The Alternative - 2019

20 19 EASTFIELD COLLEGE

ABOUT THE ALTERNATIVE The Alternative, Eastfield College’s student-produced visual art and literature magazine, was first published in 1990 to highlight student writing and artwork. After a three-year hiat us, from 2007 to 2009, it was restarted in 2010, receiving an honorable mention for general excellence from the Texas Community College Journalism Association.

The college has published a student literary magazine under five other names, starting with The Villager in 1971. It was changed to Goat Leg in 1976, Epoch in 1980, Et Cetera Ambiance in 1988 and Visions in 1989.

This year’s edition features a variety of works including drawings, poetry, photography, and music. It would not have been possible without the collaborative efforts of students and advisers from the following disciplines: Visual Arts, Digital Media, English and Journalism.

ARTS AND COMMUNICATIONS ADVISERS Dr. Danielle Georgiou, Dance Faculty and Program Coordinator Iris Bechtol, Gallery Director Lori Dann, Journalism Faculty and Program Coordinator Larissa Pierce, English Faculty Oslynn Williams, Digital Media Lead Faculty and Program Coordinator Sarah Sheldon, Student Publications and Media Manager

DESIGNED AND PRODUCED BY THE ADVANCED DIGITAL PUBLISHING CLASS, DIGITAL MEDIA DEPARTMENT, ARTS AND COMMUNICATIONS DIVISION Jose Del Toro Enrique Diaz Luis Flores

Jeremy Jones Andrew Zapata

CONTENTS LITERATURE Bowties to House Parties/David Silva

4

The Owl/Rachael Soto

28

Eulogy of Brie Told By Diana Her Cat/Brianna W.

9

Scariest Moment/Deaven Stovall

30

Almost Another Statistic/Jordan R. Stanfield

13

The Pregnancy Scare/J Johnson

34

My Beautiful Nightmare/Ariacna Sandoval

17

Monster Within the Man/Jordan Lackey

37

Tonight/Jordan R. Stanfield

20

Paper Planes/Abigail Lesage

38

The Vanity/Mallory Durham Ode To A Cockerel/Bethany Ferson

22

Fireflies/Jordan Lackey

40

25

PHOTOGRAPHY Lucky Number/Kate Enoire

2

La Llorona/Hermila Martinez Cuevas

12

Nobility #2/Thushal Sasankan

5

Jelly #3/Thushal Sasankan

14

Lights of Dallas/Hermila Martinez Cuevas

6

Blue and White/Homer Lozano

21

Philly #2/Thushal Sasankan

8

Dots/OhhMy Joshh

36

Nike Air/OhhMy Joshh

10

#2/Thushal Sasankan

40

Get My Good Side/David Silva

11

FINE ARTS

DIGITAL MEDIA

Hibiscus/Esther Moreno

18

Passion/Jeremy Jones

JH/Jessica Martinez

19

Hate Cannot/Jeremy Jones

Strata/Jerry Tuhy

24

Moss and Twigs/Joan Deichert

28

Cookies/Joan Deichert

29

Titan/Chianna Gomez

32

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ALTERNATIVE

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LUCKY NUMBER KATE ENOIRE

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I wore a bowtie to my first house party; I got too drunk and told Stephanie I loved her; She danced with me and threw up in a flower pot, And through it all made sure I never held her drink.

I went to the next house party with a band tee; Opened the door and heard, “Where’s your bowtie, bro!?”

Abigail had a 4.0 and a broken heart, She sat on my lap and slurred, “Have you ever had sex?” before passing out.

I Googled “how to take care of someone that’s passed out,” Took her into a bedroom where wikiHow said to lay her on her side; It wasn’t even two minutes before the vultures came knocking, “Yo! Let me join in, bro!” while Abby mumbled about how much she hated PreCal. I sat on the floor next to her, tears on that stupid band tee; Waited, and waited, and waited; They left, I locked the door behind me when I went.

I wore a golden bowtie for New Year’s Eve; Madison and I chugged a cheap bottle of vodka, She hit her head on the corner of a wall, And said the most embarrassing thing of the night was still how badly I danced.

I said, “Dude, it’s just a button,” as I struggled to stand.

“Stand back, I got it.”

Her voice was like honey, up until that point, In what seemed like a screech, she told me about an ex-boyfriend, a little pill in her drink, and a song that she just can’t listen to anymore.

She apologized to me and said she just couldn’t do it.

She apologized to me.

I’ll never understand it.

She apologized to me.

I had never been that sober in my life.

