Regina Report - January 2023

The Regina Report

ENOUGH

By Elle Kourtakis '23

Iwanttobegoodenough

Goodenoughforthosearoundme. IwanttobegoodenoughforGod Formyfamily Formyself. Iwanttobegoodenough

IwanttobeSmartenough. Smartenoughforme, Formyfuturedegree. Formyfuturefamily. Iwanttobesmartenough Iwanttobekinder. Toopenmorehearts Toalwaysbethereforothers Tospreadmorekindnessintheworld Iwanttobekinder.

Iwanttoconquermyanxiety. Tostopthementalbreakdowns, Theoverthinking. Idon'twantmyanxietytoconquerme, Iwanttoconquermyanxiety. Iwanttobeenough.

MOVING TOO FAST

By Lia Bucci '23

Movingfast,MyCherieAmourplayson Movingfast,thequietandshy“Iloveyou”is softlyspoken Butrememberedandtreasuredalways Movingtoofast,themoonfalls Thesunrises NowI'mdrivingtoschool,goingfast Late-nightdrives andimpromptutripstoKroger Willstaywithmeforever Butthedaystrackinandout Movingfast. Movingtoofasttokeeptrack.

CRISP FALL DAY

By Lilly Greenway '23

Thepathislong Andcurvy

Coveredwithcolors

Red,orange,andyellow Fillthepath Theold Woodenpath Thelogsclink Andclack

Astherailingsareabouttofalloff Thescentoffreshleaves Falldownthepath Totheveryend Wherelightappears Totheopening Wheretheleaves Disappear

By Addison Spindler, Sydney Desjardine, Kate Gentry, Lilly Greenway '23

Desireeturnedoverherphonetoanswerthecall.

“Hello?”shesaid,clearlyannoyedatthefactshe’dbeenwokenupbeforeheralarm wentoff.

“Congratulations.”theoperatorsaidmonotonously.“Youhavejustwonafreetripto DisneyWorld.”Therewasadeafeningpause.

“Isthisaprank?”Desireeasked.Shechuckledandsaid,“I’mreallybusy.Idon’thave timeforthis.”

“Youhavejustwonanallpaidtriptothehappiestplaceonearth,”hesaid.Onlyhe didn’tsoundveryhappy

“Seriously,Idon’tenjoybeingpunked.”Shewasstartingtogetangry. Theoperatorsighed.“Ma’am,thisisalocalcertifiedradiostationcallingyouto confirmyourprizeofafiveday,fournightpaidtriptoDisney”.

“LikeIsaid,Idon’thavetimeforthesejokes.Youguysprobablyhavethewrong number,”Desireecomplainedasshepreparedtoendthecall.

“ThisisDesireeWilliams,correct?”

“Um,yes,”DesireeWilliamsstuttered.Howdidheknowhername?Didshereallywina triptoDisney?Wasthisnotaprank?

“Congratulations,ma’am,”theoperatorsaid,interruptingherthoughts.“Youwona freetriptoDisneyWorld.”Thephonebeeped.

“Hello?Hello?”Desireesaid.“Isanyonethere?Ineedtoknowaboutthisfreetrip! Whendoesitstart?WheredoIgo?Hello?”

By Julia Dukaj

'23

Thewarmthfromthecupemerges

Amidstthesuddenbreeze

Thatenterswiththeclashoforders

Andthedoor’srepeating“ding”

Therushofthecrowdleadsme

TosetdownthecupasIliftapen

THE LETTERS

By Addison Spindler '23

On the eve of the summer solstice, go to where coins are tossed, wishes are made, and where bonds are both broken and formed. Where the green path meets and stony one is where you are to meet. Immediately Diana knew where this was–the old wishing well that her grandmother started taking her when she was five. This particular well holds a lot of memories, good and bad. The first memory she has of the well involves a boy named Lewis. Shaggy dark brown hair, soft eyes of the same color, tanned summer skin, and from what she could recall, well dressed for a boy no older than seven. In this particular memory she remembers the primary factors of her built in dislike of the boy based on familial detest that went on for at least three generations. She wasn’t quite aware of the whole feud as it has been confused within her family over the years. All she knows involves an argument over property between the families. She also can recall an unfriendly conversation between her grandmother and his father. Aside from these events, she isn’t quite certain as to why she doesn’t like Lewis. He was never rude to her. If anything he was always sweet spoken when they happened to run into each other at the market, town meetings, or formal events. Nonetheless, this time she decided to make a positive memory there no matter the circumstances.

