Volume 06 Issue 1

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“I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.” - Douglass Adams

“All the bright colors that painted her reality have run together and coated everything in monotonous gray.”

- “Maze of Memories”

“Your mom tastes like the universe.”

- “Your Mom”

“They’re water color portraits of your desires and marble statues of the future you’re trying to build.”

- “Vignette”

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Colophon The Echo, Volume V, Issue II was student produced by the Echo staff at Steinbrenner High School. The writing and artwork pieces that are featured in this issue were submitted by Steinbrenner students and teachers and were anonymously reviewed by the Echo staff members.

The layout was designed in Microsoft Publisher 2013 by layout editor Emma Stevens. The Echo is a member of the Florida Scholastic Press Association. PTSA provided some of the funds that were used to create the magazine. The magazines will be sold for $5.00 each.

3

Echo Fall 2016

Skyline Emily Lighthall

58

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4

ticket and when he flinched to walk back towards the table, he stared at him until he disappeared into the

A Note From The Editors

crowd.

Five minutes until the game.

It has been a pleasure to see the growth of the Echo from a tiny, after school club producing a 20 page magazine to a full class of students creating a 127 page magazine. Oh wait… that was last year… so how about that Haunted House? Jokes aside, The Echo is a staff filled with some of the most hardworking, creative, and talented minds that Steinbrenner has to offer. We have grown from a small, close-knit group to a relatively well-known publication throughout the school. There are days where tensions run high and patience runs low. There are also days where we hold our heads in our hands as we wonder whether all of the work is worth sitting on another pitying English teacher’s shelf. But there are also days, like today, where our hearts swell with pride as we see our trials and tribulations realized in the first proof of the new magazine. Days where we forget about all of our extraneous projects (who are we kidding, don’t forget to listen to our podcast and subscribe to our YouTube channel, we need the ad sense) and remember who we are. The Echo is a student-run, student-driven, and student-loved literary magazine. What you hold in your hands has been written, produced, and published by the students for the students. We hope you enjoy the

2016 Fall issue of Steinbrenner High School’s Echo, at least enough to pay us for it.

Emily Chmielewski Lexi Velte

Elliot felt shaky as he sat there alone, like if he said one more word he would choke up and begin to cry. Elliot was one to overthink things he was told and not be able to get over it for a very long time. In other words, he was a sensitive soul, and could not stop feeling Russell’s words as if they were knotted up

inside his chest. He couldn’t help thinking maybe Russell was right. Maybe he had the perfect life. Elliot began to believe maybe he was just born to have a life of being lame. All this self-deprecation stressed him out so he decided to leave and go home. He knew his wife would be angry that he wasted money on a ticket. It was fine though. He didn’t miss much.

The Red Sox lost that night anyway.

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Russell thought for a second about what Elliot just said and then furrowed his eyebrows.

THE ECHO

“Because he’s in seventh grade!” Elliot added quickly, in disbelief that Russell thought he was trying to imply that his son was overweight again.

Russell breathed audibly out of his nose. “Anyway, Katie’s been baking stuff, which I’ve been fine with, ya know. I love always having cupcakes in the microwave. What I don’t love is the mess she leaves in

CO-EDITORS-IN-CHIEF

S UBMISSI O NS M ANAGER

the kitchen. It’s like she expects me to clean the shit when I get home, when she’s home all day because

Emily Chmielewski

Kayla Halls

Lexi Velte

PODCA ST PROD UCER

she gets summers off from teaching.” He looked down at his phone, seeming to take about half his concentration off the conversation. “I swear, I think she’s too dumb to know it, but she can be such a bitch

Anna Moye

sometimes.”

Elliot was taken off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Jesus, dude, That’s a little harsh.”

FICTI O N EDITOR

S OCIAL MEDIA M ANAGER

Russell immediately looked up at Elliot, “What the hell are you, some goddamn feminist?”

Perdita Samuel-Lopez

Samuel Ake

“No, I just think it’s a little mean to--”

NO N-FICTI O N EDITOR

ALTERNATI VE PUBLISHING

“Listen, Elliot, I’m starting to not give a shit what you think. Just because you have your crappy little

Kaitlin Burkhart

Andrew Bianchet

tionship. My life is goddamn perfect.” he seemed a little flustered at this point and had to pause in the mid-

Gabby Johnson

CO N TEST S M ANAGER

dle of his speech, “Don’t judge the way I talk about my wife. Alright?”

POET RY EDITOR

Analise Morrow

Rumaysa Sweilem

CLUB PRESIDE N T

Thais Jacomassi

Rayanne Anid

ART EDITOR

WEBSITE COORDINATOR

Natalie Mannino

Kat Swartz

“I think you're wrong. I bet your life isn’t perfect.” It squeaked out of him, ill-timed, about 5 minutes later,

Marcus Smith (Interim)

HEAD ILLUST RATOR

and without a sliver of the indignation he wanted it to have.

ADVERTISING M ANAGER

Erix Pizano

Justen Vargas

FACULTY ADVIS OR

LAYO UT M ANAGER

John Eric Vona

life doesn’t mean mine is shitty, too. Stop trying to butt heads with me. My wife and I have a perfect rela-

Elliot couldn’t say anything. Even though he felt angry, he couldn’t muster up the courage to say anything and felt awfully lame because of it. He looked down to see that there was still fifteen minutes before the game started. Russell was back to tapping on his phone screen.

His comments seemed to have no effect on his conscious. Elliot looked at his face and saw no visible sign of regret, just the bright light of his own phone screen bouncing off his pupils. He almost looked proud of himself. That’s what bothered Elliot the most.

Russell looked up at Elliot, tight-jawed and seemingly ready to yell. The anticipation made Elliot want to pull what was left of his hair out. But he never said anything. Instead of yelling, Russell stared at him, rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and walked away. Elliot stared at him when he ripped apart his

Bella Cruz-O’Grady

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54

gave it to Russell. And then she talked Elliot into buying one.

Fall Edition

“Yeah.” Elliot murmured, as he was adjusting his hat that covered up slowly but surely forming bald spots in his dirty blond hair. “What do you want to talk about Russ?”

“You have a daughter, right? How is she?” He sounded like he had read the line off a note card a

31. A Maze of Memories

Anonymous

32. Untitled

Alexis Yahre

“Oh yeah, Cameron is about halfway through her freshman year of high school.”

33. Or I Could Have Said, “I’m Okay”

John Eric Vona

“Oh, how is that?” Russell said excitedly, while he was silently recounting missed memories.

35. Sunflower

Emily Petrus

Elliot looked down at the ground. “Not super great. She says she’s been having trouble making

36. The Real Mona Lisa

Reagan Johnson

37. Error

Hannah Makholm

38. Your Mom

Alli Hinchliffe

39. Anne

Riley Burcaw

40. The Greatest Lesson

Nora Sanchez

42. Untitled

Jessi Velte

43. Snakes

Mackenzie Vogt

44. A Kindergarten Camaraderie

Emily LaLiberte

47. Untitled

Erica Peterson

48. Late

Alli Hinchliffe

50. Smoke and Ribbons

Gianna Ramos

51. If I Am Anything, I Am Violence

Thais Jacomassi

53. Red Sox vs. The Yankees

Andrew Bianchet

58. Skyline

Emily Lighthall

million times, yet to Elliot he felt as if he could see a glint of interest in his seemingly black eyes, and it made him a little more comfortable.

friends and doesn't really feel like she fits in. I guess she’s taking after her dad.” Elliot smirked for a second, but it quickly melted, “but what’s scaring me is how strangely she seems to be acting at home. She hardly eats dinner and doesn’t talk to me or her mom. She tells me she eats a big lunch at school and she’s filled when she gets home, but I just don’t believe her anymore. And her mom has been almost no help. Skyler just tells me to talk to her, but I know she’s not going to listen.”

Elliot looked up, expecting sympathy, but was greeted by badly hidden consternation on Russell’s face. It was at this moment Elliot realized how far in life he’d get if he just said, “Everything’s fine” more often than not. It took about 30 long seconds for the words to come out of Russell’s mouth like kicked tumbleweeds.

“Well, um, that is… bad.” Russell cleared his already empty throat, “My son eats a ton, just like all the time. He eats sausage, bacon, steak, ya know? Jared is just a real, uh, man’s man.”

“Jared’s thirteen now, right? He’s in seventh grade?” asked Elliot, pleased to have made it to another subject so quickly.

Russell laughed, “I’m sorry, bud, but you’re definitely gonna have to ask my wife if you want that information.”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, stroking his chin as if he had facial hair or even the potential to grow it, “I was pretty heavy at that time too, ya know? It’s just kind of an awkward time for young--” “Did you just call my son fat?” Russell said clenching his jaw.

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“I said heavy, and it’s no big deal. I just thought--”

Fall Edition

“Because, it really sounded like you called my son fat.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal, I--”

Cover

Jacqueline VanEyk

8. Leaf

Marie Van den Broecke

9. What a Wonderful World

Kayla Halls

12. La pirámide del Sol y La Luna

Jennifer Ramos

13. Write Like Rayanne!

Rayanne Anid

15. Untitled

Kiona Edwards

16. True Freedom

Carson Anderson

17. Cosmic Connection

Sarah Houssian

and noticed how big and beaten up Russell’s hands were. It took him a second to remember that he had a

18. A Real Moment

Marcus Smith

profession as a construction worker, a much more taxing job than Elliot’s job of waiting tables at a Ruby

20. Untitled

Jessica Herz

couldn’t help feeling a little bit lame compared to Russell in size and in looks. He was glad that the juxtapo-

21. The Witness

Aidan Sullivan

sition between them never seemed to bother Russell.

23. Bee Tile

Andrea Herrada

24. Mistakes

Anonymous

25. Beautiful Words

Carson Anderson

26. Untitled

Erica Paniss

27. Vignette

Reagan Johnson

28. The Mug

Chloe Schmidt

29. I-75

Eryn Vesta

30. Staircase to Nothing

Zachary Gulick

“I said man’s man, my son is goddamn fine. Why’d you have go and make it weird, like my son’s sick or something?”

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He didn’t really feel that sorry, and would have continued to enforce that being heavy at that age is normal, but ended up mostly apologizing because Russell had seemed to forget he was in a public place and was now turning heads. Russell rolled his eyes and began texting on his phone.

Russell had fallen silent. It took a bit but the features on his face had finally seemed to relax. Elliot looked down at his watch and saw they still had 40 minutes before anything began on the field. He wanted to be early, but he couldn’t believe how badly he had misjudged the time it would take to get here. He thought there should have been immense traffic to a Yankees VS Red Sox game. Elliot looked at the table

Tuesday. It caused him to naturally have frail hands proportionate to the rest of his body. Sometimes Elliot

Elliot looked up at his friend’s face, which was looking away at the moment. He seemed unsatisfied with the conversation they had held and Elliot felt his social awkwardness was at fault.

“How is Katie, Russ?” He felt as if there were no way this could lead to hostility.

“Can we just watch baseball, Elliot?” He asked firmly, still looking away.

Elliot twiddled his thumbs, he felt his eyes starting to get drowsy. He wasn’t used to this amount of stress. Russell let out a big sigh, closed his eyes, and when he opened them, was looking at Elliot.

