficult when you ’ re alone at CIF,” she says. Noel was the last athlete left competing at the end of the season, which lasted far into November. She relayed the struggles she faced, “It’s not really a team sport, so it’s a mental battle, but I still find it fun, because I’ve been competing by myself my whole life. That's just how it is in tennis.”

Noel knows she wants to play in college, and pushes herself to be the best she can so that she can achieve this. With a Universal Tennis Rating of 6.1 , Noel is extremely talented for her age. Although she’s constantly pushing herself to thrive on the court, she’s also a high academic achiever. Hoping to play Division III tennis in college, she is able to keep her dreams set on excellent academic institutions such as Tufts University and Carnegie Mellon, that support both her tennis career and her education. She is a dedicated student as well as an active member of the community, participating in many clubs and taking on community service roles.

“There are some really good colleges that are DIII tennis, but they are difficult to get into. We'll see if I can get in with tennis. It could probably help me a little bit getting into the school.”

In addition to playing for the high school Noel competes individually at the Peninsula

Tennis Club and practices year round. While she specializes in playing singles on the Point Loma High team, she often plays doubles outside of school. She’s been competing her whole life and has an incredible passion for the sport.

Noel speaks about how grateful she is for the opportunities that she has had to play the sport she loves so much, saying, “My parents are super supportive and I really appreciate them spending so much time helping me with tennis.”

Although she stands out, Noel is not the only talent on Point Loma High’s Girls Tennis Team. Freshman Makayla Pascale, with a Universal Tennis Rating of 5.00 started the year strong by making it to the round of 32 in CIF. She is very skilled, and the team is excited to see what she will do as she continues her high school career with the rest of this remarkable team.

Girl’s Tennis at Point Loma High is a growing team, and they continue to expand in number, skill, and as individual student athletes. The team is excited to have such an involved leader such as Noel Allen, and her inspiration is clearly spread to each athlete. Attacking such a mentally aggressive sport can knock down an athlete within moments, but each girl on the team maintains a strong base to power through this sport where it's easy, as Noel explained, to feel alone. Each player keeps their heads up, bouncing back after a loss within seconds and recognizing that an individual win for one teammate, is a win for the entire team to celebrate.

2025 MLB International Signing Period

By Abraham Zipp

Roki Sasaki, a pitcher for the Chiba Lotte Marines of Nippon Professional Baseball (NPB) and the Japan national team, is set to be posted to Major League Baseball in the 2025 international signing period. The coveted prospect can hit 102 miles an hour on his fastball and consistently reach the high 90s, and has an excellent forkball to go with a curveball and slider.

The Major League Baseball draft is unlike any other draft in the United States. In the NBA, international players are drafted alongside American college players. In the NFL, players can be drafted out of other countries, but most code converts (who played Australian rules football, rugby, soccer, or another form of “football” before switching to American football) play college football in the United States, go through the International Player Pathway, or switch without going through the draft process. In the NHL, international players are drafted alongside American and Canadian players. In MLB, however, international players are signed directly, rather than being subjected to a draft like those attending high schools and colleges in the United States. Each team has a budget between $5.146 million and $7.556 million to give newly signed players in bonuses (signing bonuses under

$10,000 do not count against its limit). The number that we care about, the Padres budget, is $6.262 million. The international signing period has brought many international stars to the major leagues: Juan Soto, Fernando Tatis Jr., Miguel Cabrera, Shohei Ohtani, and Yu Darvish are some of the big names. There are two main groups of prospects you need to consider: Latin American amateurs and Asian pros.

Latin American Signees

Major League Baseball teams operate academies in the Dominican Republic and, until recently, operated them in Venezuela. (Due to the political climate in Venezuela, teams contract with local trainers rather than directly running academies.) For this reason, players often will commit to an MLB team before they are even eligible for a contract. They sign in the first signing period they are eligible; i.e. when they will be 16 by September 1st. These are usually pretty hitter-heavy - just three of the top 50 international prospects this year are pitchers, and the top 37 are position players. The top prospect this year is Josuar de Jesus Gonzales of the Dominican Republic, a good hitting shortstop who is expected to sign with the San Francisco Giants. Other noteworthy prospects include contact-hitting shortstop Elian Peña (going to the Mets for $5 million), slugging outfielder Cris Rodriguez (going to the Tigers for an estimated $3 million), and solid-hitting shortstop/outfielder Andrew Salas (the brother of Padres top prospect Ethan Salas, expected to sign with the Marlins). The Padres aren’t expected to make a huge splash this year, but San Diego’s top prospects, catcher Ethan Salas

and shortstop Leodalis de Vries, were the top international prospects in 2023 and 2024, respectively, and will likely arrive in the major leagues in the next few years.

Asian Signees

MLB does not operate academies in Japan and South Korea, as there is a sufficient development system of high schools and colleges in place (similar to the United States). Instead, these prospects play in the professional leagues of their respective countries. For a player to become a full international free agent, he must have accumulated nine years in Japan’s Nippon Professional Baseball (NPB) or Korea’s KBO league. Since this would mean excellent players having to play for a long time in Japan or Korea with lower competition and salaries than MLB, Major League Baseball has entered “posting” agreements with NPB and KBO, where these Asian teams can “post” a player, and the team who signs him will have to pay the Korean or Japanese team a transfer fee. These yield more pitchers than the Latin American signings. Japan’s posting system is the most famous, with transfer fees based on the player’s eventual contract. The Japanese posting system has brought numerous Japanese stars to the United States - Shohei Ohtani, Yu Darvish, Yoshinobu Yamamoto, Masahiro Tanaka, Ichiro Suzuki, and Seiya Suzuki all came to MLB in this manner. This year, the most coveted Asian player is Roki Sasaki, a fireballing pitcher with a devastating forkball who plays for the Chiba Lotte Marines of NPB (and played for Team Japan at the 2023 World Baseball Classic). He has been compared to Stephen Strasburg, the #1 MLB Draft

pick in 2009.

KBO operates a silent auction, with the MLB team having the highest bid allowed to sign the Korean player. It is a smaller posting system, with two having signed MLB contracts compared to 22 from NPB (including Ha-Seong Kim, who sadly is unlikely to re-sign with the Padres). This may be due to the fact that only players who have won a gold medal at the Asian Games or any medal at the Olympics can forgo military service (which is usually required for South Korean men at 18, though it can be deferred until the age of 28). The main Korean prize this year will be Hye-Seong Kim, a great contacthitting middle infielder who is playing at a similar level to the similarly named Ha-Seong Kim, who plays the same position.

Overall, the 2025 international signing period will promise a wealth of talent being brought to MLB teams and their minor-league affiliates, sure to shake up professional baseball in the United States in the future.

Fall Sports Profile: Cross Country

By Celia Thome

The Point Loma High School cross country team just finished another outstanding season, with the girls’ squad completing what may be the best year in program history. The girls’ team finished the fall season with a big win at CIF, coming in first place by 6 points, allowing them to continue their season in Fresno for the CIF State meet. At the state meet, the girls came in second place behind South Pasadena High, their best performance ever. Not far behind, the boys cross country team came in sixth place at CIF, despite having various top athletes out for injuries, including the top sophomore from last year, Jonah Turner, who was unable to compete in CIF due to a hamstring injury. This fall season, the girls’ top time was a 18:06.3 (2.96 mile race) run by sophomore, Kelly Mclntire, and for the boys’, the top time was a 16:33.7 (2.96 mile race) from junior, Ethan Levine. Juniors Sara Geiszler and Jack Lommis both also thrived this year, posting best times that were only seconds away from our top athletes.