After a while she wiped her face clean, Told me my dancing isn’t all that bad, And that she really loved my bowtie.

PASSION

JEREMY JONES

And that’s why I wear bowties to house parties.

BOWTIES TO HOUSE PARTIES DAVID SILVA

We missed the New Year’s kiss, But made up for it every second after; We stumbled from wall to wall with our lips as moral support, And finally found a room that was free.

I had never been that drunk in my life, We struggled in the dark until her hands reached the button on my pants, She was so drunk she couldn’t get it to give and started to cry,

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NOBILITY

THUSHAL SASANKAN

ALTERNATIVE

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LIGHTS OF DALLAS HERMILA MARTINEZ CUEVAS

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ALTERNATIVE

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THE EULOGY OF BRIE TOLD BY DIANA, HER CAT BRIANNA WHIDDON

PHILLY#2 THUSHAL SASANKAN

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The four of us know what happened to Brie recently. A few days ago, she passed away peacefully in her sleep. We were all there cuddled up to her. We had Brie for a little over twenty years, and she loved all of us. She gave us all the pets, love, and food we could ever want. Thanks to her, the four of us orphans were brought together. Luna, she got you when you were only two months old. She had just moved into her first apartment and was lonely. Brie had to nurse you back to health. Artemis, she got you a month after Luna so you both would have a companion while she was at work. For nearly two years, she believed her family was complete until her mom brought home Asher.

She instantly fell in love with him and a week later found me. I was four weeks old, alone, and terrified, running around on her college campus.

She brought me home to all of you, and our family was complete.

Although she had all four of us by the time she was twenty one, she never let us feel unloved or forgotten. Over the past twenty years, we have seen her go through a lot of changes.

We were with her when she transferred to Stephen F. Austin and moved us into another new home. We kept her happy through all the stress she had at school. I can still remember how excited she was when she met her future husband. Of course, she told us all about him and brought him over to meet all of us. Luckily, he liked cats. Some were scared of him at first, but everyone eventually grew to love him. I personally thought he was a great chew toy.

They got married right after college, and we moved again.

A few months after getting married, she started her dream job. Brie got a job teaching ceramics to high school kids at a deaf school.

She loved her job and the kids but never brought home too much art. We would break it the same day she brought it home, and by we, I mean you Luna.

Her husband always supported her in everything she did. They were able to move into a nice house and even built us a cat room. It had all the toys and cat trees we could ever want, and even had floating platforms for us to climb on. Life back then was paradise for us. The whole family was happy and content.

A couple of years later, the peace was shattered. Brie kept getting bigger and bigger until one day she came home with a furless, loud thing that did not look like another cat. She told us it was a ‘baby’. Baby humans are strange and annoying. She did this to us two more times, and every time it was a shock. I did have fun knocking them down once they started walking. Brie wasn’t happy with that and would always rush over to help them back up. Human babies take such a long time to grow and learn to do things on their own. I don’t know how she put up with it. I am glad that they are teenagers now and no longer pull our tails. We love them no matter what.

A few years after having her kids, she quit her job at the high school to open up a school of her own. That was a stressful time for all of us. We all helped as best we could.

Eventually, after finding the right building and going through construction to make it perfect, she started the decorating process. Brie would always take us to the new school and even had a special place in her office for us. The school was perfect, and the staff were always nice to us. Eventually, the kids were brought to the school with us and started attending classes.

She was so proud of them and loved to help them through their work or problems at school.

At the time, I am pretty sure the kids did not appreciate it.

Brie accomplished a lot in her lifetime and helped many families through her school.

She even started a charity for families who needed help with money. Through her charity, she raised thousands of dollars and would hand out each award personally. Although she had her hands full running the school, charity, and raising three kids, I think this was the best time of her life. She made a difference in the lives of so many children and parents. Everyone will miss her. So many people have come by the house to talk to our family and offer food for our humans, but it does not seem to help them any.

The humans cannot stop crying, and it is our duty to be there for them with the time we have left on this earth. We each have a human to focus on now that she is gone. I will handle the youngest girl. I think we all would give anything to have Brie here with us right now. To have her alive again, but we must be strong for the other humans. Our lives will never be the same without Brie. The humans are home now. We must go to them.

ALTERNATIVE

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GET MY GOOD SIDE DAVID SILVA

NIKE AIR OHHMY JOSHH

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ALTERNATIVE

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LA LLORONA HERMILA MARTINEZ CUEVAS

Sitting in the corner of my pitch-black room, I silently sobbed. Earlier that month, I had taken a handful of pills, all different colors, some white, others green and yellow—hoping they would take away the pain. A few days before this, I sat on the cold, unforgiving floor of my bathroom for hours trying to work up enough courage to let the cold, metal blade slide across my wrist. I wanted to end it all.