“She’s fine. She’s been baking a lot recently,” he put his phone in his pocket, “the whole nine yards: cakes, brownies and all these other sweets, they’ve just filled up the house.”

“Wow!” Elliot was glad they had fallen upon such a mundane topic, “Your son must absolutely love that!”

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Leaf

Red Sox vs. The Yankees

Marie Van den Broecke

Andrew Bianchet

A leaf gently

twirls with the breeze plucked from its mother by whispers from the sky freshly fallen, finally free as the rays of sunlight make the world beyond branches sparkle. Bugs with new shades of blue, laughter like never before. Ballet with butterflies to the

beat of chirping baby birds. The magic of innocence’s discovery making time tick slow to a distant morning drizzle life’s best adventure to rest

“Red sox are gonna win tonight! I’m calling it!” Russell said excitedly, almost spitting out the handful of fries he put in his mouth. Russell was all around a large and intimidating man. That’s why most of the time he got this excited Elliot just went with it.

You think so?” Elliot asked, ripping apart his straw paper.

“Yes, I think so! I’m always right about these kinds of things.”

“You’re not always right,” Elliot said meekly, now feeling bad about the bits of straw paper he spread around the table.

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if we left when I said to leave, we wouldn’t be here an hour early, eating crappy stadium food.” He was now picking at the scraps left on his plate.

Russell was an obtrusive man with exclusively dark features, despite the grey hairs sprouting up in

his untidy hair and mustache. You could see his mustache twitch with annoyance when, like right now, people ignored him.

“So I was thinking,” Russell said, taking a deep breath, “maybe this would be a good time for us to catch up.”

Elliot looked up immediately. The idea of “catching up” was terrifying for him, being as socially awk-

with skeletons of

ward as he was. He just liked having someone who occasionally invited him to sports games, not to actual-

old friends

ly talk about things, especially with someone who seemed so dense like Russell. The only times they talked

in the black dirt.

were in the car or dinner parties, and usually Russell would take over the conversation and talk about

sports or how hot his wife was. The rest of the time was usually spent yelling at a TV screen.

Elliot sat dumbfounded at how to respond to the abnormal idea, and it made Russell shift uncomfortably in his seat. “My wife, um, Katie, she just thought it would be healthy and stuff… to actually talk and… be friends like they are.”

That’s how they met anyway. A friendship between their two wives was the only way they ended up speaking to one another. They were only at the game because Katie had won a ticket on the radio and

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Echo Fall 2016

Whatever it was they seemed to remember of my existence

52

What a Wonderful World Kayla Halls

stung away at their eyes.

And that became the only emotion

they ever remembered me by.

Anastasia glided up to the Apollo Theatre one steamy New York evening. It was the summer of 1940, and her first time in Harlem.

She flicked ash from her cigarette and stepped inside. She was greeted with the sound of honey and gravel, wind chimes and hurricanes. It rose around her, enveloping her in its sweet sound. The lyrics tugged at her and pulled her deeper into the smoky theatre. The large main room was dimly lit and

So make me a promise, To make a different mark.

One whose path lights the way.

Away from the destruction I’ve caused.

crammed with tables. A small stage sat at the front where a black man and woman crooned into their microphones.

Anastasia sat down in a cushioned, scarlet chair. Her gold dress glimmered in the low stage lighting, drawing the singing man’s attention to her. He took in her pale skin and red wine lips. All he saw was elegance and demure beauty. He saw a wildflower pushing through the cracks of a Harlem sidewalk.

She was entranced by his rough voice, the way it scraped and flowed like water along the rocky bottom

As the lights leave this city, carve my name into the ground.

Make me the expanding roots Of something beautiful.

This will be where I end And you begin.

of a river bed. Its powerful movement and steady rhythm filled her body. The music carried her thoughts away, filling her with a sense of satisfaction she hadn’t known in ages. It wasn’t until wild applause ushered the man off the stage that she regained her focus.

The man moved towards her table. Once he reached her, he introduced himself. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Louis. And you are?”

She rose from her seat and held out her hand. “Anastasia.” Her voice reminded him of red roses.

“I’ve never seen you here before. I would remember such a stunning face.” He said as he took her hand. She smiled easily.

“Yes, it’s my first time. I’m not from here. I’m just passing through on my way back to Europe.”

He gestured for her take a seat and he sat across from her. “How did you like the music? It’s Ella’s brainchild.” He gestured to the woman who had been singing with him.

“It was marvelous, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I wish we had music like this back home. It makes me want to dance, and melt, and float away from the rest of the world. It just… it just feeds your

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soul, you know?”

A smile spread across Louis’s face as he leaned back in his chair. “I know exactly what you mean.

If I Am Anything, I Am Violence Thais Jacomassi

It’s inspired, it’s honest, it’s-” “It’s alive.” Anastasia finished.

The safest hands

For a few moments, they allowed the lyrical rhythm of Ella’s voice to diffuse around them, coating

were never my own.

everything in a dusty pink.

Louis cleared his throat. “I discovered something a while back.”

Anastasia leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“That sometimes, when everything is silent and still, you can see a person’s soul connecting to a certain song, or person, or place. It’s in the way their body reacts to the space around them.” Louis nodded

My mark on this world could have been left in paint strokes of blues and whites.

his head at a young man. His head was tilted back, fingers tapping along to the music. His eyes were closed as he mouthed all the words. “Do you see it?”

But instead it came out

She looked at Louis curiously. “How did you figure that out?”

as a match that consumed

Louis’s face lit up, filled with childlike joy and innocence. “Years of careful observation. I can’t di-

everything I touched.

vulge the exact method, or else I would put the entire operation in jeopardy.”

Anastasia’s laugh bubbled up and spilled over. Louis felt like it would carry him away.

Leaving behind a trail of crimson and gray.

“This place is like a dream,” she said. “A beautiful dream that I never want to end.”

Louis gave her a quizzical smile. “Why on earth should it?”

Anastasia twisted her hair. “No reason in particular. I just discovered something a while back. The morning tends to bring about harsh realities that taints the loveliest nights.”

After that, Anastasia got caught up in the music again. Louis could have sworn that he saw her soul connect to it.

It was well after midnight by the time he walked Anastasia to her hotel.

“Louis,” she whispered. “I really must go now. I have an early train to catch.”

“I know,” He sighed. “You will come and visit, won’t you? I could show you the whole city, the bright lights, and the hole-in-the-walls.”

My mark on this world was left in the form of a cold fire that gave little light.

Merely casting a shadow on people’s memories.

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50

“Maybe,” she said with a sad smile.

Smoke and Ribbons Gianna Ramos

Louis gently took hold of her hand. “Don’t say maybe; you might as well be saying no.”

Regret clouded her voice as she pulled away. “I enjoyed getting to know you tonight, but it really is time for me to-” “Anastasia!” a voice called from the hotel door. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

Louis turned towards the voice and saw a tall man with pale green eyes and dark brown hair striding towards Anastasia.

“I’m sorry dear, I must have lost track of time.” She murmured.

He let out an agitated sigh. He was about to pull her inside when he caught sight of Louis. “Who’s this?”

Anastasia had a nervous smile on her face as she responded. “This is Louis. He was performing at the Apollo Theatre.”

Louis stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you sir. You have a splendid…”

“Wife,” her husband interjected, with a frown on his face.

Louis dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Yes, a splendid wife indeed.”

The man gave him a look of disgust before yanking Anastasia inside. She lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave and disappeared into the hotel.

Louis turned away from the building, heading towards home. He knew he would never see her again, knew that he never had a chance to begin with. And yet, a smile began to grow on his face. Her beauty was subtle and flowing and fleeting. He couldn’t even begin to contain it or hope that it would stick around long enough to truly become his.

Somehow, just encountering her was enough.

Everything seemed to be blooming and bursting with color, as if the world could hardly contain itself. Words flooded his mind. I see trees of green, red roses too/I see them bloom for me and you…

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Echo Fall 2016

La pirámide del Sol y la Luna Jennifer Ramos

12

Frantic as ever due to my 7:25am arrival, I am a fast walking Olympian through the halls of Ridgeway High School. I can feel every eye in the hall glued to my skin. What was wrong with me? Did I forget a step in my morning routine? The questions chase me down the hallway right to my class. Nearly falling into my seat, breathless and head throbbing, the first period bell revives me with the sound of its three beautiful chimes.

Ding, ding, ding.

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Write Like Rayanne!

Late Alli Hinchliffe

Rated: ★★★☆☆ Submitted by: Rayanne Anid

I am already lifeless at six am, 6:05 to be exact. Five minutes late. Five minutes past schedule and the anxiety from the absence of those precious five minutes swells in the back of my throat. No time to

Prep Time: 3 weeks

spare, my teeth should have been brushed by now, but I am five minutes behind schedule. Teeth brushed,

Cook Time: 1 week

hair neglected, makeup half way there but not quite yet. One, two, three, strokes of mascara, one, two,

Servings: 1

three, one, two, three, one, two, three.

“Peyton, don’t forget your morning pills!” I hear the shrill of my tired mother’s voice from the crack between the door and the noticeably dusty crown molding. Well it was noticeable to me anyways. Thank God she reminds me of my pills every morning. Between being seven minutes late today and the haunting image of that dusty crown molding, her precious pills are the last thing on my mind throughout the chaos

“Here is my recipe for how I write all of my pieces! Typically, these pieces are written alone, but they can be shared with friends, family, or even strangers. You can adjust the amount of darkness and emotions in this recipe to suit your taste.”

that is my Monday morning. Four pills laid on my counter, the biggest pill is third inline which I quickly rearrange. My mom should know better than that. Counting, one, two, three, I take the pills, leaving the fourth

Ingredients:

as usual. Rushing out the door, I click the garage clicker one, two, three times and pull out of the garage at

1 Journal

exactly 7:00am. Exactly five minutes past schedule! “LEAVE THE GARAGE AT 6:55AM” I can hear myself repeat over and over and over again, the voice of my mind screamed it at me, making my head pulsate.

1 Signature Pink Pen

Although I am late I can’t help but to count every single tree on my way to school, and this morning some-

1 Really Close Deadline

thing is wrong. There are always twenty-seven trees on the left side of Robinson Drive, and today there

3 Cups of Self Doubt

are twenty-six. Or maybe I miscounted. I really did try to turn left on Mason Avenue considering I’m a generous ten minutes late, but that same creaming voice forced my wheel to make a u-turn to recount the

Emotional music

trees. “THERE ARE ALWAYS 27 TREES,” plays like a broken record in my mind until I make my way back

Rain sounds (optional)

down Robinson Drive. Twenty-seven trees it is and I make my left turn.

2 Cups of Dark Memories

I count one, two, three, one, two three cars ahead of mine. Six cars to the light at 7:15am. Anticipat-

Craving of Happiness

ing the light to change from that piercing red glow to a beautiful green, my mind wanders back to my bedroom, a room of clutter. A room I may vacuum every three days, but never satisfies inspection. A room whose clothes have not been color-coordinated in 24 days. A room that is so mediocre that it had made

Directions:

me forget that beautiful shade of green until it stung me in they eye, relieving me from the nightmare that

Gather your ingredients and have them out and ready to use. Once your journal and pink pen have settled

is my bedroom. My foot taps the gas as I head forward.

into your desk, decide you’re too uninspired to actually write anything. Don’t even bother trying for the next 3 weeks.