The longtime head coach, Keith Delong, was thrilled with the outcome of this season and proud of the effort that the team put in every day. The graduating seniors, Annie Guhse, Gabriel Xavier, Maximus Kelly, Benjamin Steinhauer, Annabelle Hullinger, and Lannea

Moss (the team manager), have served as the team's leaders this year, and were incredible role models and inspirations to the underclassmen. The Point Loma High School cross country team excelled during the 2024 fall season and is excited for their spring track and field season, where they will continue to bond as a team, as well as work toward each athlete’s individual goal as a runner.

Girls Flag Football Season Recap

By Ella George

The varsity team started off their season with two wins against O’Farrell and Canyon Crest. There was a period of losses in the middle of the season, until the team won four games in a row to end the year. The team ultimately finished with an overall record of 5-11. Head coach Michelle Mannisto led the team, which included seniors Analia Martinez, Ellie Rose Bond, Ella George, and Gabby Sosa. The team captains were Analia Martinez (Senior), Eva Cruz (Sophomore), and Charlotte Klaus (Sophomore).

A highlight for the team was when they got to play music during practice because they ended their losing streak. Unfortunately the team didn’t make the playoffs, but since it is only the second year of flag football at Point Loma High, the program will only improve in the future.

Girls Tennis: Freshman Profile

By Chance McGinley-Kase

Makayla Pascale is a freshman on the girls varsity tennis team at Point Loma. She was the second highest ranked player on the team, behind this issue’s Point Loma High School athlete of the month, Noel Allen.

Pascale demonstrated her Pointer Pride in her performance, especially being a freshman on the varsity team. She noted the pressure she felt before matches, since she was playing at a higher level of tennis.

Pascale is excited about the team's future, since next year Point Loma will be moved up to Division 1. However, she is saddened by all the seniors graduating this year, including one of the team captains. Pascale always felt confident in their leadership and very welcomed by the team.

Pascale adored the coaches, stating they were always very caring and flexible, elevating the experience to another level.

“The best I could have asked for,” she stated. Pascales says that she will continue to train and is very optimistic of her future in tennis, hoping to one day perform at a college level.

Fall Sports Review: Boys Water Polo

By Lily Peavey

The Point Loma boys water polo’s season has always been something to look forward to, and this season gave them an even greater reason for recognition. Under coaches Brandon Huff and Andrew Wright, the boys concluded an exceptional season with 19 wins and only 9 losses in the regular season. With their regular season concluded, they made it to the CIF final, defeating Vista on Saturday, November 16 bh a score of 10 to 8 to clinch the title of D1 champions. Along with Vista, the team ran through Rancho Bernado, Classical Academy, and Valhalla to reach the finals. The championship marks an incredible milestone for the team. This season will also be the last, however, for varsity team captains Andrew Bockstahler, Beckett Cahill, and Bryce Fuller. Along with Andrew, Beckett, and Bryce, this will also be the final bow on the Point Loma High team for seniors Jacob Devore, Dylan Sanchez, Miles Mimno, and Hunter Hemstreet.

As for the season as a whole, the coaches said that it’s been beyond rewarding to see the team come together when the season got more challenging as they advanced further into the playoffs.

“It’s been a really great season, ” said Coach Andrew when asked at the Friday practice before their state’s game. “And it’s exciting because we ’ ve never made it this far in playoffs.”

Though they unfortunately lost their game at state’s, the team should be applauded. This is the farthest any Point Loma water polo team has gone, and it signifies a growing program. This was a fantastic season for the team and one that will certainly be remembered.

Thanksgiving Around The World

By Hannah Smith

A turkey roasting in the oven, the Macy’s Day parade playing as a comforting white noise in the background. Family chatting and kids running around screaming and laughing, while the more dedicated family members prepare food in the kitchen. As the aromas waft from the kitchen making you eager to get just a bite of whatever they're making. This is a commonly observed scene for a United States Thanksgiving. However this holiday started when pilgrims in Plymouth shared an autumn harvest feast with the neighboring Wampanoag people. This was acknowledged as the first ever Thanksgiving and started this tradition 392 years ago. But this tradition has wormed its way into other countries and has seen quite a few transformations of its meaning. In Goa (found in India), they celebrate “Ladin.” Celebrations of their blessings and thanking God for all of their natural and spiritual benefits occurs on this holiday. Another noticeable celebration is a feast for the Immaculate Conception of Mary. Farmers cut the first harvest of milk-filed corn from their rice fields and offer it to God while asking

for another good harvest the following year. They usually celebrate these festivities on the 15th of August. The Crop Over is celebrated in Barbados and its origins can be traced back to 1780’s. The celebration starts with the crowning of the King and Queen of the festival (the most efficient male and female sugar cane cutters of that season). The finale is the Grand Kadooment where a carnival parade involves large bands dressed to different themes and dancing to calypso music. These festivities are celebrated the 2nd through the 8th of August.

In Ghana, their capital city Accra goes silent and bans fishing in lagoons for a month. This is to commemorate the famine that happened in the 16th century. After the ban they hold a church service to lift the ban and harvest feast and festivities follow this. This holiday is called “Homowo” and lasts for about 3 months, going from May through August.

In Japan they celebrate Kinro Kansha no Hi which derived from the ancient rice harvest festival dating back to the 17th century, named Niinamesai. Unlike America, they focus more on the labor day holiday aspects and children often make thank you cards for policemen, firefighters, or other public workers. You won’t see a lot of huge feasting but you will

see labor organizations lead events where people are encouraged to celebrate the principals of hard work and community involvement. Erntedankfest or “harvest festival of thanks” is celebrated on the first Sunday of October in Germany. In this celebration rural areas churches and their congregations give thanks for their good fortune that year. Celebrants may also carry an Erntekrone which is a harvest crown made with fruit, flowers, and grains. They carry it to the church and then feast afterwards.

While Americans celebrate 1 day of Thanksgiving, China beats us by 3 days. During this celebration, called the MidAutumn festival, families have 3 days of feasting, dragon dancing, lighting lanterns, and mooncake making. Because these festivities take place during the Harvest Moon these mooncakes are also sacrificed to the moon.

Sukkot is celebrated in Israel and is celebrated on the 15th day of Tishrei (in between late September and late October). During this time Jewish people reflect on the Isrealites 40 day struggle and journey through the desert to escape from Egypt. This 7 day celebration is packed with celebration and is referred to as “Season of our Rejoicing” in Jewish literature.

As seen throughout the world, Thanksgiving has been tweaked and changed around for each different place and culture. Though most festivities have different and unique ways of celebrating, Thanksgiving is a time for all of us to come together with our families or communities to celebrate what we have been given and acknowledge what we all love and appreciate.

A Look at Trump’s Cabinet Picks

By Cormac Sullivan

In early November, American voters scrambled to cast their ballots as election day loomed ever larger. Millions of Americans watched the news late into the night, checking predictions for who would run the country for the next four years. The polls were close for a while, but a winner eventually became clear: former President Donald Trump. His win came as no surprise to much of the country. Trump, now accompanied by his Vice President-elect, J.D. Vance, had been campaigning for years, cultivating a devoted voter base. Their work paid off–

Trump secured 312 out of 538 electoral college votes and is ahead by about 3.5

As a California resident, you may be asking yourself–how will I be affected by Trump’s conservative agenda?