I never wanted to wake up again. No one wanted me. I was worthless. These were the thoughts that were running through my head, over and over, each time growing louder and louder. I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted everything to stop. What had happened to the little girl so full of happiness, who didn’t have a care in the world? Where was she? Where had she gone? In that moment, all I knew was that that little girl wasn’t anywhere in sight and that I needed to do everything I could to bring her back. I had hit rock bottom.

Somewhere inside my weak, tired body, I found enough strength to stand in the corner of my room.

I slid my feet across the smooth, beige carpet of my purple-walled bedroom until I got to the door.

At first, I hesitated, as would anyone else, but then I reached for the metal handle that was connected to the big, heavy, white door; for so long, it had hidden my secrets from the people who knew everything about me. The hallway that led to the living room, where I could hear what sounded like the television going, was lit only by the dim light at the other end. I took a step and began what felt like the longest walk I had ever taken down that hallway.

My parents are the most supportive people on this planet, but I had gotten to a point where I felt as though I couldn’t express how I was feeling to them face to face, so I wrote everything that I was feeling, plus everything that I felt in the last seven months.

When I reached the end of the hallway, I lifted my head to observe what was going on in the dimly lit but lively living room. My parents were sitting on the light brown couch, which filled our living room, watching something on the television.

I walked over to the mother that I knew would be able to take care of my problems and handed her the note that I had written in blue ink pen on a piece of notebook paper. I quickly returned to my room so that I didn’t have to sit in there while she read it. I sat in that pitch-black corner of my purple-walled room for only a short while before I heard my mother call my name. I knew then that she had read the note. That was it; I was finally going to get some help.

This time, I got up with ease; it was like my body knew something that my brain didn’t. When I returned to the living room, the television had been paused and the lights had been turned on.

I knew that this meant that I was going to have to sit down and talk about everything I had said in the note. They asked questions. “When did you start feeling this way?” “What caused you to feel the way you do?” “What do you think we should do to help you?” That’s one thing I had always loved about my parents; they always asked me what I wanted them to do or what I thought they should do. I knew one thing for sure; I most definitely didn’t want to go to a mental hospital. I took a deep breath, looked up, and began to cry. I didn’t know what they should do; I didn’t know how any pill or drug I could take would ever make me feel happy.

After having a long talk with my parents about the different kinds of antidepressants and which ones did what and how each one worked, we decided to go with the option of the antidepressants.

My parents also told me that I was going to start going back to church the next night. I hadn’t been to church in at least seven months, and I felt like if God was real He wouldn’t have ever let me feel the way I had been feeling. For me, there was no God. If there was a God, my life wouldn’t have been so bad.

Today, my life is a completely different situation from what it was back then. I started my antidepressants that very next day. More often than not, antidepressants take days, weeks, or even months to start working, but in my case they took effect within three hours of me taking them. I was a completely different person within three hours of taking the first antidepressant. I ended up going to church that next night and didn’t miss a Wednesday night until I graduated high school.

Living with depression without having help is so deadly and very scary. I felt as though I was not good enough and that no one would miss me if I just disappeared. Luckily, I quickly learned that I was so deeply loved and that if I had gone through with slitting my wrist or if those pills I had ingested would have taken me in my sleep, I would have left a lot of people devastated, lost, and alone.

Now, I am a very big advocate against suicide, and I take the time out of my day to make sure people know that taking their life definitely isn’t worth it. I have also come to learn that I cannot let the actions and words of others dictate what I do or how I feel. The only people that matter are the ones who are still standing next to me in the end.

ALMOST ANOTHER STATISTIC JORDAN RAE STANFIELD

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ALTERNATIVE

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JELLY #3 14 /E A S TFIELD COLLEGE

THUSHAL SASANKAN ALTERNATIVE

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MY BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARE ARIACNA SANDOVAL I gave you every inch of my heart, and you gave me a cold.

All I wanted to be was your art; so sensitive, beautiful, and bold.

But you dared not care if I was with joy or with pain.

Everything I did for you led us nowhere, yet here I go again.

You are the tempest I continue to follow.

Growing weary, furious, and drowned.

Oh dear, your love for me has become hollow, and from your heart I have been disbound.

Now I cry and wait for my next heartbreak.

A terrible dream in which I refuse to wake.