Diana took the journey later that week. Walking through the flowery field of her estate and then surrounding herself by the wild vegetation of the forest, she then crossed a wooden bridge over the creek–ducks splashing playfully–and began to remember an all but too familiar place. The clearing was just as she remembered: where the green grass meets the stony path on the other side, bright green trees encircling, with moss just the same covering the cobble. Looking all around, up, and down, but seeing nothing different about the waterhole, she turned to leave when saw an unfateful but recognizable face. Lewis. ***

“What are you doing here?” Diana asked in what seemed to be complete and utter shock that I happened to be at the well. Diana of Havely. A character for certain. Just the character I have been told to avoid despite my fondness of her. Auburn hair neatly swept up and to the side, eyes as green as the surrounding

forest, freckles dotted like stars across her skin, and a lavender day dress that suited her completely. There was no doubt she was as lovely as she carried herself. Before we had even met, I had been coming to this well since I was no older than seven with my father, so there is no reason she should be shocked that I happened to run into her at the same time. I then remembered the rivalry and the first time we met when we were told never to talk or even see each other because of a generational feud. Discounting that, I received a letter which had simple instructions: On the eve of the summer solstice, go to where coins are tossed, wishes are made, and where bonds are both broken and formed. Where the green path meets the stony one is where you are to meet. There had to be a reason she was there also, I just had to figure it out.

“I should be the one asking questions. What do you mean what am I doing here? Why are you here?”

“You tell first.”

“Fine. I received a letter telling me to come here. Now you.” Diana was thoroughly confused. They were never to meet. Who would have sent the letters?

“What are you talking about? What letter?”

“Tell me where you got yours first,” Lewis pushed, trying to get something out of her.

“No, tell me where you got your letter.” That’s the Diana he remembered. “Where you would any other letter, the post.” Smug Lewis. “Obviously, but from what address?”

“There isn’t any.” Of course there isn’t.

“Right, why would there be?”

“I’m telling the truth, but clearly you don’t care. Was there an address on yours?” Maybe we’ll get to the bottom of this madness.

“No.” Or not.

“Ok then. Neither of us had one. I presume yours had the same directions as mine then.”

“Meet by the old well, yes. We just need to figure out if anyone else received the same letter as us as it’s quite odd only us two received it.”

“Agreed. Is there anyone you can think of that might’ve sent them?”

“Not currently, but I’m sure we could find out.” So Diana and Lewis continued

back on the route towards the Havely house.

“I haven’t been this way in as long as I can remember,” Lewis remarked. Taking in the scenery of the path covered in flowers, clovers, and the general fauna of the surrounding area. They then crossed the wooden bridge that sits on top of a stream. Lewis has a lot of memories of this bridge, most of which happened when he was a kid, watching Diana play in the field, wind blowing through her hair, so careless and free. Now they’re walking and he can tell those qualities were trained out of her. The obvious forcing of prim and proper, creating a cutout of societal expectation in which Diana was not created for.

* * *

A short while later, Diana and Lewis arrive at the residence. Rummaging through desks scattered throughout the residence they were running out of luck. “Would there be anything in the library?” Lewis questioned. “There might be. Wait! You just reminded me of a secret spot where we may find more of what we’re looking for.” Diana led him into the library. The shelves of carved, deep mahogany wood, walls covered in books of all genres, and then up a spiral staircase leading to a second level. Diana ran her fingers along the line of books in front of her carefully searching.

“Should be right…here!” A click sounded as Diana pulled a book slightly forward, opening what seemed to be a door within the bookcases. “This room should have more answers for us.” The room was also surrounded by shelves, but this time covered in scrolls and boxes of what seemed to be more paper that had already been written on. Diana and Lewis began filing through the papers one by one until they had an assortment of what seemed to be the best clues within the room: a few miscellaneous notes containing near exact handwriting to that of their letters, deep green wax sealants that matched the letters as well as a few conversational letters between Diana’s grandmother and her own mother. Topics of such were unrelated to their predicament. “This should be the best of what we’ll find here. Would you happen to have anything of similarity at your estate?”