The answer may lie in Trump’s cabinet picks. He seeks to surround himself with those most loyal to him; especially those who donated to his campaign during his race against Joe Biden. He has named many of his new team members, including television personality and former Army officer Pete Hegseth, anti-vaxxer and nephew of former U.S. President John F. Kennedy, and billionaire Elon Musk.

Republicans are taking control of the Senate. This means that Trump’s proposal to skip FBI background checks on cabinet contenders has a chance of going through.

So far, only one candidate has resigned: Matt Gaetz. He withdrew in midNovember after an investigation by the House Ethics Committee (a committee of the House of Representatives in charge of investigating any alleged violations of the House rules by House Members, officers, or employees) accusing him of sexual misconduct and illicit drug use.

As Gaetz is no longer in the House, further investigation has essentially stopped. Though shocked at his leave, Republicans in the Senate were not sad to see

him go.

The following is a nonexhaustive list of Trump’s cabinet picks.

The following is a nonexhaustive list of Trump’s cabinet picks.

Marco Rubio, Secretary of State

Marco Rubio, a Florida Senator, will act as the main advisor of foreign affairs to the president and the prime diplomat when representing the country overseas.

He has experience serving on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and has policies described by many as “hawkish.” He takes a firm stance in international relations, especially related to China. Rubio has described the RussoUkrainian war as a “stalemate war, " and that the U.S. should focus on China and the IndoPacific rather than efforts to help Ukraine.

Rubio has repeatedly described China as a threat to national security and American industry. He is a proud supporter of Taiwanese independence and has shown fierce opposition to China’s treatment of the Uyghur population in western China. His support for democratic protestors in Hong Kong earned him a travel restriction to China, the first time that China has ever imposed sanctions on a U.S. Secretary of State. If approved, Marco Rubio will be the first Latino Secretary of State in American history.

Pete Hegseth, Defense Secretary

One of the most critical positions in office is projected to be held by Fox News host and veteran Pete Hegseth.

Controversially, Hegseth has been the target of several allegations, including sexual assault and affiliation with White supremacist groups. At just 44 years old, he would be the second-youngest person to ever hold the position. Critics say that he lacks the experience and knowledge to run the world’s biggest military force with a nearly $900 billion budget agency. Trump thinks differently–in a public statement, he said, of Hegseth, “Pete is tough, smart, and a true believer in America First. With Pete at the helm, America's enemies are on notice; our military will be great again, and America will never back down.”

Pam Bondi, Attorney General

After Matt Gaetz withdrew, Trump swiftly named Bondi as his next leader of the Department of Justice. A former Florida attorney general, she served as one of Trump’s lawyers during his first impeachment trial in 2019 and after the 2020 election. Before then, they had been friends since the 2016 presidential campaign. Before becoming involved in national politics, Bondi was elected as Florida’s first female attorney general in 2010, focusing on opioid abuse, synthetic drugs, and human trafficking. Her connections with Trump are extensive–she served in his Opioid and Drug Abuse Commission, and, along with other Trump supporters, chaired the America First Policy

Institute, a conservative thinktank.

Bondi plans to uphold Trump’s plans to remake the Justice Department. Like Trump, she has accused political adversaries of “weaponizing the legal system.” Her reformations of the legal system will, in Trump’s words, “Make America Safe Again.”

The two intend to punish Trump’s enemies, fight crime, and protect U.S. borders. With her experience and skill, Bondi has garnered the support of many Republicans in office.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr., Health and Human Services Secretary Related to former president

John F. Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. (also called RFK Jr.) has been nominated for Director of the Department of Health and Human Services.

In August of this year, Kennedy suspended his own independent campaign for the

presidency in favor of supporting Trump.

Public health professionals have expressed uncertainty at Kennedy’s qualifications for the role–namely, he has no medical qualifications and has expressed misinformed and discredited views on vaccines and other health issues. Even so, Trump has full faith in him–a recent social media post reads, “Mr. Kennedy will restore these Agencies [industrial food complexes and drug companies] to the traditions of Gold Standard Scientific Research, and beacons of Transparency, to end the Chronic Disease epidemic, and to Make America Great and Healthy Again!” Among other bizarre confessions, Kennedy has admitted to dumping a bear carcass in New York's Central Park.

Linda McMahon, Secretary of Education

Best known as a co-founder of the World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) along with her husband Vince McMahon, Linda McMahon is set to run the Department of Education. She led the Small Business Administration during Trump’s first term as president and is co-chair of his 2024 transition team, as well as being one of his biggest campaign donors. Trump has pledged to dismantle the Department of Education entirely. In a statement, he says, "As Secretary of Education, Linda will fight tirelessly to expand ‘choice’ to every state in America, and empower parents to make the best education decisions for their families…We will send education back to the states, and Linda will spearhead that

effort." McMahon has recently been involved in a lawsuit surrounding her and her husband knowingly allowing sexual exploitation of children by the WWE. Confirmation of these nominees has yet to be announced by the Senate. While we can never truly know what the future holds, we can be fairly certain that conservative policies in favor of Trump’s plans for America have a good chance of being enacted. What does this mean for blue states? We have yet to find out.

After-All Parts IV-VI

by Roy Bucher IV

Calix Murdot was leaning on a wall with his arms crossed, impatiently tapping his foot.

“How’s it going, Bon?”

“It’s going. They give me pitiful WiFi out here, so it takes a while for the computer to stream,” said the woman sitting at a desk, staring into a brightly lit screen.

“Do you think it’ll be up and running soon? I’m concerned about this Lumberjack character. No one should be able to contact me like that. No one. ”

“Hard to say, ”said Bon.

“It’s stuck.”

“Of course it is,” said Murdot, rubbing his forehead.

“I’m heading out then. Let me know when the thing is not sucking.”

“Wait, you ’ re just gonna leave? I don’t think it’ll take that long. I only started it up an hour ag”

“You, my friend, have superhuman patience. I do not,” Murdot interrupted.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Murdot promptly walked out of Bon’s office and started heading over to the elevator. You’d think a former government analyst would have better luck with a computer, Murdot thought to himself. He then noticed the peeling walls, flickering lights and

the nonexistent air conditioning of the hallway alone. Then again, I can’t give her too much of a hard time. This place is pretty terrible.

The elevator was dimly lit and stunk of greased metal. Murdot pressed the lobby button and the gears and pulleys above began to turn. The music speaker also awoke and began blaring old mariachi music from the 1930s.

“God damnit,” Murdot muttered to himself. “That is going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day.”

It was late in the afternoon and the sun was setting. People were heading indoors, the trains were doing their final runs and the lights were going out. A ringing began in Murdot’s ears. It was something that had haunted him ever since he left his life behind. The ringing grew louder and louder and morphed into screaming. Murdot gritted his teeth and his neck jerked uncontrollably. Still, he walked on.

Although this is something one literally can’t ignore, Murdot chose to ignore it anyway. The screaming was all too familiar to Murdot. He had known the person who it belonged to. Murdot’s eyes began to water. He paused for a moment to dry them and when he set his eyes back on the sidewalk he saw them. They appeared in every detail Murdot could remember but at the same time they looked like shadows. They were standing about thirty feet away from him with their heads lowered. They turned and walked into an alleyway. Murdot rushed after them. Real or not, he wanted to see them. They stopped and Murdot caught up to one of them. He reached out and put his hand on their shoulder.

“Hey! What the...? The hell’s your problem pal?!” Murdot’s senses rushed back to him. He saw that his hand was resting on a grungy street punk, congregating with about ten other urchins. A wave of rage passed over Murdot and he fixed his eyes on the street rats drawing their switchblades and brass knuckles.