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14

Repeat step 1 but this time, make sure you mix the really close deadline in the back of your mind. That’s what’s going to keep you writing.

Add your emotional music to get some feelings running through you. Mixing some rain sounds in may help your heart feel even heavier and your piece to get even deeper.

Take the 2 cups of dark memories and tie them into some sort of story. Gradually beat in the craving of happiness that you probably will never get. Be careful not to get too personal, or else it may become awk-

ward.

This final step is key to writing just like Rayanne. Re-read your piece at least 3 times, adding 1 cup of selfdoubt every time you read it. By the time you finish editing and revising, you should hate your piece more than anything.

Disclaimer: Writing may lead to thoughts about things such as traumatic childhood experiences, your close friend who suddenly passed away, or your extreme family issues. Write at your own risk.

Untitled Erica Peterson

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46

I cut him off. “Be quiet,” I mumbled, focusing on my handiwork. The nauseating smell of the polish made me cringe and I covered my mouth with the crook of my arm. I then brought out of my kit a miniature zebra print nail file and brought them to the tips of Casey’s tiny fingers, doing what I had seen my mother do on countless occasions when speaking with relatives over the telephone or reading one of her fashion magazines. I then put a clear lacquer on the hot pink finger nails, while the pink liquid oozed out of the tipped over container onto the wooden planks of the play house. I then examined my masterpiece of paint smeared fingers and a disturbed profile; my work here was complete.

“There,” I cheered, wiping the excess polish from my fingers onto the hem of my denim dress stitched with a poppy and wildflower print.

“You look beautiful now.” I giggled as I observed the sandy haired boy investigate the polish that adorned his nails. I cast Casey a warning glance, ceasing my chortling, and spoke solemnly the way only a four year old could “Don’t you smudge them,” Casey then took his pinky finger and wrapped it around mine in an act of sealing our pact.

“I pinky swear I won’t,” He piped up, a bit worried of my reaction. A moment of silence passed then came the question that still binds us to this very day.

“Do you want to be my friend?” he asked, gazing at me with large and curious brown puppy eyes. I shook my head excitedly, gaining a smile from him.

“Sure,” I muttered cheerily. And with that, we spent the rest of our time making pretend pastries, exploring for adventure in immaterial, and forming an unbreakable bond, which, I might add, still lives up to this day. As for myself, I can say now that I’m very grateful for bringing my makeup kit to kindergarten that day.

Untitled Kiona Edwards

45

Echo Fall 2016

True Freedom Carson Anderson

16

me. “Hello,” he uttered, unsurely but stood strong in his tracks. “Want to play together?” he queried, putting the multiple sand toys he was playing with aside to accommodate for me. I complied, nodding my head and grasped at the star-shaped sand mold and made myself comfortable in the space set aside for me. The oaken jungle gym creaked as I perched myself in my spot. I had the sudden terrible thought that the wood-

A ripple starts, just a small vibration.

Originating from a singularity.

One voice.

Another ripple hears the whisper.

The vibration grows with each aberration it passes through.

en contraption might fall out from under us; however, I kept this to myself, not wanting to scare off my new companion.

“I was baking a cake,” he exclaimed, showing me the gelatinous much inside of a baby blue pail. At this age, children generally accepted that anything can be considered food if you have enough pixie dust and some imagination. If you pretend it could be food, even mud in a “Curious George” bucket could be a delicious pastry. I nodded yet again and added a maple leaf to the goop. He smiled softly, enjoying my

Amplified, by thousands of individuals as one melodic tone.

company on that dreary day. He then pointed in the direction of my backpack. “I like your bag,” he re-

Calling for change.

marked, shaking his head up and down slightly to show his appreciation of my rugged sack that ripped at

Their calls topple corruption and injustice.

‘Till it spreads too wide, and it loses its focus.

A new ripple starts, just a small vibration.

One voice.

the seams.

“Thank you,” I uttered quietly, remembering my manners. “So, what’s your name?” I questioned, emptying my bag of its remnants; a woven blanket with a satin lining, bearing Piglet from Winnie the Pooh, a tin of star shaped candies (so much for candy prohibition), and a Barbie themed makeup set full of lip gloss and nail polish. I tied the blanket around my neck, wearing it like a cape as I began to take the items from my makeup case.

“Casey,” he said proudly, as if his name was something earned. “What about you?”

“Emily,” I mouthed plainly, shaking the small bottle of nail polish in my fleshy hands. Casey gazed down to the nail polish in my hand with a wondering glance and then replied with a simple: “That’s nice,” with an award winning smile. There was a silence that range through the air and I used

to my advantage, grabbing one of his honey-colored hands in a sudden motion. Only the rain on the pavement was audible. The blonde let out a startled breath, not expecting my next move. The dramatic scene unfolded slowly between us, especially for poor Casey.

“W-what are you doing?” he questioned as I brought the brush with hot pink liquid to his fingertips.

He flinched when the brush met his fingernail and the cold polish overflowed onto his hands because of my own unsteady, inexperienced hands. He persisted “What are you-“

17

Echo Fall 2016

44

A Kindergarten Camaraderie Emily LaLiberte

There was always a considerable amount of tedium in my life when I spent my days at kindergarten, which was five days out of seven of the week. Time seemed to loop itself around the clock hands slowly, as if to make a statement as I would sit alone, organizing a Barbie Dream House or making “potions” out of an-

ything I could lay my fingers upon; whether it be glue, finger paints, or rocks. If my little opening scene from Macbeth didn’t make the other children want to become friends with me, then my abnormal hair color was certainly a turn off. Due to my Dutch lineage I, unfortunately, carried with me a pale complexion, consisted of paper white skin and creamy egg-shell tufts that sat upon my head. In addition to this, I had a strong, aggressive will for fighting whenever someone decided to jeer at my ashen attributes. This surprisingly happened a lot and I tended to get teased mercilessly for looking like a blank sheet of paper.

I flipped children off swings, threw woodchips and tantrums, and had refused to conform to the teacher’s not so polite requests, landing me in a rough spot for making friends and my parents pleased.

They, my multiple teachers, had tried to swerve my behaviors from experimenting with periods of sweets prohibition to limiting my time in craft time, which was absolute blasphemy in the eyes of a child; craft time being worshipped like it was by many of the ankle-biters.

And in a miniscule act of rebellion, I flung my shoes off my feet and pranced about the playground, rain hitting my bare ties and pooling down past them to form ant lakes under my feet. My pink, tattered backpack bounced on my shoulders as I dashed about, my feet trying to meet up with where my mind had free range. My eyes danced about the large expanse of playground equipment as my feet encountered the rough tarmac below me. My stormy eyes settled on the sandy head of a fellow kindergartener who appeared good-natured, his oversized khaki shorts and his smitten look had given me that impression. He also struck me as the sort who preferred to be alone, giving me an advantage, since he was not in a group where I could stick out like a sore thumb. I trotted over to where he sat in a clubhouse, gazing over the land much like a feline spectating the lay of its home. He must have seen me coming over to meet him, for he had a confused look in his eyes that was then replaced by a small, innocent smirk.

I dashed up the ladder, my sugar high from this morning’s chocolate pancakes getting the better of me. The blonde seemed a bit perturbed by my actions, but decided to let it go as his voice rang out to greet

Cosmic Connection Sarah Houssian

43

Echo Fall 2016

18

A Real Moment Marcus Smith

"I really, completely am overjoyed to be here right now. I am grateful that you all put me here and I can thank many others as well for my current position but I will not today because without my ruthless campaigning, edgy yet likable style, my sob story, my nondescript opinions on social issues, my completely

doctored background, my endless web of contacts who can get things done, my degree that says I know something about economics, my honorable discharge that shows I'm a true patriot, and my wit that keeps me in with the younger generation I would not be here.

"I got here today also because I like to say nothing while speaking a lot. I take pride in my ability to deflect and pivot and how useful it is. I avoid subjects and questions like two parallel lines avoid each other on a graph. I like to re-articulate things and overly ARTICULATE things that don't seem to make sense hoping that you all think you'll understand this big picture that I've covered behind more garbage, drapes and mysterious distracting surroundings. I want you to feel familiar with me but really you can't imagine a day in my life. Maybe, some of you want to know what it's like, being a politician. The lying, cheating and under the table covert actions that really get things done in this country.

"So to everyone who wants to be the man I've become today, I'm going to give words of advice to help u do the lying, cheating and under the table covert actions that really get things done in this country.

"Some ideals to have in mind in order to get here are easy to get the hang of. The less you say in the more words the greater the perceived power your statements will have. The more people you appeal to and the less you offend the more support you gain. The less you actually do and the more you delegate to others the better you will be recognized in history. All the more's and the less's are all just games for us politicians. And if you learn to play the game, and play it well, you can be where I am standing. You are the future and that's scares me to death. So get some courage and make the changes I originally wanted to make when I first sought a position in government.

"I started out like many of us do. I began trying to change the world and leave my mark on society but I became tempted by the power, tamed by the money, and tampered with by the competitive, soiled nature of politics. Even though I do not want to do anything I will promise you I will do everything I can to make this nation as glorious as we apparently used to be. To make one promise I won't break, I promise that I will break most of my promises, leave them up to congress to fulfill, and then do what my strings are pull-

Snakes Mackenzie Vogt

19

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Jessi Velte

42

ing at me to do. In a year I'll have every law and policy arranged exactly how those who bribe me to be exactly how they want them to be arranged. Then, I might, near the end of my term, when it's too late to change things, attempt and take a stab or two to make those changes I promised emptily.

"This is what you will see from me and I look forward to my 400 grand a year for life and my term. If polls show that I have a good chance for next term I'll run again to try very weakly to make those changes again. This is your new president speaking and God bless America! We'll need it."

41

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Jessica Herz

20

The Earth felt herself shiver from the gradual loss of heat. She was speechless. There was no whining, no crying, she had to step up to the plate. She may have been so young, but it didn’t matter. She was a mother on her own now.

Before feeling the full extent of her mother’s absence, she focused on her people.

The were two of them. One was bigger than the other, his legs holding him tighter, his limbs bulkier, steps heavier. The other had a small physique. Long, black hair tickled the backs of her knees, her walk graceful

and smooth. This arms and thin legs, but wide hips. They strode side by side, hand in hand.

The Earth remained idle, watching what they did next.

Vines decorated the ground before them and the man’s foot caught on one. He fell, with arms flailing, right into a shallow crevice. Not deep, but the walls were to steep for him to climb up. He cried out to the women bent over the edge. She looked down at him, her face afraid.

The Earth panicked. She quickly began twirling her vines to make a sturdy rope, but then she remembered something. The sun once told her that sometimes helping yourself can teach you a very important lesson. So, the Earth stopped and resumed her watching. I will teach them compassion, she

thought.