“I’m sure to be able to find something.” As they went to exit Diana’s home with their collected findings, a maid came by to drop off another–this time red wax sealed–letter that read:

To the House of Havely:

This is in sincere regards to the family in the event of the passing of Mrs. Edith of Havely. May all have my dearest apologies for such news.

~Duke of Weston

“Is this all there is?” Diana asked the maid who looked as upset as she felt. “Yes, Miss.” the maid said as she played with a ring in between her fingers. “Then send for my mother and father and make sure they received the news as well.”

“Of course, Miss,” and the maid left the room solemnly but quickly.

“Let’s go.” Diana said as she wiped the tear from her face with her hand and replaced the remorseful expression with a more confident one.

“What’s wrong?” Lewis asked, noticing immediately something was amiss. “Nothing. I said, `Let's go.’” And that was all he pushed.

The House of Weston differed greatly to that of Havely. While both on large estates, Diana’s home is composed of red brick, a dark grey high slanted roof, forest green shutters and lush flower boxes, underneath each of the windows. Lewis’ home consists of aged light stone bricks mixed with concrete walls and a flat roof of the same color. It is intricately detailed along each trim and window, with vines up along the sides. As they entered the House of Weston, Lewis led them into what looked to be an office.

“This is my father’s room, if there’s any information we can find on the letter’s it will be in here.” So they looked and occasionally Lewis would hear a suppressed sniffle from Diana, but he didn’t want to overreach his curiosity or indulge in the unnecessary. Knowing she must say something of her obvious despair Diana spoke aside these thoughts.

“It was my grandmother. She has passed.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say or at least think to.

“I thought you should know.”

“Thank you for telling me, if there’s anything I can do to help I’m just a short walk away.”

“Thank you.” She also didn’t know what else to say. “The letter was addressed from your father, you know.”

“I wonder why that would be.” Lewis paused and thought for a minute. “My father works at the hospital. Was she taken there?”

“Yes, she was feeling unwell.” They didn’t discuss the topic anymore as it was too heartbreaking for Diana at present. As they looked through the room unsuccessfully, they decided to retrace their steps and scattered their collection from Diana’s home across the floor. Three letters addressing the health of a family friend, two notes nearing the same as the handwriting on their own letters, and wax seals of the same color.

“I believe our biggest clues are in the handwriting, but they don’t entirely match.”

“Maybe we should go back to the well to see if there are any clues there.”

“Agreed.” The two collected all of their notes and continued where the old well stood.

* * *

As the two circled each other around the well, little smiles and glances were exchanged as they both were inspecting the well for any signs of who had written the letters. Lewis broke the silence between them.

“I believe our biggest clue has been in front of me this whole time” he said as he dragged his arm around the side of the well and stopped to look at Diana for a moment and then continued strolling around in circles.

“Whatever do you mean?” Diana asked.

“It was you who wrote the letters, wasn’t it?” A smug look wore on Lewis’ face as the idea of such a possibility seemed to wear fluster into her attitude.

“I haven’t any idea what you are talking about.”

“I think you know ‘exactly’ what I am talking about.” The two paused and looked at each other as if it was they were back to the first time they met. Lewis, just a mere eight years old, wearing his favourite brown trousers and diamond patterned green sweater. Diana, two years younger, wearing a soft blue dress, white long sleeves and socks beneath, with her black Mary-Janes worn dull from much wear.

Back to the present, Diana wearing an empire style lavender day dress of puff sleeves and beading around the top, and Lewis wearing a white button up with a brown plaid tie matching his plain pants and waistcoat, as well as a tan overcoat. Their loving eyes pushed away the thought they weren’t allowed together. Lewis pulled Diana in close, his other hand grazing upon her cheek.

“I did write the letters,” Diana said softly as she smiled and kissed the man she had been chasing her entire life.

Lewis had known Diana had written the letters, he just wanted her to say it first. He had found out they’d had a mutual connection. Even if not shared from the beginning, there was always a tell with her. At the town square when they ran into each other. She would always look back to see if he did too. He always did. When dancing at a neighbor’s party, both of the upper class inevitably ended up in the same circle. Diana was only smiling for him. The most obvious tell, filing through the letters, he noticed the handwriting on notes she had made on a separate piece of parchment, matching perfectly to those of their letters. She was much too eager to find the letters for someone committed to living with the family feud.