About ten minutes passed and the wretches were lying in puddles of their own blood, having been stabbed with their own knives and their faces broken with their own knuckle dusters. Murdot brushed off his shoulders and cracked his neck.

What just happened? Murdot thought to himself. A sudden pain surged in his brain, causing him to stagger. Murdot buried his face in his palm and felt that he was sweating. After a moment, he regained his composure.

“I ought to head back.” It was about midnight when Murdot returned to the office building.

“Where the hell did you go?” asked Bon, whose desk was covered in caffeinated soda cans.

“The computer finished scanning your phone 30 minutes after you left!”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me then?!”asked Murdot, flabbergasted.

“I did! I messaged you like twenty times! Because of you I missed out on my sleep. Do you know how draconian my boss is? I’m going to get chewed out tomorrow for passing out during work.” Murdot checked his spare flip phone. Sure enough, there were 20 messages.

“Jesus... Bon, I think I’m losing my mind,” said Murdot gravely.

“I’m sorry, you had your mind before?” asked Bon mockingly.

“Never mind. Did you find anything about Mr. Lumberjack?” Bon pursed her lips and shook her head. “Fantastic,” said Murdot. V

“So he’s just sitting in that bar?” asked Tom, looking through the train window at the Irish pub. “Apparently. That’s what Lumberjack told me, ” said Spruill. “Just like that. In that bar?”

“Yes. Quit being so uptight. These people have thought things through. They very clearly want this guy dead. I think we can rest assured knowing that they’re giving us good info.” “Fine. What’re we going to do then?” asked Tom. “We aren’t doing anything. I am. ”

“What are you doing that for?! They’ve told us nothing about this guy and you ’ re just gonna go right up to him?”

“For one, I’m not going to ‘ go right up to him.’ I’ll stay in the background and wait for him to get up and leave. It’s almost nightfall so there won’t be a lot of people around. I’m pretty sure his train’s going to arrive at the other station behind the bar. I’ll go in and observe while you wait there. We’ll ambush him before he’s in front of the train, break his neck, take a picture for Lumberjack, and chuck him in the Mississippi.” “Alright, that sounds like a decent enough plan,” said Tom. “Also,” added Spruill. “Lumberjack sent me a package when we were staying at that hotel. This was all that was in it.” Spruill reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white block with a button on it.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?!” cried Tom.

“Cause you’d get upset and make a big deal out of it. And I have no idea what it does. It literally had a little tag on it that said ‘just in case ’ . ”

Tom took the little remote and cautiously examined it.

“I’ll keep it for now. Just in case. ” he said, giving Spruill a bit of a scowl.

“Fair enough,” said Spruill.

Spruill turned and walked over to the bar. The main room was crowded and smelled thickly of malted drinks and tobacco. Gamblers were trading cards in the corner and a band was playing slow jazz in the back.

“Alright Mr. Sung, let’s see what you look like,” he muttered to himself as he pulled out his phone. Spruill scrolled through the device until he found the image of a tall, Asian man with short black hair and a mole on his left cheek. He scanned the room, trying to pick his victim’s face out of the crowd. He went over to the bar table and sat down and that’s when he heard it.

To his left, Spruill heard a sharp tapping sound going at a viscous speed in a bizarre rhythm. He turned and- to his disbelief- saw Sung, sitting a couple feet away from him. He was horribly disheveled looking, so much so that Spruill at first didn’t recognize him at first. His hair had grown long and was pulled back in a crude bun. He was wearing a tattered black hoodie and sweatpants, probably so that he could blend into the crowd. There was also a pale cast to his skin and his eyes were terribly bloodshot. The tapping sound was a result of Sung twirling a pen on the counter. He fidgeted with the thing in an elaborate motion and with incredible speed without even looking at it. In fact, he

wasn’t even looking at anything, he just stared off into space with his cherry-red eyes. As bewildered as he was, Spruill stilled himself so as to not attract attention.

This is good, he thought to himself. Now I just have to wait for him to get up and leave. An hour passed and Sung remained in his seat, still tapping his pen. Spruill ordered a Bourbon and was irritably glancing at Sung to keep tabs on his movements. But he remained perfectly still and didn’t even order a drink. At one point, the bartender even came and confronted Sung about it but became preoccupied with another customer. Spruill was growing impatient. Come on, he thought. You have to leave at some time. You’re on the lam for Christ’s sake! All of a sudden, that tapping stopped.

Spruill turned and saw Sung set his pen on the counter, sit up and begin to walk to the door. Spruill waited till Sung was at the door then got up and followed. Sung walked into the alley way to the right hand side of the bar, the quickest way to the train station. Spruill squatted behind a couple dumpsters and dashed from lamppost to lamppost in tow. He entered the alley way, moving slowly and quietly.

Spruill was now about thirty feet from Sung. He began to quicken his pace. He withdrew from his pocket a white rag and a small bottle of chloroform. No need for a struggle, Spruill thought to himself. Just as Spruill was about to pounce, Sung turned around and ran at him. With lightning speed he whirled around Spruill and broke his knee by kicking into its side. Spruill would have cried out in pain had Sung not also thrust his fist into his gut. Sung locked his arm around Spruill’s neck and withdrew a

revolver he had concealed in his jacket.

“Who are you?!” Sung asked, his voice crazed and desperate. At that moment a figure stepped into the end of the alley way, saw Sung and Spruill and drew his own gun.

“Hey!” yelled Tom.

Sung looked up and his faced filled with terror. He quickly pressed his gun on the side of Spruill’s head.

“Move and I’ll shoot!” he cried.

Tom stopped and lowered his gun.

“Put your hands in your pockets!” hollered the twitchy fugitive.

“Will do” answered Tom.

Once Tom sheathed his hands something strange happened. Sung’s arm loosened and fell to his side, freeing Spruill. Spruill sped away from Sung and turned to see that blood was streaming from nose and his eyes had rolled back into his head. He twitched and shuddered for a moment, uttering strange gasping noises, as if his own body were choking him. Sung staggered and fell backwards onto the alley wall headfirst. There was a sharp crack and the man ’ s body went limp like a ragdoll.

Spruill stared in complete confusion.

“W-what the… what the hell just happened?” he exclaimed quietly.

Spruill turned to Tom who pulled the white switch out of his pocket.

“I had a hunch.” Tom said plainly.

“About what?!” cried Spruill, still coming to his senses.

“Spruill, this thing’s a kill switch. That guy there is military.” “Military?!”

“That, or government. Either way, I refuse to get mixed up in any of that. Come on, we ’ re leaving the body.”

Spruill was not in a position to argue. He limped over to Tom’s side and the two men went over to the train station.

VI

Tamasin stared into the ceiling of her room. She’d been unable to rest and fruitlessly tried to lie still and calm herself to sleep. After about thirty minutes she relented and sluggishly crept out of bed. Despite Zykes’ assurances from yesterday, Tamasin still felt deeply uneased. The facility seemed more and more like a prison with each passing day. No one ever left and no one ever entered. Tamasin had already expected this, the government has to keep its secrets, but living the reality of it certainly didn’t make her less uncomfortable. She rubbed her eyes, yawned and went over to the sink to splash water in her face. A sharp knocking came from behind the door. Tamasin was startled by this and splashed water all over her shirt.

“Dr. Rogers?” came a voice from beyond the door.

“Dr. Rogers are you available? I apologize for the early hour but Director Soren has decided that today you are to be briefed on your project.”