The woman strapped more and more vines together, as the Earth had. Finally, she slugged the heavy, thick vine over the edge. It slapped the ground and a loud ka-hud sound resonated throughout the crevice. The man scrambled towards the vine and hoisted himself a couple of inches off the ground. Up above, the woman tugged on the robe with all her might. Tireless grunts escaped her mouth as she pulled with all her weight, her back almost against the ground. The Earth gazed at them, resisting the urge to raise the ground and see them together again. After about a minute of laboriously lifting the vine, the man was at the woman’s feet again. He stood up, until suddenly, he fell into her. He wrapped his tired arms around

her waist and she reciprocated the same. They stayed like that for a while, grateful to be in each other’s again. Their long embrace ended and they strode away from the crevice.

They left having learned that in this life, they had to love and care for each other because they greatest strength they had was each other. If they lived by that definition, everything would be alright.

21

Echo Fall 2016

40

The Greatest Lesson Nora Sanchez

The sun circled around her waist and she knew the new day had begun. Today was going to be even more beautiful than the last, she could feel it. Today was to be a momentous occasion, she just couldn't figure out why.

Her atmosphere felt less familiar as the sun hurriedly warmed her surface, the clouds cleared themselves and the soft breeze tickled her skin. Her fruit trees birthed beautiful red apples and vibrant yellow

The Witness Aidan Sullivan

The effects of bullying and discrimination are not short.

They are deep, they are scars.

Each scar marks a story, A nickname, a bruise, a life.

bananas. The trees’ branches stretched out farther like extended, welcoming hands. Their trunks bulked up, heavy and strong. The rocky cliff faces hallowed themselves out into deep, dark caves. The fast, gushing streams and rivers slowed their flow and the banks settled themselves. Large bodies of water subsided, revealing smaller chunks of lush, green land.

“Just doing some housekeeping before the guests arrive. You want to look your very best, don't you?” The sun replied to the Earth’s quizzical gaze.

“Oh of course I always want to look the very best, but I’m confused. What guests Momma-”

The victims were helpless.

Their hands were bound as they sat in the dark, Lifeless corner that is ridicule.

Being laughed at, made fun of

By the people.

“Oh my, they’re here honey! Don't be rude, say hello.”

The Earth glanced over her magnificent body and shook with excitement as she peered at two pe-

The people who believe they stand on mountains.

culiar creatures she had never seen before. All of the sudden, the new creatures ran and grasped onto the

Believing that domination builds those mountains.

nearest tree, holding on for dear life.

“Oh dear, you’re startling them, try to be still!”

I see these people.

The people who believe that popularity and dominance is the answer.

The Earth started in amazing as the little humans tentatively crawled out from under the trees.

“Oh Momma, what are they?”

“They’re your new babies. You’ll take care of them like Momma takes care of you!”

“Oh my, thank you, thank you, I will love them like you love me too!”

“Now, you’ll make an excellent mother, but you have to do this alone. I can’t stay close, my heat will make them uncomfortable,” the sun said as she began to drift farther away from the Earth.

These people who wave their fists in the air.

Fists alone are only hands.

The same hands who could forgive, who could help.

The hands who could help those targeted out of the dark, Lifeless corner.

39

Echo Fall 2016

I’m not the only one who grew up like this.

I've been in that dark, lifeless corner.

I have been lifted from that corner by those helping hands.

But some hands were wrinkled,

Damaged by deception.

They lifted me out, helped me stand, Only to push me down.

To this day, kids are still getting called names But they are not just names, they are false titles.

Stupid, loser, dumb, ugly, nerdy, weak, Names I would not dare to put down on paper.

These are my false titles.

We’re young, we’re fools.

We cannot look into the future at what these scars inflict.

A child who could become one of the most important people in America, will lie there, broken.

The Humpty Dumpty of society, with no one these to fix them, No one to care for them.

This is what I aim to fix.

22

Anne Riley Burcaw

23

Echo Fall 2016

38

Your Mom Alli Hinchliffe

The universe tastes like your mom. Bitter from the chores you have yet to complete. She is in awe at how it is possible to pollute all she has provided.

She is dismal about the times of her youth that are forever buried in the past. Her best times are slowly watered down with daily routine and the subtle reminders that the routine is who she is.

Yet she is still sweet She knows infinite ways to comfort her people as chocolate would. Her beautiful nature reminds us of why we live, for the moments that make us feel real.

Bee Tile Andrea Herrada

37

Echo Fall 2016

24

Mistakes Anonymous

Why do we live in a world where people don’t get married to stay married? Where it’s more acceptable for a husband to cheat on his wife than a man to love on another man. Where kids are raised with their parents hating each other, constantly being forced to pick sides and being punished when choosing incor-

rectly. Being told, “Why don’t you just go live with your mother?” when you stay out past curfew. Where having a stepmom seems like the worst thing in the world until you realize you actually care about her, and then she’s ripped away. She’s ripped away by your father’s “mistakes.” By his boredom.

“What if it’s fate?” he asks, thinking that’s an acceptable excuse for breaking his own vows. Where your dad dumps his mistakes onto you, telling you all of his problems. “But don’t tell anyone,” he says. “I just needed to make myself feel better.”

Not being able to talk about it to anyone, because of the fear that you’ll be sent away. Ripped from your life here, with all of your friends and family and people that care about you. Dealing with someone

else’s problems. Dealing with your own father’s infidelity. His mistakes. Blamed on you.

Error Hannah Makholm

25

Echo Fall 2016

36

The Real Mona Lisa Reagan Johnson

She was a shattered mirror, slowly picking up the pieces of herself but getting shards stuck in her hands and feet during the process. Each remark slashing a bigger wound in her already throbbing palms. Her arms and legs were painted with a galaxy of faded blues and browns. Her body, her mind, her everything was his

masterpiece-yet he was an accidental composer. Each word he spoke, each earthquake he started, each threat he roared was a stroke of paint down the side of her mind. To her peers it was invisible ink, disappearing- like a secret message - just as fast as it had arrived… but to her it flowed brighter and brighter each day. Like neon pain at Lollapalooza or those green glow sticks she used to crack open as a kid. The dye came from his mouth and seeped its way into her ears. It rolled around inside her mind and out her ears until that was the only thing she could see. Until it was the only thing she could feel. Until she herself

Beautiful Words Carson Anderson

When the first page is opened.

When the first sentence is read.

The words grab you, pull you within the dusty pages.

The words turn to colors, and the colors turn to illustrations more vivid than any physical experience could possibly provide.

You feel the sun shining on your face and warming your body, you feel the chill of the night as you hide from danger.

was a glow stick. He made her into his masterpiece. Painting a solar system of his words onto her canvas of

The words melt into focus, each image having separate emotion.

a body. Everything he said, she was. Each word was a stroke of a new color. He was Da Vinci, and that's

Anger, pain, anguish.

why they called her his Mona Lisa.

These beautiful words, release you.

As you read the last sentence.

As you close the last page.

Those beautiful words…

35

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Erica Paniss

26

Sunflower Emily Petrus

27

Echo Fall 2016

woman who knows she is beautiful; I am the final hope for Humanity; I am Mr. November.”

“Oh,” he says. “Okay, then.”

And I am reminded that poetry and sarcasm seldom trade germs.

34

Vignette Reagan Johnson

Struggling to find the right words to say what you really mean. You write so intensely that the pen slices through the paper so when you decide once again that your words are useless, you crumple the papers underneath. Wanting to write a monologue of your vivid thoughts, but what’s going through your mind

aren’t words. They’re watercolor portraits of your desires and marble statues of the future you’re trying to build. Trying to assemble the sentences like a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle. You’re alone in your room, but your head is overcrowded. The people you want to be next to, the faces you want to see, the voices you want to hear all circle in your head like a carousel. You try to write what you’re thinking, but when they talk, you don’t hear their voice, but you watch music notes escape their lips because everything they say sounds like a symphony conducted by the most perfect composer. Their laugh sounds like a chuckling snare drum and their stare- though silent- feels like the sharp squeal of an army of violins suddenly ceasing. How do you verbally explain that? How do you show the way your watercolor portraits fade when you haven’t heard that snare drum in hours? And how your marble statues split down the middle when your 2AM over thinking takes over? How every time you see them or hear their name, your own symphony erupts in your stomach and flutters around like butterflies until you can barely catch your breath. It seems impossible to show how you feel because you didn’t even know it was possible to hear cymbals crashing during a quick glance.

Or cliché violins when they’re gone. Or to even be able to compare something as simple as feelings to something as complex and beautiful as an orchestra… but then you met him.

33

Echo Fall 2016

The Mug Chloe Schmidt

28

Or I Could Have Said, “I’m Okay” John Eric Vona

My morning is cough drops and acetaminophen, dizziness from turning my head too fast,

a three-minute coughing fit and a ransacked tissue box.

I sit at my desk in front of my students, my body beginning to sweat, my back and neck aching, and try to teach them the difference between abstract and concrete the difference between good poetry and bad.

“Hey, Mr. V! You okay, man?”

And I say, “I am a Georgia Peach; I am the Florida sunshine warming a ripe pineapple; I am the energizer bunny; I am the glorious rings of the planet Saturn; I am the Angel Gabriel made flesh; I am Elvis Presley’s swinging hips; I am a summer sun shower; I am a butterfly in a meadow on a Spring day; I am a victorious and bloodied Gladiator; I am a two-seater bicycle; I am the smell of her hair; I am a child being thrown into the air by her father; I am a smile on Alex Trebek’s face; I am a ‘plus-sized’

29

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Alexis Yahre

32

I-75 Eryn Vesta

To feel the air To feel the rush

To feel something indescribable I feel his body relax As if he doesn’t sense the danger The leather on his back My arms around him holding on for life He revs the engine and we fly down I-75 The wind cuts like ice against my face

The frigid December air sculpting the tears streaming down my face He lets go of the handle bars Taking my frostbitten aching hands Holding them away from safety Then a rare roar of his happiness erupts breaking through the winter night I relax, I fly with him I understand his need To feel alive

31

Echo Fall 2016

Staircase to Nothing Zachary Gulick

30

A Maze of Memories Anonymous

My grandmother is lost in her own mind. She has wandered down a maze entrenched in darkness, and she cannot find her way out. Every day she goes a little deeper, not knowing which way is right or left.

She is stumbling down the hallways of her consciousness, trying to find something familiar to hold onto.

Some days are worse than others. Some days her world falls apart, and she is forced to wander.

Wander our house, wander her thoughts, wander down memory lane. Except now all the houses on memory lane are abandoned and flowers no longer bloom on the side of the road. She can’t find anything that makes her happy, that makes her sad, that makes her feel something.

She mistakes my father for her late husband. She mistakes Lutz for Orlando, where she lived before she couldn’t anymore. All the bright colors that painted her reality have run together and coated everything in monotonous gray.

She lashes out, and cries, and is silent because she isn’t sure which call for help will get God’s attention. She is drowning in the gray that sticks to everything. She can’t find a landmark to guide her and she is getting desperate for something, anything to remember.

My mother and I are left alone to deal with the impossibility of handling the disease that is eating her alive.

I am helpless, my mother is tired. My grandmother is lost.

And yet I am holding onto the fact that at the end of this maze is a wide-open space filled with wild flowers and daises where everything is bright and bursting with color and nothing hurts. My grandmother will find herself. My mother will be happy. I will not be alone in the burden of dementia.