Diana knew that if she told herself she was in love, she would never stop trying to run after it. She avoided it for eleven years of her life solely based on the fact that she was told to, never following her true self. Even with the stolen glances, smiles, and dancing with Lewis, it was never enough for her. The separation between her heart for her family and for Lewis was making her mad. She would at last be with the one she’s wished to be.

DEADLY PINK BLOB

By Lily McCollom '23

Iamcuteandflully

Butdon'tforgetIcangetscruffy Myplushfurmakesmelooklikeabigoldblurb WithmylittleredshoesI'mstandingwhere Icanseeyou IcannottellalieandsayIthriveorthatI'mevenalive ButIamholdingsomethingthatgoes"tink"withmylittlepink nubs

MysmuglittlegrinmakesmelooklikeI'mreadytocommitsin Sobringonthewinandletgamesbegin

THE LINE

By Zhaneen Soto '23

There is a line on top that is staggered

There is a line on the bottom that is straight The line on top has light shinning down on it The line on the bottom has water that lines it The lines hold in between them, buildings

The lines of the buildings are all different and utterly unique by design From the lines of the windows to the lines of the frame

IT'S LOVELY

ByAlexRihacek'23

Thesunlightstrugglestopourin Contortingpastthebranches Fleeingthedarkness, Itcreateslittledropletsoflight.

Itsallbrownandgreen Twistedtrees

Attimes,itlooksasthoughthegreenalmost livesoffthebrown, Thriving,surviving, Beautifulinitsdarkness, Thepathinviteswithitslongtwistingbranches Lookingoffintothedistanceinanydirectionit settles

Wemaybelost,butatleastitslovely

The lines complement each other The lines make the shape The lines carry the world The lines stand and fall The lines hold all

THE CANDLE NOT CHOSEN

By Maddy Burke '23

No one ever chooses me. I was bought as a present one day only to be exchanged for a better smelling one. I remember being so excited to finally know what it feels like to be burned but I was given false hope. I sat there on the shelf being picked up every now and then just to be looked at with disgust when they discovered what I smelled like. My whole family was discarded and thrown in the dumpster. I was the only one left. All the others of my kind have dwindled down. I only knew of three other candles that smell as rotten and awful as I did that were bought. I am currently on the clearance rack and mere days from being thrown out like the rest of my family. I lost faith a while ago that I would ever go home with someone. I only had so much optimism in me. I feel like I didn’t live up to my full potential. I think if people just gave me a chance they may feel differently about my smell. I peered over the edge of the shelf thinking how easy it would be to fall off. Just when I had that thought I got picked up by an old woman. She smelled me and looked pleasantly surprised. I was actually put in her cart and bought on that day.

When she unpacked me and put me on her table I have never been happier. She lit me right away. The feeling of being burned is nothing like how I imagined. It was the most amazing feeling ever. I was so cold for my whole life and now I know what it feels like to be warm and actually enjoyed by someone.

After a few weeks I started to notice a difference in the woman's routine. She rarely left the house and was sleeping a lot. There was someone else there a lot that helped her get around. She seemed frail and sad all the time but she still lit me because she loved my scent. I was loved. Even in this woman's last few weeks she managed to remember that I’m still here. She would never know how much this meant to me. To her I was just a candle that she liked the smell of but to me she is the person who saved my life. Who knows where I’d be without her.

It wasn’t until after a month of being constantly lit that I began to feel cold and weak. I knew what this meant. I was almost empty. All burned out. This was a tough realization because I waited so long to find someone who would like me enough to buy me that this time seems so short lived. I wish I could stay a little longer. However this is probably the best thing to ever happen to me. I was loved enough for all my light to be used up. I’m almost out of the things that I am able to provide this woman and I’m ok with it. I feel a sense of pride in myself. I made it. The day it happened was a cold December afternoon. My time was almost up. The woman’s time was almost up too. She was laying on the couch and I watched as her breaths became slower and slower. The last bits of my scent filled the air as we both drifted away into whatever was next after this. My flame burned out as the woman drew her last breath. Peace had come for the both of us.