They’re doing this now? Tamasin thought while hastily heading to the dresser. After a moment, she threw on her faculty coat and opened the door. Immediately, Tamasin saw a tall lanky figure with spiky black hair leaning on the left hand wall of the hallway with his legs crossed, staring at this fingernails. Tamasin cleared her throat and the man ’ s body shook in surprise, his head perking up and turning like a rabbit’s.

“Dr. Rogers!” he exclaimed.

“Good morning! Are you ready for the meeting?”

“Ready enough” Tamasin replied, massaging her forehead. “I’m sorry but who are you? I don’t know many of the people who work here.

“Really? Oh- well, apologies. My name is Victor Grey, head of Clinical Research.”

“You’re a department head?” asked Tamasin, confused. “Yes, why?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised they sent you down to get me. I would think you’d have other things to tend to.”

“Not really. Not a lot has happened in Clinical Research as of late” he said bluntly.

“Right… Anyways where’s the meeting?”

“It’s all the way down in the 4th wing. Follow me please.”

Dear God, really? Tamasin thought to herself wearily.

The two walked for about twenty minutes. The temperature of the building steadily dropped as they trekked on. Eventually, they came across a narrow corridor leading to a pocketed room with a circular table with twelve black chairs. The air was so cold that Tamasin began to shiver visciously.

“Why the hell is it so cold in here?” she asked, gripping her shoulders.

“It’s for keeping the machines stable. We’re right by the computer room ” answered Grey.

“What kind of computer needs to be partially frozen?!”

“The most powerful one yet.”

They sat down at the round table. A few minutes passed and no

else entered the room. Grey stood up in his seat and looked from side to side.

“Huh. I think we ’ re a bit early.”

“Of course we are ” groaned Tamasin.

“Well, I see no point in just sitting here. How about I give you a little context for the meeting?” asked Grey.

“Sure, hit me. ”

“Alright. I assume you're familiar with hyper-modern history right?”

“Vaguely. History was never my forte.”

“Hmm. Well, you know how in the 21st century the global temperature increased to such an extent that farmers and crops began dying in droves?

“A little, yes. ”

“All of that was pretty significant. The crop die-off generated massive famines and economic downturn all over the world. This led to governments failing, technology stagnating, refugee crisises, you know, all the things people needed to happen. Of course, warfare broke out over resources and in the subsequent chaos the internet collapsed and billions of books and files were lost. The following centuries up till now have been a slow, painful recovery. ”

“Alright but what does any of that have to do with scientific research?”

“Well Dr. Rogers, loads of scientific research and theories were lost during that colorful period, which people have so interestingly named “The Drop”. Much of what we ’ ve been doing here is, for lack of a better term, resurrecting lost sciences.

We've made significant progress as well. For example, my colleagues have managed to redevelop the polio vaccine.”

“That’s pretty fantastic!” Tamasin exclaimed.

“Indeed, but that’s not our main goal.” said Grey, his tone lowering.

“Oh, what is it then?”

“Dr. Rogers are you aware of the current state of Mexico?”

“I believe so ” she said, frowning.

“They’re struggling with heat waves and that godawful tuberculosis strain right?”

“They would be. If any of the people were still alive that is.”

“What do you me”

The door suddenly opened and out walked Muhammad Zykes and behind him a pale, surly-looking man with slicked back salt and pepper hair and eyes deeply sunken into his head: Director Soren. The two men sat down at the table. Zykes gave Tamasin a cheerful smile and a brief wave while Soren interlaced his fingers and fixed his narrow eyes on her.

“Good morning, Dr. Rogers.” he said.

“Good morning, Director.” said Tamasin, beginning to feel a bit nervous.

“It’s good to see you again. I am right to presume that Grey has already given you some information?”

“You are sir.”

“Excellent. Dr. Rogers, have you been told why you ’ ve been brought here?”

“No, sir. Not really.”

“Ah, then let me tell you. You are the replacement for our late

biochemicals expert, Dr. Marcus Sung. You will be inheriting his work and research.”

“O-okay then. When do I begin?”

“Whenever you deem yourself ready and able after what we ’ re about to show you. ”

Zykes stood up slightly and turned to Soren.

“Sir, we ’ re going to show her now?” he asked anxiously.

“Why not?” answered Soren.

“I find that seeing something is far more enlightening than merely hearing about it.”

Soren, Grey and Zykes quickly rose from their seats and walked out the door. Tamasin hesitantly followed. They came across hallway ending in a thick, armored door. Director Soren placed his left hand on a panel next to the door and it opened with a hollow dragging noise. The four entered the small dark room. The room was some kind of control center with various monitors, keypads and switches. There was a window at the end of the room over the control panels. Soren pressed a button and lights came on. Beyond the window, there a smaller room lined with steel and suspended in that room with metal supports and plastic tubing was something Tamasin had never seen before. It was a creature of some kind. The thing had a rotund, dark red body, swollen calloused stumps where its limbs used to be and a “head” that was mostly faceless except for a serrated, fish-like maw. Tamasin staggered back in shock.

“W-what in the hell is that?!” she exclaimed. “The current state of Mexico.” said Grey. “A breeding ground.”

All That is Beautiful

By Anna Wang

“...This world is simply a guarantee that there exists a world that is perfect.”

- Paulo Coehlo, The Alchemist

Your favorite hill sat on the edge where the forest and prairie met, past the stream and tucked neatly between patches of oak. It didn’t seem like anything special; every inch of the meadow was equal in the blooming of wildflowers, and every rolling hill was sculpted with the same soft finish. But the hill was special, you said, and although the trek was long, “good things come to those who wait.”

We walked through the clearing with binoculars and fleece jackets, granola bars and a small telescope. You brought a blanket and a magnifying glass. I held onto your copy of The Alchemist and my sketchbook. We drank boiled water from the brook and climbed the trees with criss-crossed branches. I liked the world between every blade of grass. I told you to keep close to the anthills, so you could count each as I drew them. The creek was my favorite. All the little dragonflies and frogs atop

algae were so precious and perfect. When I described the details in these minute things, you tried your best to listen. But you had no interest in bugs or birds, and it was pretty obvious. Still, you learned the tricks to recognize each insect that passed. For me, you would commit to memory the difference between native and non-native beetles, could identify species of honeybees by the stripes on their abdomens, and give the Latin name for the flowers they visited. You were knowledgeable and you understood, even if you couldn’t, really, because your world was up above, not below.

At the top of the hill, you told me the breeze whispered things into your ear when you laid down in the clearing, that it was specific to this spot and this angle. You said that when you quieted your heart, when you silenced the world, you could feel the earth’s lungs as she breathed. “Watch the clouds. Doesn’t it look like a parade? A performance, just for the two of us. ”

Even more than the bright blue of daytime, you liked it when the sun ran away. You claimed that all that is glorious spends some time hidden in darkness. You tracked your finger through the night, following each sparkle and the thread between them. It was the “line of fate,” you called it. Each ember was a memory, one that came from infinity and led to endless possibilities, and it was all connected, in patterns only hindsight can spot. You liked the idea, and I wanted to, too.

But by then, I had never found fate convincing, or destiny to be the catalyst for anything. Show me where the lines connect, not just in the sky, but in the air I breathe, in the steps we took to get to the top of this hill, I tried challenging you. You laughed and

said you’d answer another day. For now, “try to trust in me. ” I could never cite luck as the author of a world where there is more nuance than chance could ever describe. How could anything be written into the stars? But you would never have the chance to answer me, and now I am haunted by my cowardice. I tried, I really did, to warn you of my departure, mostly to prepare myself for yours. I wanted to, but there was never a right time to speak or the right words to say.