31

Echo Fall 2016

Staircase to Nothing Zachary Gulick

30

A Maze of Memories Anonymous

My grandmother is lost in her own mind. She has wandered down a maze entrenched in darkness, and she cannot find her way out. Every day she goes a little deeper, not knowing which way is right or left.

She is stumbling down the hallways of her consciousness, trying to find something familiar to hold onto.

Some days are worse than others. Some days her world falls apart, and she is forced to wander.

Wander our house, wander her thoughts, wander down memory lane. Except now all the houses on memory lane are abandoned and flowers no longer bloom on the side of the road. She can’t find anything that makes her happy, that makes her sad, that makes her feel something.

She mistakes my father for her late husband. She mistakes Lutz for Orlando, where she lived before she couldn’t anymore. All the bright colors that painted her reality have run together and coated everything in monotonous gray.

She lashes out, and cries, and is silent because she isn’t sure which call for help will get God’s attention. She is drowning in the gray that sticks to everything. She can’t find a landmark to guide her and she is getting desperate for something, anything to remember.

My mother and I are left alone to deal with the impossibility of handling the disease that is eating her alive.

I am helpless, my mother is tired. My grandmother is lost.

And yet I am holding onto the fact that at the end of this maze is a wide-open space filled with wild flowers and daises where everything is bright and bursting with color and nothing hurts. My grandmother will find herself. My mother will be happy. I will not be alone in the burden of dementia.

29

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Alexis Yahre

32

I-75 Eryn Vesta

To feel the air To feel the rush

To feel something indescribable I feel his body relax As if he doesn’t sense the danger The leather on his back My arms around him holding on for life He revs the engine and we fly down I-75 The wind cuts like ice against my face

The frigid December air sculpting the tears streaming down my face He lets go of the handle bars Taking my frostbitten aching hands Holding them away from safety Then a rare roar of his happiness erupts breaking through the winter night I relax, I fly with him I understand his need To feel alive

33

Echo Fall 2016

The Mug Chloe Schmidt

28

Or I Could Have Said, “I’m Okay” John Eric Vona

My morning is cough drops and acetaminophen, dizziness from turning my head too fast,

a three-minute coughing fit and a ransacked tissue box.

I sit at my desk in front of my students, my body beginning to sweat, my back and neck aching, and try to teach them the difference between abstract and concrete the difference between good poetry and bad.

“Hey, Mr. V! You okay, man?”

And I say, “I am a Georgia Peach; I am the Florida sunshine warming a ripe pineapple; I am the energizer bunny; I am the glorious rings of the planet Saturn; I am the Angel Gabriel made flesh; I am Elvis Presley’s swinging hips; I am a summer sun shower; I am a butterfly in a meadow on a Spring day; I am a victorious and bloodied Gladiator; I am a two-seater bicycle; I am the smell of her hair; I am a child being thrown into the air by her father; I am a smile on Alex Trebek’s face; I am a ‘plus-sized’

27

Echo Fall 2016

woman who knows she is beautiful; I am the final hope for Humanity; I am Mr. November.”

“Oh,” he says. “Okay, then.”

And I am reminded that poetry and sarcasm seldom trade germs.

34

Vignette Reagan Johnson

Struggling to find the right words to say what you really mean. You write so intensely that the pen slices through the paper so when you decide once again that your words are useless, you crumple the papers underneath. Wanting to write a monologue of your vivid thoughts, but what’s going through your mind

aren’t words. They’re watercolor portraits of your desires and marble statues of the future you’re trying to build. Trying to assemble the sentences like a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle. You’re alone in your room, but your head is overcrowded. The people you want to be next to, the faces you want to see, the voices you want to hear all circle in your head like a carousel. You try to write what you’re thinking, but when they talk, you don’t hear their voice, but you watch music notes escape their lips because everything they say sounds like a symphony conducted by the most perfect composer. Their laugh sounds like a chuckling snare drum and their stare- though silent- feels like the sharp squeal of an army of violins suddenly ceasing. How do you verbally explain that? How do you show the way your watercolor portraits fade when you haven’t heard that snare drum in hours? And how your marble statues split down the middle when your 2AM over thinking takes over? How every time you see them or hear their name, your own symphony erupts in your stomach and flutters around like butterflies until you can barely catch your breath. It seems impossible to show how you feel because you didn’t even know it was possible to hear cymbals crashing during a quick glance.

Or cliché violins when they’re gone. Or to even be able to compare something as simple as feelings to something as complex and beautiful as an orchestra… but then you met him.

35

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Erica Paniss

26

Sunflower Emily Petrus

25

Echo Fall 2016

36

The Real Mona Lisa Reagan Johnson

She was a shattered mirror, slowly picking up the pieces of herself but getting shards stuck in her hands and feet during the process. Each remark slashing a bigger wound in her already throbbing palms. Her arms and legs were painted with a galaxy of faded blues and browns. Her body, her mind, her everything was his

masterpiece-yet he was an accidental composer. Each word he spoke, each earthquake he started, each threat he roared was a stroke of paint down the side of her mind. To her peers it was invisible ink, disappearing- like a secret message - just as fast as it had arrived… but to her it flowed brighter and brighter each day. Like neon pain at Lollapalooza or those green glow sticks she used to crack open as a kid. The dye came from his mouth and seeped its way into her ears. It rolled around inside her mind and out her ears until that was the only thing she could see. Until it was the only thing she could feel. Until she herself

Beautiful Words Carson Anderson

When the first page is opened.

When the first sentence is read.

The words grab you, pull you within the dusty pages.

The words turn to colors, and the colors turn to illustrations more vivid than any physical experience could possibly provide.

You feel the sun shining on your face and warming your body, you feel the chill of the night as you hide from danger.

was a glow stick. He made her into his masterpiece. Painting a solar system of his words onto her canvas of

The words melt into focus, each image having separate emotion.

a body. Everything he said, she was. Each word was a stroke of a new color. He was Da Vinci, and that's

Anger, pain, anguish.

why they called her his Mona Lisa.

These beautiful words, release you.

As you read the last sentence.

As you close the last page.

Those beautiful words…

37

Echo Fall 2016

24

Mistakes Anonymous

Why do we live in a world where people don’t get married to stay married? Where it’s more acceptable for a husband to cheat on his wife than a man to love on another man. Where kids are raised with their parents hating each other, constantly being forced to pick sides and being punished when choosing incor-

rectly. Being told, “Why don’t you just go live with your mother?” when you stay out past curfew. Where having a stepmom seems like the worst thing in the world until you realize you actually care about her, and then she’s ripped away. She’s ripped away by your father’s “mistakes.” By his boredom.

“What if it’s fate?” he asks, thinking that’s an acceptable excuse for breaking his own vows. Where your dad dumps his mistakes onto you, telling you all of his problems. “But don’t tell anyone,” he says. “I just needed to make myself feel better.”

Not being able to talk about it to anyone, because of the fear that you’ll be sent away. Ripped from your life here, with all of your friends and family and people that care about you. Dealing with someone

else’s problems. Dealing with your own father’s infidelity. His mistakes. Blamed on you.

Error Hannah Makholm

23

Echo Fall 2016

38

Your Mom Alli Hinchliffe

The universe tastes like your mom. Bitter from the chores you have yet to complete. She is in awe at how it is possible to pollute all she has provided.

She is dismal about the times of her youth that are forever buried in the past. Her best times are slowly watered down with daily routine and the subtle reminders that the routine is who she is.

Yet she is still sweet She knows infinite ways to comfort her people as chocolate would. Her beautiful nature reminds us of why we live, for the moments that make us feel real.

Bee Tile Andrea Herrada

39

Echo Fall 2016

I’m not the only one who grew up like this.

I've been in that dark, lifeless corner.

I have been lifted from that corner by those helping hands.

But some hands were wrinkled,

Damaged by deception.

They lifted me out, helped me stand, Only to push me down.

To this day, kids are still getting called names But they are not just names, they are false titles.

Stupid, loser, dumb, ugly, nerdy, weak, Names I would not dare to put down on paper.

These are my false titles.

We’re young, we’re fools.

We cannot look into the future at what these scars inflict.

A child who could become one of the most important people in America, will lie there, broken.

The Humpty Dumpty of society, with no one these to fix them, No one to care for them.

This is what I aim to fix.

22

Anne Riley Burcaw

21

Echo Fall 2016

40

The Greatest Lesson Nora Sanchez

The sun circled around her waist and she knew the new day had begun. Today was going to be even more beautiful than the last, she could feel it. Today was to be a momentous occasion, she just couldn't figure out why.

Her atmosphere felt less familiar as the sun hurriedly warmed her surface, the clouds cleared themselves and the soft breeze tickled her skin. Her fruit trees birthed beautiful red apples and vibrant yellow

The Witness Aidan Sullivan

The effects of bullying and discrimination are not short.

They are deep, they are scars.

Each scar marks a story, A nickname, a bruise, a life.

bananas. The trees’ branches stretched out farther like extended, welcoming hands. Their trunks bulked up, heavy and strong. The rocky cliff faces hallowed themselves out into deep, dark caves. The fast, gushing streams and rivers slowed their flow and the banks settled themselves. Large bodies of water subsided, revealing smaller chunks of lush, green land.

“Just doing some housekeeping before the guests arrive. You want to look your very best, don't you?” The sun replied to the Earth’s quizzical gaze.

“Oh of course I always want to look the very best, but I’m confused. What guests Momma-”

The victims were helpless.

Their hands were bound as they sat in the dark, Lifeless corner that is ridicule.

Being laughed at, made fun of

By the people.

“Oh my, they’re here honey! Don't be rude, say hello.”

The Earth glanced over her magnificent body and shook with excitement as she peered at two pe-

The people who believe they stand on mountains.

culiar creatures she had never seen before. All of the sudden, the new creatures ran and grasped onto the

Believing that domination builds those mountains.

nearest tree, holding on for dear life.

“Oh dear, you’re startling them, try to be still!”

I see these people.

The people who believe that popularity and dominance is the answer.

The Earth started in amazing as the little humans tentatively crawled out from under the trees.

“Oh Momma, what are they?”

“They’re your new babies. You’ll take care of them like Momma takes care of you!”

“Oh my, thank you, thank you, I will love them like you love me too!”

“Now, you’ll make an excellent mother, but you have to do this alone. I can’t stay close, my heat will make them uncomfortable,” the sun said as she began to drift farther away from the Earth.

These people who wave their fists in the air.

Fists alone are only hands.

The same hands who could forgive, who could help.

The hands who could help those targeted out of the dark, Lifeless corner.

41

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Jessica Herz

20

The Earth felt herself shiver from the gradual loss of heat. She was speechless. There was no whining, no crying, she had to step up to the plate. She may have been so young, but it didn’t matter. She was a mother on her own now.

Before feeling the full extent of her mother’s absence, she focused on her people.

The were two of them. One was bigger than the other, his legs holding him tighter, his limbs bulkier, steps heavier. The other had a small physique. Long, black hair tickled the backs of her knees, her walk graceful

and smooth. This arms and thin legs, but wide hips. They strode side by side, hand in hand.

The Earth remained idle, watching what they did next.

Vines decorated the ground before them and the man’s foot caught on one. He fell, with arms flailing, right into a shallow crevice. Not deep, but the walls were to steep for him to climb up. He cried out to the women bent over the edge. She looked down at him, her face afraid.