Later, I would make up my own dialogue for what I imagined you would say, trying to extend the last conversation of that single summer, the only summer that had ever counted. To recall the time when we spoke only of the present, not of the past or future, when there was no school to return to, and no concrete forests to remind us that what we had was only temporary. The hill and the stars were the last I ever saw of you. When I woke up in the clearing, you had already left. What remained was my sketchbook, with impressions of our conversations and the small doodles that you left, and your copy of The Alchemist, protecting a little note tucked between two pages. It was your thank-you for the “thank you ” s I forgot to give. The epilogue to missed goodbyes.

Now is as good as ever, I suppose, to write this down, years after we have left each other--and, I hope, years before I will begin to forget.

Perhaps it was fate that I would meet you that summer, destiny that we would walk up that hill, and some sort of cosmic karma that I would never see you again. I’ve tried returning to the hill, time and time again, but the winter and springs and summers

since have never been the same. Without you, my friend, the hill has lost a bit of its magic, but I still see traces everywhere. Hints of you in shades of sunset, your voice in the starry night.

“We have the best sky, this city,” I said, as a fact. This was something you never failed to notice--the beauty of clouds in each passing moment, how fleeting and perfect and humble they could dance. Some days I saw it, for a blink of an eye. Felt a shallow pride in something I wasn’t sure I could fully comprehend. “The best sky in the world,” I said. I used to tell everyone I knew, to prove that I was like you. As if by winning this imaginary competition, I could enshrine a piece of those times spent together; make them immune to the touch of time, like a trophy behind cabinet glass. It was a bold claim for a nonbeliever like me, and I was wrong.

The whole of existence lies beneath the same sky. The whole of history has, not just my city, not only me.

I was wrong for a second reason: for the belief that the sky was stagnant and boring. I never bothered to look up, and when I did, the blue remained as stationary as tinted glass, as if a thick glob of paint was smeared over a canvas in generous strokes, long enough ago for dust to begin to settle. Missed in a blink, its absence was left unmourned by me.

But you said I was wrong, on that hill. You made me pause, made me breathe.

So I try to see the world as you would. Look for a sky that wasn’t following me or sitting idle for my entertainment. A sky that was beautiful, in its own right. Not a part of a painting, not glass for light to shine through. And as I slowed down to meet the clouds,

they sped up, because the sky is moving and always has been, and will always continue to move, at a speed I could never match, traveling miles and miles across the globe to see the world in a way my narrow view could never: in all her entirety, in all her glory. A view from the ground could not even begin to fathom the perspective of the sky–but, as you’d say, “It’d be fabulous to try.” I wonder what it would be like to fly, to live life in sapphire. Through nothing but sight, the sky inspires, yet how would the sight compare to feeling that which stops for nothing, or holding within my palms, these endless dreams and possibilities on which we look up towards always? And is this what you wanted me to see, all those years ago? The magic in the wide expanse, the music of feeling minute?

I read your book every year. The pages, dull and stiff, still smell like grass, and every time, it is your voice that narrates. When I get to your letter, I pause, letting your handwriting breathe into its own melody. Now, as I recite the sentences you quoted from Coelho, I hear your voice weave into mine. We sing of your clouds that remind me to believe, of that magical hill and our laughter, and all that I long to reach again.

The Button Up

By Celia Thome

He was a scruffy man, with a wiry beard jutting out just past his chin. He was burly too; his body not trim, but strong. He wore winter gear, with brown leather boots and a heavy jacket. His attire was almost too warm for the light snow outside and he even looked as if he had come out of a storm as well, with thin sheets of ice clinging to the fur of his scarf and gloves, despite the sun peeking out from behind the auburn trees. It was Auntie's boyfriend, who she had promised would make an appearance, at the table that evening. She had been crafting that promise since the end of the summer months, piecing it together as the leaves began to shift into the dark vermilion shade they were now, spilling from each branch onto the street, where the man ’ s heavy boots had clunked up, the hill not impeding on his steady pace.

It had felt like she was not only convincing the family that he was going to attend, but herself, as he had never shown on the other days she had promised he would. He had always had a last minute complication, or an emergency at work. “He’s a busy guy, ” she always said, and I wondered why such a busy guy like himself would walk on foot to our home, atop a large hill, for Thanksgiving dinner, instead of taking the bus. When he came in, he shook each hand of my family one at a time and addressed us all by name as if he had met us before. Grandma was pleased by this gesture, and he sat at the head of the table. Not many people made conversation with him that night, trapped in the hustle and bustle of getting the carefully prepared food out of the oven and watching over the young children that ran laps through the house, giggle and screaming as people narrowly avoided them, lifting platers into the air as they came by, as if their presence would nock everything to the floor.

It was strange to me how Auntie and her boyfriend did not converse much throughout the night, despite a small attempt at small talk as dinner was being served, but stress was high and I knew she wanted nothing but for him to talk to the family and make a good first impression. She was simply stepping aside for him to shine his charm at the table before him. I spoke to him for a brief moment as we began to clear the dishes and I much enjoyed our interaction. He complimented my ironed shirt, which I had bought myself a week before, determined to show how I had matured that summer as a man of the family. I smiled wide as I thanked him and we spoke about how the fall had treated us so far.

He gave little detail about his life, but I found it interesting that he worked on a farm, and some part of me was jealous of how easily he could assert his position simply by standing tall. It wasn’t that he stood at an impeccable height, although he was indeed a very large man. It was the tan of his skin and the smell of wilderness that surrounded his thick hair. It was clear to see that he was a man of the outdoors, although he proved a clean man as he helped tidy the kitchen. I imagined, as we talked, about how his life was, living out his role as the top of the food chain.

When he left, without Auntie because she was spending the night on the couch, he said goodbye to everyone once more and called them by name, kissing Grandma on the cheek and her pale skin blushed deeply, draped with her most prized pears for the occasion. “What a handsome man!” Grandma exclaimed as the door shut behind him, touching her frail hand to her cheek where his lips had been. I clammored to the window where I watched him descend the hill again, slowly and at a consistent pace, like he had emerged. We continued to clean the chicken and dining room where we had eaten, and I snuck some more pie, before I was scolded by my mother. Auntie held her head down and continued to wash dishes, saying nothing about her boyfriend’s visit. I didn’t think that she was happy with his performance at dinner, as when I caught a glimpse of her face from behind her dark hair, no smile or hint of pleasure traced her young face. I didn’t understand why, for the man had seemed very kind to me, and had pleased Grandma very much, who, in fact, made all the final decisions in our family.

Eventually, she finished washing the dishes and plopped down in the padded chair of the dining room, where she furrowed her brow and looked at her expectant family. She tapped her foot against the

carpet and thought for a very long time as we quieted enough so that the steady ticking from the grandfather clock could be heard.

“I’m just so upset my boyfriend didn’t come today,” she said. She frowned, recalling a thought. “He promised that this time he would.”

Grandma approached her, matching her troubled expression. “I don't think I understand,” she explained, “Wasn’t that man, ” she pointed at the closed door, “with the beard and the strong arms–Wasn’t that your boyfriend?” she asked.

“Him?” She looked at Grandma. “No, that was Dad’s friend, no?” Her head swiveled to Grandpa who sat, still eating, in the kitchen. He looked up at her with his long hard stare. “No,” he said, “I didn’t know him.”

Then there was a long pause where no one spoke, and not even the young cousins squealed or fell over, in fact, it was the quietest my family had ever sounded. Glances were exchanged between the adults and I was angry that despite my teenage years that I had on me, they still treated me like one of the cousins, and I was not part of the conversation.