The Earth panicked. She quickly began twirling her vines to make a sturdy rope, but then she remembered something. The sun once told her that sometimes helping yourself can teach you a very important lesson. So, the Earth stopped and resumed her watching. I will teach them compassion, she

thought.

The woman strapped more and more vines together, as the Earth had. Finally, she slugged the heavy, thick vine over the edge. It slapped the ground and a loud ka-hud sound resonated throughout the crevice. The man scrambled towards the vine and hoisted himself a couple of inches off the ground. Up above, the woman tugged on the robe with all her might. Tireless grunts escaped her mouth as she pulled with all her weight, her back almost against the ground. The Earth gazed at them, resisting the urge to raise the ground and see them together again. After about a minute of laboriously lifting the vine, the man was at the woman’s feet again. He stood up, until suddenly, he fell into her. He wrapped his tired arms around

her waist and she reciprocated the same. They stayed like that for a while, grateful to be in each other’s again. Their long embrace ended and they strode away from the crevice.

They left having learned that in this life, they had to love and care for each other because they greatest strength they had was each other. If they lived by that definition, everything would be alright.

19

Echo Fall 2016

Untitled Jessi Velte

42

ing at me to do. In a year I'll have every law and policy arranged exactly how those who bribe me to be exactly how they want them to be arranged. Then, I might, near the end of my term, when it's too late to change things, attempt and take a stab or two to make those changes I promised emptily.

"This is what you will see from me and I look forward to my 400 grand a year for life and my term. If polls show that I have a good chance for next term I'll run again to try very weakly to make those changes again. This is your new president speaking and God bless America! We'll need it."

43

Echo Fall 2016

18

A Real Moment Marcus Smith

"I really, completely am overjoyed to be here right now. I am grateful that you all put me here and I can thank many others as well for my current position but I will not today because without my ruthless campaigning, edgy yet likable style, my sob story, my nondescript opinions on social issues, my completely

doctored background, my endless web of contacts who can get things done, my degree that says I know something about economics, my honorable discharge that shows I'm a true patriot, and my wit that keeps me in with the younger generation I would not be here.

"I got here today also because I like to say nothing while speaking a lot. I take pride in my ability to deflect and pivot and how useful it is. I avoid subjects and questions like two parallel lines avoid each other on a graph. I like to re-articulate things and overly ARTICULATE things that don't seem to make sense hoping that you all think you'll understand this big picture that I've covered behind more garbage, drapes and mysterious distracting surroundings. I want you to feel familiar with me but really you can't imagine a day in my life. Maybe, some of you want to know what it's like, being a politician. The lying, cheating and under the table covert actions that really get things done in this country.

"So to everyone who wants to be the man I've become today, I'm going to give words of advice to help u do the lying, cheating and under the table covert actions that really get things done in this country.

"Some ideals to have in mind in order to get here are easy to get the hang of. The less you say in the more words the greater the perceived power your statements will have. The more people you appeal to and the less you offend the more support you gain. The less you actually do and the more you delegate to others the better you will be recognized in history. All the more's and the less's are all just games for us politicians. And if you learn to play the game, and play it well, you can be where I am standing. You are the future and that's scares me to death. So get some courage and make the changes I originally wanted to make when I first sought a position in government.

"I started out like many of us do. I began trying to change the world and leave my mark on society but I became tempted by the power, tamed by the money, and tampered with by the competitive, soiled nature of politics. Even though I do not want to do anything I will promise you I will do everything I can to make this nation as glorious as we apparently used to be. To make one promise I won't break, I promise that I will break most of my promises, leave them up to congress to fulfill, and then do what my strings are pull-

Snakes Mackenzie Vogt

17

Echo Fall 2016

44

A Kindergarten Camaraderie Emily LaLiberte

There was always a considerable amount of tedium in my life when I spent my days at kindergarten, which was five days out of seven of the week. Time seemed to loop itself around the clock hands slowly, as if to make a statement as I would sit alone, organizing a Barbie Dream House or making “potions” out of an-

ything I could lay my fingers upon; whether it be glue, finger paints, or rocks. If my little opening scene from Macbeth didn’t make the other children want to become friends with me, then my abnormal hair color was certainly a turn off. Due to my Dutch lineage I, unfortunately, carried with me a pale complexion, consisted of paper white skin and creamy egg-shell tufts that sat upon my head. In addition to this, I had a strong, aggressive will for fighting whenever someone decided to jeer at my ashen attributes. This surprisingly happened a lot and I tended to get teased mercilessly for looking like a blank sheet of paper.

I flipped children off swings, threw woodchips and tantrums, and had refused to conform to the teacher’s not so polite requests, landing me in a rough spot for making friends and my parents pleased.

They, my multiple teachers, had tried to swerve my behaviors from experimenting with periods of sweets prohibition to limiting my time in craft time, which was absolute blasphemy in the eyes of a child; craft time being worshipped like it was by many of the ankle-biters.

And in a miniscule act of rebellion, I flung my shoes off my feet and pranced about the playground, rain hitting my bare ties and pooling down past them to form ant lakes under my feet. My pink, tattered backpack bounced on my shoulders as I dashed about, my feet trying to meet up with where my mind had free range. My eyes danced about the large expanse of playground equipment as my feet encountered the rough tarmac below me. My stormy eyes settled on the sandy head of a fellow kindergartener who appeared good-natured, his oversized khaki shorts and his smitten look had given me that impression. He also struck me as the sort who preferred to be alone, giving me an advantage, since he was not in a group where I could stick out like a sore thumb. I trotted over to where he sat in a clubhouse, gazing over the land much like a feline spectating the lay of its home. He must have seen me coming over to meet him, for he had a confused look in his eyes that was then replaced by a small, innocent smirk.

I dashed up the ladder, my sugar high from this morning’s chocolate pancakes getting the better of me. The blonde seemed a bit perturbed by my actions, but decided to let it go as his voice rang out to greet

Cosmic Connection Sarah Houssian

45

Echo Fall 2016

True Freedom Carson Anderson

16

me. “Hello,” he uttered, unsurely but stood strong in his tracks. “Want to play together?” he queried, putting the multiple sand toys he was playing with aside to accommodate for me. I complied, nodding my head and grasped at the star-shaped sand mold and made myself comfortable in the space set aside for me. The oaken jungle gym creaked as I perched myself in my spot. I had the sudden terrible thought that the wood-

A ripple starts, just a small vibration.

Originating from a singularity.

One voice.

Another ripple hears the whisper.

The vibration grows with each aberration it passes through.

en contraption might fall out from under us; however, I kept this to myself, not wanting to scare off my new companion.

“I was baking a cake,” he exclaimed, showing me the gelatinous much inside of a baby blue pail. At this age, children generally accepted that anything can be considered food if you have enough pixie dust and some imagination. If you pretend it could be food, even mud in a “Curious George” bucket could be a delicious pastry. I nodded yet again and added a maple leaf to the goop. He smiled softly, enjoying my

Amplified, by thousands of individuals as one melodic tone.

company on that dreary day. He then pointed in the direction of my backpack. “I like your bag,” he re-

Calling for change.

marked, shaking his head up and down slightly to show his appreciation of my rugged sack that ripped at

Their calls topple corruption and injustice.

‘Till it spreads too wide, and it loses its focus.

A new ripple starts, just a small vibration.

One voice.

the seams.

“Thank you,” I uttered quietly, remembering my manners. “So, what’s your name?” I questioned, emptying my bag of its remnants; a woven blanket with a satin lining, bearing Piglet from Winnie the Pooh, a tin of star shaped candies (so much for candy prohibition), and a Barbie themed makeup set full of lip gloss and nail polish. I tied the blanket around my neck, wearing it like a cape as I began to take the items from my makeup case.

“Casey,” he said proudly, as if his name was something earned. “What about you?”

“Emily,” I mouthed plainly, shaking the small bottle of nail polish in my fleshy hands. Casey gazed down to the nail polish in my hand with a wondering glance and then replied with a simple: “That’s nice,” with an award winning smile. There was a silence that range through the air and I used

to my advantage, grabbing one of his honey-colored hands in a sudden motion. Only the rain on the pavement was audible. The blonde let out a startled breath, not expecting my next move. The dramatic scene unfolded slowly between us, especially for poor Casey.

“W-what are you doing?” he questioned as I brought the brush with hot pink liquid to his fingertips.

He flinched when the brush met his fingernail and the cold polish overflowed onto his hands because of my own unsteady, inexperienced hands. He persisted “What are you-“

15

Echo Fall 2016

46

I cut him off. “Be quiet,” I mumbled, focusing on my handiwork. The nauseating smell of the polish made me cringe and I covered my mouth with the crook of my arm. I then brought out of my kit a miniature zebra print nail file and brought them to the tips of Casey’s tiny fingers, doing what I had seen my mother do on countless occasions when speaking with relatives over the telephone or reading one of her fashion magazines. I then put a clear lacquer on the hot pink finger nails, while the pink liquid oozed out of the tipped over container onto the wooden planks of the play house. I then examined my masterpiece of paint smeared fingers and a disturbed profile; my work here was complete.

“There,” I cheered, wiping the excess polish from my fingers onto the hem of my denim dress stitched with a poppy and wildflower print.

“You look beautiful now.” I giggled as I observed the sandy haired boy investigate the polish that adorned his nails. I cast Casey a warning glance, ceasing my chortling, and spoke solemnly the way only a four year old could “Don’t you smudge them,” Casey then took his pinky finger and wrapped it around mine in an act of sealing our pact.

“I pinky swear I won’t,” He piped up, a bit worried of my reaction. A moment of silence passed then came the question that still binds us to this very day.

“Do you want to be my friend?” he asked, gazing at me with large and curious brown puppy eyes. I shook my head excitedly, gaining a smile from him.

“Sure,” I muttered cheerily. And with that, we spent the rest of our time making pretend pastries, exploring for adventure in immaterial, and forming an unbreakable bond, which, I might add, still lives up to this day. As for myself, I can say now that I’m very grateful for bringing my makeup kit to kindergarten that day.

Untitled Kiona Edwards

47

Echo Fall 2016

14

Repeat step 1 but this time, make sure you mix the really close deadline in the back of your mind. That’s what’s going to keep you writing.

Add your emotional music to get some feelings running through you. Mixing some rain sounds in may help your heart feel even heavier and your piece to get even deeper.

Take the 2 cups of dark memories and tie them into some sort of story. Gradually beat in the craving of happiness that you probably will never get. Be careful not to get too personal, or else it may become awk-

ward.

This final step is key to writing just like Rayanne. Re-read your piece at least 3 times, adding 1 cup of selfdoubt every time you read it. By the time you finish editing and revising, you should hate your piece more than anything.

Disclaimer: Writing may lead to thoughts about things such as traumatic childhood experiences, your close friend who suddenly passed away, or your extreme family issues. Write at your own risk.

Untitled Erica Peterson

13

Echo Fall 2016

48

Write Like Rayanne!