Although I hated it, it gave me an opportunity to watch them and I felt my heart rate quicken. My mother got up and went to the dining room table, where some dishes were still sitting. She traveled to the head of the table and spoke. “He didn’t eat a thing,” she said, gazing down at his full, untouched plate. “He knew our names, ” Grandma said, “but none of us knew him?” A unanimous nod came from each one of the family members and by now, everyone from dinner had gathered in the kitchen,

watching the situation unfold. My mother looked distressed as well as Granda, who touched her cheek again, but Aunty looked preoccupied and sat, slumped in her chair.

As the conversation continued, it was found that not one person had caught his name or who he was. He had come and left with no trace and nothing to remember him with. We checked to see if anything had been stolen, and it seemed to be that everything was perfectly in place.

The adults paused again into their speaking and silence invaded the area once more. I crumpled my now sweat glazed button up in my palm and sniffed the air. I felt as if I could still smell his scent in the kitchen, with a trace of soil, and tree, as well as animal, that lingered in his clothes and hair. I cleared my throat and straightened myself. “He complimented my shirt,” I said.

Grandma smiled and from then on, deep into the night, I was a sturdy part of their adult conversation, and as the cousins filed once more into the room, I was separated from them and spoke head to head with my family about the occurrences of that night.

Sinewed Thoughts

By Lily Peavey

If Ethel ever spoke to anyone, she would have told them that she enjoyed the holidays. She loved the warm smell of pumpkin pie and the crunch of leaves that coddled her ancient and wrinkled ears with memories of warmer times. Times of laughter and crisp air as sharp as the knives that her mother used to dice fruit to put in their apple pie. In her days of youth, she could faintly recall running through piles of the orange and red leaves in her backyard beside her two little brothers. But now those brothers had reached the grave like she would soon, and just like her mother and her apple pie recipe had as well. All that she had to remember those times was the slight change in the wind and her blurry vision that saw the leaves fall from their perches that touched the sky and onto her front pathway. The bricks became infested with leaves and autumnal creatures alike. Alone in the woods, she was no stranger to such things. She could make out the faint outlines of deer and foxes that frolicked before the winter freeze.

If she had ever had children, she would be in a nursing home or living with one of them by now. She knew her time was coming to end, but she couldn’t fathom withering her life away. If she dared to step into the nearby town, they would perhaps find some family. Or, at least they would try. Ethel knew that she would outlive her entire family. But she kept pieces of them. She had since her great-grandmother had passed when she was ten years old. She had made her first piece of jewelry then.

A bright blue piece that became the first item to adorn the thin red material that now rested on her wrist. It was strenuous work and she nearly gave up, but she wanted it to be perfect. She had never shown any of her family, especially not her two brothers. They would find out eventually, but while she was still under her family’s roof, she kept it close to her heart. But now it was with her at all times. Cherished. Loved.

Despite the murkiness of her memory, she could always remember how to craft her next piece of jewelry. It was just muscle memory at this point. The milkiness of her eyes couldn’t stall her, nor could the rustiness of her tools.

After that beautiful blue bracelet, Ethel had gone for something a bit more simplistic. Her grandfather’s passing had left her with little to create from. He was an old man and he couldn’t even remember her name when he died in some random hospital halfway across the world. But that still hadn’t stopped her. She fashioned a ring in the same way that she had her bracelet, creating a glittering and vivid emerald centerpiece. It pained her every day that she couldn’t wear it, so now it was set beside the other rings on her wrinkled and curled fingers. All of them in a

beautiful row, ornaments from both of her grandfathers and her cousins.

When she got married, she had three bracelets and decided to limit her ambitions. She couldn’t collect tokens from her thenextended family. No, she could not, which was rather unfortunate. But still, Ethel fashioned her jewelry and its delicate, snapping sinews and the glittering pearl-white and polished dangling ornaments. Those pearly pieces created beautiful earrings, and when she fashioned them to look like real precious stones, she could wear them in public as long as she cleaned them enough.

But now that she lived alone, she didn’t have to clean them. They could be as they were meant to be. Bracelets and rings and anklets and interchangeable charms depending on who she wished to remember that day. As she aged, she could scarcely recall a day when she wasn’t making jewelry. It was a part of her now, as strong as her young bones, and she could never give it up. She didn’t even want to try. She had been tempted to do it once. Ethel really had loved Hector, her husband, but when he threatened to leave her, she had to steal some token to remember him. When he had told her that he had married someone who belonged in an insane asylum, she vividly remembered screeching like a banshee and blocking his path. The funeral was cold and dark, but she hadn’t shed a single tear. He’d had it coming. Everyone who she loved who left her did.

In his memory, she embarked on a new design, made completely with things he had fought to keep. If he didn’t keep her, then he

didn’t deserve to keep anything. It was pure satisfaction when she fastened the thin white items together and lined them with dark brown decorations the color of his eyes. It was her most difficult project ever, but it became her most prized possession. She wore the necklace everywhere, and it matched perfectly with the pieces she wished to remember her little brothers by. But around the holidays, Ethel often grew restless. She had no one left to remember. Instead, she had to go hunting. She’d leave the animals by themselves- they always stayed. She’d find the ones who wished to hunt them. Men, women, children- it didn’t even matter. She simply wanted to create more. More, until her coffin could be filled with them and they would all disappear with her. Their names were gone and etched into worn gravestones, but they would truly die when she did. She had made sure of that. She would always win in the end. Ethel rose from her armchair and stood, her ancient floorboards creaking. One moved slightly, and a fondness filled her heart. Her beloved Hector, buried under the very place he had tried to leave and his most treasured things adorning the woman he had tried to run from. It was rather fitting, Ethel felt. Her jewelry swung back and forth, but it didn’t make the sounds that normal jewelry would. No, hers was different and it was special. The rings on each of her fingers were getting heavier and they were sliding, or perhaps it was the crimson that lined her fingertips from creating her beloved jewels. Hector’s necklace was getting heavier to wear, and its twin pendants were losing their grip on the white cords. She would have to lay that to rest soon, just like her own body. That first ring with the blue

remnant that belonged to her great-grandmother would have to be put back in its box so that she could die peacefully. But, for now, she had to make one more piece. Perhaps another pair of earrings, though she loved the ones she wore but they were getting beaten down by the years. Maybe another bracelet, because the circular charms on the ones she had were getting more and more blurry in her ancient sight. There was a boy in the town which she was closest to. His uncle was getting old, but he still enjoyed hunting. The pair of them would have what she needed to create her final piece. A combination- a feat she had never attempted before, but it would be fitting for her grand bow off of the stage of the world. When they found her body- because they always did come lookingthen they would see life’s work in all of its beautiful, rotten, miraculous, and twisted splendor. It would be wondrous.

Resigned with herself, Ethel reached out and fumbled around in the murkiness of her cabin for what she needed. She smiled when she felt it, and she angled herself towards the door. The madwoman grinned as her crimson, gory fingers hefted with all of her frail might, the ax that would be responsible for the final slaughter.

Honey Snowflakes

By Lily Peavey

Snowflakes. Falling down like little angels’ tears in crystalline formations. Delicate little bones that fracture whenever they make landfall, splitting into a million beautiful pieces. Sharp as shattered glass but as delicate as flower petals. Momentary, until they gather with the rest of their fallen families into beds of white, powdery snow the color of bones. The remains of the snowflakes are swallowed up by the heaps of snow, submerged and drowned beneath the frigid surface with other lost, broken, and forgotten things. Or they wind up side by side with things that no one ever wished to have seen ever again. Our story takes place on a night where the snow seemed to have forgotten what it was meant to do and remained tucked away in the clouds, with only dust falling down from the sky like the fluff that fills throw pillows. The air was still frigid with cruel and violent winds, like the heavens themselves were throwing them as far as they possibly could. Snowmen’s heads collapsed, the lumps of coal and stone disappearing into the thin blanket

white. White and rainbow lights alike clattered around, clinging to the houses and trees of which they held while golden reindeer had their legs snapped off and stranded like some twisted crime scene.

The single house whose curtains remained open was one filled with family and songs and death and looming despair. Its warm lights were dimmed, letting the bright Christmas tree shine, the homemade ornaments and the perched angel undisturbed. If one crept closer to the window, the faint scent of a holiday meal and wine would have been smelled. The sounds of raucous cheer and an out-of-tune piano would have been heard. Smiles and perfectly wrapped presents would have been seen. Atop the mantle was a singular picture of a smiling little boy being held by his dark-eyed and bright-haired mother. The conversation went quiet when one brought him up. Then, someone would strike up a song and the boy would be forgotten.

It was the perfect scene for someone to slip out the back sliding door and into the frigid night. A brave little girl did just that. She tugged on her light brown boots and warm yellow coat with little green flowers on and tottered out into the snow, quietly shutting the door behind her. The girl’s name will go unknown, for all that may have seen her would have simply regarded her as “that boy’s poor sister” and continued on their way back to warm houses and warmer families.

Her cheeks were red and her nose looked like that of a clown’s in the icy weather, but she held her jacket close to her. She wanted to see if she could spot Santa Claus in the winter sky. The little girl, frozen to her bones, huddled up against the single tree in the

center of the backyard. Its bark was stripped and the plant itself seemed to be shivering, and its leaves were long dead. In its giant’s cradling arms were the ruins of a fallen treehouse. She didn’t know what would happen. She didn’t even remember what had happened. One year ago, to the night exactly. Christmas Eve, when her house was alight with twinkling lights and the smell of a freshly baked batch of cookies- a new recipe that her mother had been trying out, coincidentally. Her grandmother, who was dead now, was cradling a mug of peppermint tea and rocking back in the creaky wooden chair. Her brother had run out into the snow, dragging his little sister behind him. Out the sliding door and up into the then-built treehouse. Her brother had never come back that day. The girl didn’t remember what happened. She just remembered wearing black a month later and listening to the priest intone words of tragedies. Her mother had never looked at her youngest child the same again. It had always been a honey-sweet smile to match her honey-colored hair, but now there was a hint of anger in her brown eyes. They looked less brown and more black whenever she looked upon her daughter, but whenever she recalled her beloved son, they turned a shiny dark hazel. Now the girl was out in the cold, hugging the tree as tightly as she could, looking at the skeletal branches of the hedges that crept up closer to the picket fence that was as white as the snow that covered the ground. Underneath those tangled brambles, swept up by the storm and jostled from their resting place, were bones. But she didn’t see bones. She just saw little bits of ice.

She didn’t see her brother’s bones that had been buried under the brambles by their mother. She just hugged the tree, and started screeching back towards those inside. She was getting cold and the wind was howling. The girl’s hands were getting torn by the branches, and she did not want to see the too-white things protruding from the ground like gravestones. She wanted the warmth of her homestead, the fresh smell of pine needles and cinnamon and too-strong candles. She wanted the sounds of jingle bells and disjointed piano keys and holiday laughter.

The girl would never get any of that. She would get frigid weather and howling wind and the kisses of snow on her bright red nose that would soon become poison. Someone heard her, however, and she thought she was saved.

Her mother and her honey-colored curls and her honey-sweet smile holding a glass of red wine stood in the doorway. Her red dress that matched her husband’s Santa Claus tie reached the ground. She made eye contact with her last child and her only daughter. That honeysweet smile never dropped. It just stayed, but her eyes turned as cold as the weather outside.

They found the body several days after. She was bundled up by the snow, her face dotted with clumps of ice and snowflakes beneath the same tree that her brother had fallen from. Her bones would be buried beside her brother.

The girl’s death would be a tragedy. They would mourn and weep and the townspeople would cry, asking why such a terrible thing would happen to one poor, loving family twice. Christmas would become difficult, but they would move on in time. The mother would smile at the cameras and pretend to pull out her hair and sob herself to sleep.

The bones would remain. They always did.

If Only in My Dreams

By Celia Thome

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” she sang, her head tilted upwards in the passenger seat, so that the skin stretched over her neck vibrated with her vocals, her eyes examining the top of the car ceiling in its beige tint. She shifted so that she could see me in her peripherals and the edges of her lips turned up as I gazed at her from behind the wheel. “You can count on me. ” Her voice was soothing; that of a princess from a Disney movie, humming along while they busied themselves around the house. It matched her youthful appearance as well, with her long brown hair that fell in orderly strands along her back, well clothed in a simple dress. Her makeup was done, and her full cheeks were rosy from the chill outside. She appeared as if she had stepped inside the car, wishing to be picked up from her life as Cinderella. “Please have snow, ” she paused, picking her head off the back of the seat to turn to me, “and mistletoe.” She giggled and I let out a low chuckle, her contagious energy too easy and light to run away from.

I imagined her in my arms under the mistletoe that I hung over our front door. Her slender libs wrapping around mine in a never-ending embrace. I could hold her there forever if she didn’t mind.

This is what roped me in when I met her before we were married. Her willingness to do anything, to meet anyone, it drew you in. It blinded you. I couldn’t see the innocent way I was thinking. She came into my life and I kept her there. After the day we met, I couldn't imagine a day without her waking up next to me, with that round cheeked smile, so wide, like a child's Christmas morning.

How could she fall in love with a man like me, was the question I let hang for years before I could try to answer it. I let her give birth to my only child before I was ready to even mull it over. The answers came slowly and reluctantly, but as I listened to the errors that cluttered my wrinkled face and dissolving hair that sprinkled the edges of my throbbing head, I could see what I had refused to.

The dynamic of our household shifted after that. Her smile seemed forced, the way she asked me about work seemed expectant, as if she was crossing her fingers that my job continued to support us. She grabbed her purse in the morning and went out for the day. That was fine, that was good. Get out of the house.

Once and a while she would have a “girls night” and she wouldn’t return until the afternoon after. That was fine, she was still my wife. Then she said she was treating herself with a “staycation” and she was sleeping in a hotel down the street for a few nights

despite the luxury of our house that held a much larger bed. When she stopped making excuses for where she was, I didn’t even bother talking to her about it. In a way I blamed it on myself. Perhaps I wasn’t the best husband, always away for work, not extremely handsome, or fun, or young like she was. In fact I began working longer and longer hours, afraid the only thing she would stay home for was a larger paycheck. I knew that was true, but I was gone most of the time, flying to New York for meetings, and I could never tell what happened while I was away.

She wasn’t in bed when I woke up Thanksgiving morning, and she didn't arrive back home until late afternoon. I looked at her and she gave her perfect smile, giving no explanation of where she had been, and as we both turned to enter the kitchen, I caught my reflection in a mirror. Of course she needed more than me. I should be grateful for the part of her I still have.

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” she repeated, tapping her hand along to the rhythm on the dashboard. My eyes floated down to her delicate fingers where our wedding ring sat on the right hand, the left resting naked on her thigh.

No she wouldn't, I thought. She was never coming home. She had already left.

“If only in my dreams.”