Late Alli Hinchliffe

Rated: ★★★☆☆ Submitted by: Rayanne Anid

I am already lifeless at six am, 6:05 to be exact. Five minutes late. Five minutes past schedule and the anxiety from the absence of those precious five minutes swells in the back of my throat. No time to

Prep Time: 3 weeks

spare, my teeth should have been brushed by now, but I am five minutes behind schedule. Teeth brushed,

Cook Time: 1 week

hair neglected, makeup half way there but not quite yet. One, two, three, strokes of mascara, one, two,

Servings: 1

three, one, two, three, one, two, three.

“Peyton, don’t forget your morning pills!” I hear the shrill of my tired mother’s voice from the crack between the door and the noticeably dusty crown molding. Well it was noticeable to me anyways. Thank God she reminds me of my pills every morning. Between being seven minutes late today and the haunting image of that dusty crown molding, her precious pills are the last thing on my mind throughout the chaos

“Here is my recipe for how I write all of my pieces! Typically, these pieces are written alone, but they can be shared with friends, family, or even strangers. You can adjust the amount of darkness and emotions in this recipe to suit your taste.”

that is my Monday morning. Four pills laid on my counter, the biggest pill is third inline which I quickly rearrange. My mom should know better than that. Counting, one, two, three, I take the pills, leaving the fourth

Ingredients:

as usual. Rushing out the door, I click the garage clicker one, two, three times and pull out of the garage at

1 Journal

exactly 7:00am. Exactly five minutes past schedule! “LEAVE THE GARAGE AT 6:55AM” I can hear myself repeat over and over and over again, the voice of my mind screamed it at me, making my head pulsate.

1 Signature Pink Pen

Although I am late I can’t help but to count every single tree on my way to school, and this morning some-

1 Really Close Deadline

thing is wrong. There are always twenty-seven trees on the left side of Robinson Drive, and today there

3 Cups of Self Doubt

are twenty-six. Or maybe I miscounted. I really did try to turn left on Mason Avenue considering I’m a generous ten minutes late, but that same creaming voice forced my wheel to make a u-turn to recount the

Emotional music

trees. “THERE ARE ALWAYS 27 TREES,” plays like a broken record in my mind until I make my way back

Rain sounds (optional)

down Robinson Drive. Twenty-seven trees it is and I make my left turn.

2 Cups of Dark Memories

I count one, two, three, one, two three cars ahead of mine. Six cars to the light at 7:15am. Anticipat-

Craving of Happiness

ing the light to change from that piercing red glow to a beautiful green, my mind wanders back to my bedroom, a room of clutter. A room I may vacuum every three days, but never satisfies inspection. A room whose clothes have not been color-coordinated in 24 days. A room that is so mediocre that it had made

Directions:

me forget that beautiful shade of green until it stung me in they eye, relieving me from the nightmare that

Gather your ingredients and have them out and ready to use. Once your journal and pink pen have settled

is my bedroom. My foot taps the gas as I head forward.

into your desk, decide you’re too uninspired to actually write anything. Don’t even bother trying for the next 3 weeks.

49

Echo Fall 2016

La pirámide del Sol y la Luna Jennifer Ramos

12

Frantic as ever due to my 7:25am arrival, I am a fast walking Olympian through the halls of Ridgeway High School. I can feel every eye in the hall glued to my skin. What was wrong with me? Did I forget a step in my morning routine? The questions chase me down the hallway right to my class. Nearly falling into my seat, breathless and head throbbing, the first period bell revives me with the sound of its three beautiful chimes.

Ding, ding, ding.

11

Echo Fall 2016

50

“Maybe,” she said with a sad smile.

Smoke and Ribbons Gianna Ramos

Louis gently took hold of her hand. “Don’t say maybe; you might as well be saying no.”

Regret clouded her voice as she pulled away. “I enjoyed getting to know you tonight, but it really is time for me to-” “Anastasia!” a voice called from the hotel door. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

Louis turned towards the voice and saw a tall man with pale green eyes and dark brown hair striding towards Anastasia.

“I’m sorry dear, I must have lost track of time.” She murmured.

He let out an agitated sigh. He was about to pull her inside when he caught sight of Louis. “Who’s this?”

Anastasia had a nervous smile on her face as she responded. “This is Louis. He was performing at the Apollo Theatre.”

Louis stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you sir. You have a splendid…”

“Wife,” her husband interjected, with a frown on his face.

Louis dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Yes, a splendid wife indeed.”

The man gave him a look of disgust before yanking Anastasia inside. She lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave and disappeared into the hotel.

Louis turned away from the building, heading towards home. He knew he would never see her again, knew that he never had a chance to begin with. And yet, a smile began to grow on his face. Her beauty was subtle and flowing and fleeting. He couldn’t even begin to contain it or hope that it would stick around long enough to truly become his.

Somehow, just encountering her was enough.

Everything seemed to be blooming and bursting with color, as if the world could hardly contain itself. Words flooded his mind. I see trees of green, red roses too/I see them bloom for me and you…

51

Echo Fall 2016

10

soul, you know?”

A smile spread across Louis’s face as he leaned back in his chair. “I know exactly what you mean.

If I Am Anything, I Am Violence Thais Jacomassi

It’s inspired, it’s honest, it’s-” “It’s alive.” Anastasia finished.

The safest hands

For a few moments, they allowed the lyrical rhythm of Ella’s voice to diffuse around them, coating

were never my own.

everything in a dusty pink.

Louis cleared his throat. “I discovered something a while back.”

Anastasia leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“That sometimes, when everything is silent and still, you can see a person’s soul connecting to a certain song, or person, or place. It’s in the way their body reacts to the space around them.” Louis nodded

My mark on this world could have been left in paint strokes of blues and whites.

his head at a young man. His head was tilted back, fingers tapping along to the music. His eyes were closed as he mouthed all the words. “Do you see it?”

But instead it came out

She looked at Louis curiously. “How did you figure that out?”

as a match that consumed

Louis’s face lit up, filled with childlike joy and innocence. “Years of careful observation. I can’t di-

everything I touched.

vulge the exact method, or else I would put the entire operation in jeopardy.”

Anastasia’s laugh bubbled up and spilled over. Louis felt like it would carry him away.

Leaving behind a trail of crimson and gray.

“This place is like a dream,” she said. “A beautiful dream that I never want to end.”

Louis gave her a quizzical smile. “Why on earth should it?”

Anastasia twisted her hair. “No reason in particular. I just discovered something a while back. The morning tends to bring about harsh realities that taints the loveliest nights.”

After that, Anastasia got caught up in the music again. Louis could have sworn that he saw her soul connect to it.

It was well after midnight by the time he walked Anastasia to her hotel.

“Louis,” she whispered. “I really must go now. I have an early train to catch.”

“I know,” He sighed. “You will come and visit, won’t you? I could show you the whole city, the bright lights, and the hole-in-the-walls.”

My mark on this world was left in the form of a cold fire that gave little light.

Merely casting a shadow on people’s memories.

9

Echo Fall 2016

Whatever it was they seemed to remember of my existence

52

What a Wonderful World Kayla Halls

stung away at their eyes.

And that became the only emotion

they ever remembered me by.

Anastasia glided up to the Apollo Theatre one steamy New York evening. It was the summer of 1940, and her first time in Harlem.

She flicked ash from her cigarette and stepped inside. She was greeted with the sound of honey and gravel, wind chimes and hurricanes. It rose around her, enveloping her in its sweet sound. The lyrics tugged at her and pulled her deeper into the smoky theatre. The large main room was dimly lit and

So make me a promise, To make a different mark.

One whose path lights the way.

Away from the destruction I’ve caused.

crammed with tables. A small stage sat at the front where a black man and woman crooned into their microphones.

Anastasia sat down in a cushioned, scarlet chair. Her gold dress glimmered in the low stage lighting, drawing the singing man’s attention to her. He took in her pale skin and red wine lips. All he saw was elegance and demure beauty. He saw a wildflower pushing through the cracks of a Harlem sidewalk.

She was entranced by his rough voice, the way it scraped and flowed like water along the rocky bottom

As the lights leave this city, carve my name into the ground.

Make me the expanding roots Of something beautiful.

This will be where I end And you begin.

of a river bed. Its powerful movement and steady rhythm filled her body. The music carried her thoughts away, filling her with a sense of satisfaction she hadn’t known in ages. It wasn’t until wild applause ushered the man off the stage that she regained her focus.

The man moved towards her table. Once he reached her, he introduced himself. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Louis. And you are?”

She rose from her seat and held out her hand. “Anastasia.” Her voice reminded him of red roses.

“I’ve never seen you here before. I would remember such a stunning face.” He said as he took her hand. She smiled easily.

“Yes, it’s my first time. I’m not from here. I’m just passing through on my way back to Europe.”

He gestured for her take a seat and he sat across from her. “How did you like the music? It’s Ella’s brainchild.” He gestured to the woman who had been singing with him.

“It was marvelous, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I wish we had music like this back home. It makes me want to dance, and melt, and float away from the rest of the world. It just… it just feeds your

53

Echo Fall 2016

8

Leaf

Red Sox vs. The Yankees

Marie Van den Broecke

Andrew Bianchet

A leaf gently

twirls with the breeze plucked from its mother by whispers from the sky freshly fallen, finally free as the rays of sunlight make the world beyond branches sparkle. Bugs with new shades of blue, laughter like never before. Ballet with butterflies to the

beat of chirping baby birds. The magic of innocence’s discovery making time tick slow to a distant morning drizzle life’s best adventure to rest

“Red sox are gonna win tonight! I’m calling it!” Russell said excitedly, almost spitting out the handful of fries he put in his mouth. Russell was all around a large and intimidating man. That’s why most of the time he got this excited Elliot just went with it.

You think so?” Elliot asked, ripping apart his straw paper.

“Yes, I think so! I’m always right about these kinds of things.”

“You’re not always right,” Elliot said meekly, now feeling bad about the bits of straw paper he spread around the table.

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if we left when I said to leave, we wouldn’t be here an hour early, eating crappy stadium food.” He was now picking at the scraps left on his plate.

Russell was an obtrusive man with exclusively dark features, despite the grey hairs sprouting up in

his untidy hair and mustache. You could see his mustache twitch with annoyance when, like right now, people ignored him.

“So I was thinking,” Russell said, taking a deep breath, “maybe this would be a good time for us to catch up.”

Elliot looked up immediately. The idea of “catching up” was terrifying for him, being as socially awk-

with skeletons of

ward as he was. He just liked having someone who occasionally invited him to sports games, not to actual-

old friends

ly talk about things, especially with someone who seemed so dense like Russell. The only times they talked

in the black dirt.

were in the car or dinner parties, and usually Russell would take over the conversation and talk about

sports or how hot his wife was. The rest of the time was usually spent yelling at a TV screen.

Elliot sat dumbfounded at how to respond to the abnormal idea, and it made Russell shift uncomfortably in his seat. “My wife, um, Katie, she just thought it would be healthy and stuff… to actually talk and… be friends like they are.”

That’s how they met anyway. A friendship between their two wives was the only way they ended up speaking to one another. They were only at the game because Katie had won a ticket on the radio and

7

Echo Fall 2016

54

gave it to Russell. And then she talked Elliot into buying one.

Fall Edition

“Yeah.” Elliot murmured, as he was adjusting his hat that covered up slowly but surely forming bald spots in his dirty blond hair. “What do you want to talk about Russ?”

“You have a daughter, right? How is she?” He sounded like he had read the line off a note card a

31. A Maze of Memories

Anonymous

32. Untitled

Alexis Yahre

“Oh yeah, Cameron is about halfway through her freshman year of high school.”

33. Or I Could Have Said, “I’m Okay”

John Eric Vona

“Oh, how is that?” Russell said excitedly, while he was silently recounting missed memories.

35. Sunflower

Emily Petrus

Elliot looked down at the ground. “Not super great. She says she’s been having trouble making

36. The Real Mona Lisa

Reagan Johnson

37. Error

Hannah Makholm

38. Your Mom

Alli Hinchliffe

39. Anne

Riley Burcaw

40. The Greatest Lesson

Nora Sanchez

42. Untitled

Jessi Velte

43. Snakes

Mackenzie Vogt

44. A Kindergarten Camaraderie

Emily LaLiberte

47. Untitled

Erica Peterson

48. Late

Alli Hinchliffe

50. Smoke and Ribbons

Gianna Ramos

51. If I Am Anything, I Am Violence

Thais Jacomassi

53. Red Sox vs. The Yankees

Andrew Bianchet

58. Skyline

Emily Lighthall

million times, yet to Elliot he felt as if he could see a glint of interest in his seemingly black eyes, and it made him a little more comfortable.

friends and doesn't really feel like she fits in. I guess she’s taking after her dad.” Elliot smirked for a second, but it quickly melted, “but what’s scaring me is how strangely she seems to be acting at home. She hardly eats dinner and doesn’t talk to me or her mom. She tells me she eats a big lunch at school and she’s filled when she gets home, but I just don’t believe her anymore. And her mom has been almost no help. Skyler just tells me to talk to her, but I know she’s not going to listen.”

Elliot looked up, expecting sympathy, but was greeted by badly hidden consternation on Russell’s face. It was at this moment Elliot realized how far in life he’d get if he just said, “Everything’s fine” more often than not. It took about 30 long seconds for the words to come out of Russell’s mouth like kicked tumbleweeds.

“Well, um, that is… bad.” Russell cleared his already empty throat, “My son eats a ton, just like all the time. He eats sausage, bacon, steak, ya know? Jared is just a real, uh, man’s man.”

“Jared’s thirteen now, right? He’s in seventh grade?” asked Elliot, pleased to have made it to another subject so quickly.

Russell laughed, “I’m sorry, bud, but you’re definitely gonna have to ask my wife if you want that information.”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, stroking his chin as if he had facial hair or even the potential to grow it, “I was pretty heavy at that time too, ya know? It’s just kind of an awkward time for young--” “Did you just call my son fat?” Russell said clenching his jaw.

55

Echo Fall 2016

6

“I said heavy, and it’s no big deal. I just thought--”

Fall Edition

“Because, it really sounded like you called my son fat.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal, I--”

Cover

Jacqueline VanEyk

8. Leaf

Marie Van den Broecke

9. What a Wonderful World

Kayla Halls

12. La pirámide del Sol y La Luna

Jennifer Ramos

13. Write Like Rayanne!

Rayanne Anid

15. Untitled

Kiona Edwards

16. True Freedom

Carson Anderson

17. Cosmic Connection

Sarah Houssian

and noticed how big and beaten up Russell’s hands were. It took him a second to remember that he had a

18. A Real Moment

Marcus Smith

profession as a construction worker, a much more taxing job than Elliot’s job of waiting tables at a Ruby

20. Untitled

Jessica Herz

couldn’t help feeling a little bit lame compared to Russell in size and in looks. He was glad that the juxtapo-

21. The Witness

Aidan Sullivan

sition between them never seemed to bother Russell.

23. Bee Tile

Andrea Herrada

24. Mistakes

Anonymous

25. Beautiful Words

Carson Anderson

26. Untitled

Erica Paniss

27. Vignette

Reagan Johnson

28. The Mug

Chloe Schmidt

29. I-75

Eryn Vesta

30. Staircase to Nothing

Zachary Gulick

“I said man’s man, my son is goddamn fine. Why’d you have go and make it weird, like my son’s sick or something?”

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He didn’t really feel that sorry, and would have continued to enforce that being heavy at that age is normal, but ended up mostly apologizing because Russell had seemed to forget he was in a public place and was now turning heads. Russell rolled his eyes and began texting on his phone.

Russell had fallen silent. It took a bit but the features on his face had finally seemed to relax. Elliot looked down at his watch and saw they still had 40 minutes before anything began on the field. He wanted to be early, but he couldn’t believe how badly he had misjudged the time it would take to get here. He thought there should have been immense traffic to a Yankees VS Red Sox game. Elliot looked at the table

Tuesday. It caused him to naturally have frail hands proportionate to the rest of his body. Sometimes Elliot

Elliot looked up at his friend’s face, which was looking away at the moment. He seemed unsatisfied with the conversation they had held and Elliot felt his social awkwardness was at fault.

“How is Katie, Russ?” He felt as if there were no way this could lead to hostility.

“Can we just watch baseball, Elliot?” He asked firmly, still looking away.

Elliot twiddled his thumbs, he felt his eyes starting to get drowsy. He wasn’t used to this amount of stress. Russell let out a big sigh, closed his eyes, and when he opened them, was looking at Elliot.

“She’s fine. She’s been baking a lot recently,” he put his phone in his pocket, “the whole nine yards: cakes, brownies and all these other sweets, they’ve just filled up the house.”

“Wow!” Elliot was glad they had fallen upon such a mundane topic, “Your son must absolutely love that!”

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Russell thought for a second about what Elliot just said and then furrowed his eyebrows.

THE ECHO

“Because he’s in seventh grade!” Elliot added quickly, in disbelief that Russell thought he was trying to imply that his son was overweight again.

Russell breathed audibly out of his nose. “Anyway, Katie’s been baking stuff, which I’ve been fine with, ya know. I love always having cupcakes in the microwave. What I don’t love is the mess she leaves in

CO-EDITORS-IN-CHIEF

S UBMISSI O NS M ANAGER

the kitchen. It’s like she expects me to clean the shit when I get home, when she’s home all day because

Emily Chmielewski

Kayla Halls

Lexi Velte

PODCA ST PROD UCER

she gets summers off from teaching.” He looked down at his phone, seeming to take about half his concentration off the conversation. “I swear, I think she’s too dumb to know it, but she can be such a bitch

Anna Moye

sometimes.”

Elliot was taken off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Jesus, dude, That’s a little harsh.”

FICTI O N EDITOR

S OCIAL MEDIA M ANAGER

Russell immediately looked up at Elliot, “What the hell are you, some goddamn feminist?”

Perdita Samuel-Lopez

Samuel Ake

“No, I just think it’s a little mean to--”

NO N-FICTI O N EDITOR

ALTERNATI VE PUBLISHING

“Listen, Elliot, I’m starting to not give a shit what you think. Just because you have your crappy little

Kaitlin Burkhart

Andrew Bianchet

tionship. My life is goddamn perfect.” he seemed a little flustered at this point and had to pause in the mid-

Gabby Johnson

CO N TEST S M ANAGER

dle of his speech, “Don’t judge the way I talk about my wife. Alright?”

POET RY EDITOR

Analise Morrow

Rumaysa Sweilem

CLUB PRESIDE N T

Thais Jacomassi

Rayanne Anid

ART EDITOR

WEBSITE COORDINATOR

Natalie Mannino

Kat Swartz

“I think you're wrong. I bet your life isn’t perfect.” It squeaked out of him, ill-timed, about 5 minutes later,

Marcus Smith (Interim)

HEAD ILLUST RATOR

and without a sliver of the indignation he wanted it to have.

ADVERTISING M ANAGER

Erix Pizano

Justen Vargas

FACULTY ADVIS OR

LAYO UT M ANAGER

John Eric Vona

life doesn’t mean mine is shitty, too. Stop trying to butt heads with me. My wife and I have a perfect rela-

Elliot couldn’t say anything. Even though he felt angry, he couldn’t muster up the courage to say anything and felt awfully lame because of it. He looked down to see that there was still fifteen minutes before the game started. Russell was back to tapping on his phone screen.

His comments seemed to have no effect on his conscious. Elliot looked at his face and saw no visible sign of regret, just the bright light of his own phone screen bouncing off his pupils. He almost looked proud of himself. That’s what bothered Elliot the most.

Russell looked up at Elliot, tight-jawed and seemingly ready to yell. The anticipation made Elliot want to pull what was left of his hair out. But he never said anything. Instead of yelling, Russell stared at him, rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and walked away. Elliot stared at him when he ripped apart his

Bella Cruz-O’Grady

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4

ticket and when he flinched to walk back towards the table, he stared at him until he disappeared into the

A Note From The Editors

crowd.

Five minutes until the game.

It has been a pleasure to see the growth of the Echo from a tiny, after school club producing a 20 page magazine to a full class of students creating a 127 page magazine. Oh wait… that was last year… so how about that Haunted House? Jokes aside, The Echo is a staff filled with some of the most hardworking, creative, and talented minds that Steinbrenner has to offer. We have grown from a small, close-knit group to a relatively well-known publication throughout the school. There are days where tensions run high and patience runs low. There are also days where we hold our heads in our hands as we wonder whether all of the work is worth sitting on another pitying English teacher’s shelf. But there are also days, like today, where our hearts swell with pride as we see our trials and tribulations realized in the first proof of the new magazine. Days where we forget about all of our extraneous projects (who are we kidding, don’t forget to listen to our podcast and subscribe to our YouTube channel, we need the ad sense) and remember who we are. The Echo is a student-run, student-driven, and student-loved literary magazine. What you hold in your hands has been written, produced, and published by the students for the students. We hope you enjoy the

2016 Fall issue of Steinbrenner High School’s Echo, at least enough to pay us for it.

Emily Chmielewski Lexi Velte

Elliot felt shaky as he sat there alone, like if he said one more word he would choke up and begin to cry. Elliot was one to overthink things he was told and not be able to get over it for a very long time. In other words, he was a sensitive soul, and could not stop feeling Russell’s words as if they were knotted up

inside his chest. He couldn’t help thinking maybe Russell was right. Maybe he had the perfect life. Elliot began to believe maybe he was just born to have a life of being lame. All this self-deprecation stressed him out so he decided to leave and go home. He knew his wife would be angry that he wasted money on a ticket. It was fine though. He didn’t miss much.

The Red Sox lost that night anyway.

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Skyline Emily Lighthall

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Colophon The Echo, Volume V, Issue II was student produced by the Echo staff at Steinbrenner High School. The writing and artwork pieces that are featured in this issue were submitted by Steinbrenner students and teachers and were anonymously reviewed by the Echo staff members.

The layout was designed in Microsoft Publisher 2013 by layout editor Emma Stevens. The Echo is a member of the Florida Scholastic Press Association. PTSA provided some of the funds that were used to create the magazine. The magazines will be sold for $5.00 each.

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“I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.” - Douglass Adams

“All the bright colors that painted her reality have run together and coated everything in monotonous gray.”

- “Maze of Memories”

“Your mom tastes like the universe.”

- “Your Mom”

“They’re water color portraits of your desires and marble statues of the future you’re trying to build.”

- “Vignette”