HATE CANNOT JEREMY JONES

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ALTERNATIVE

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JH JESSICA MARTINEZ

HIBISCUS ESTHER MORENO

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ALTERNATIVE

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TONIGHT JORDAN RAE STANFIELD Tonight, I lie here listening to the crickets, while you lie there listening to her breathe.

You fall asleep with no thoughts of me; all the while I’m wide awake, thinking about all of the things I could have said to make you stay with me.

BLUE AND WHITE HOMER LOZANO

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ALTERNATIVE

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THE VANITY MALLORY DURHAM

My younger cousin Rylee hasn’t always been in my life. I met her when I had just turned sixteen. From the moment she and her father entered my life, they were family. Within the first twenty minutes of meeting Rylee, we had inside jokes as if we had known each other for years.

Although we had a two-year age gap, we could talk about any and everything, as well as relate to each other like we were the same person. A true bond we shared. Although Rylee’s father and my aunt had only been dating for a year, they moved in and had a new place to call home.

Prior to meeting Rylee and her dad, my aunt designed and had a two-story, 3,000 square foot home built on a large lot of land in south Louisiana, where my mom and her family grew up.

The upstairs area of the home consisted of one big open room with storage closets, a bathroom and two small windows. Its initial purpose was as a home office that transitioned to a play room or entertainment space, then to its current and final form, Rylee’s bedroom. All this empty space needs furniture; so an entertainment wall—from floor to ceiling, two beds—a trundle and one king-sized, a lounge chair, positioned in middle of the room, and two dressers were placed near the beds.

My aunt was extremely excited to have a new daughter figure in her life, so she brought home a vanity for Rylee to use in the mornings as she prepares for school.

The time Rylee and I spent quality time together was over Thanksgiving break. My parents and I drove from Dallas, Texas to Lafayette, Louisiana and started a week-long break Rylee and I would never forget. Cliché? Perhaps it is but every time

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my parents and I visited Lafayette, we stayed at my aunt’s house because her house is large. I would sleep upstairs with Rylee in the king-sized bed.

On the eve of Thanksgiving, Rylee and I went upstairs after dinner and watched television. Rylee usually falls asleep with the TV on because, at night, her bedroom gets really dark and the two small windows bring in very little light from outside. Even during the day Rylee and I heavily relied on the ceiling lights for decent lighting. But alas, we began drifting off around midnight and shortly woke up around two in the morning.

I was awakened to Rylee nudging me. She was laying on her back, with her head leaned forward, and her eyes were barely open. She’s looking straight ahead. “Did you turn off the TV?” Her voice sounded raspy; I could tell that she was still very sleepy. I closed my eyes, and said gently whispered “No”. I felt Rylee fiddling around and opened my eyes. She reached for the remote and turned the television back on. “I adjusted the volume of the TV to a soft mumble.” I attempted to return to my slumber and thought Rylee was watching TV. She began moving around more frequently, stretching and adjusting herself upright.

“Do you see that?” she said.

Again, I open my eyes, grab my glasses

and lean forward.

“See--”

“The vanity,” she replies.

The vanity is to the right of the entertainment center in the corner of the room.

I could see where the mirror of the vanity was but not the body or legs of the furniture itself. I look towards the mirror and can see the light from the TV illuminating the left side of the mirror. Rylee then calmly pointed next to the vanity. “Do you see her?”

I instantly got chills and quite frankly, I didn’t want to try and see what Rylee was seeing.

My hands went to my chest; my body felt as if it completely locked up to the thought that Rylee was seeing a woman in the corner of the room. I felt crappy. My stomach felt as if a million

little creatures were moving around inside of it, but I could not move. I finally understood why characters in scary movies cannot run after becoming overpowered by fear. After what felt like five minutes in this gut-twisting experience in the dark, I felt my arm getting warmer. Rylee was holding me. It had only lasted fifteen seconds.

As we f inally got to a point to talk about what happened, I never actually saw what Rylee saw.

But with an official response from Rylee, it was apparent it was just Rylee and I in her bedroom.

What frightened me the most was the fact I was looking into the same darkness as Rylee, but I couldn’t see anything. But I believed Rylee when she said she saw what she saw. Why was I the one who was frightened even though I didn’t see her?

It seemed as if the woman selectively chose Rylee to see her. Rylee then explained how she felt calm during this encounter because the woman was older and seemed peaceful. She didn’t feel she was in danger in this woman’s presence; she felt safe. Rylee’s thoughts brought me closure and allowed us to go back to sleep, just this time, we were shoulder to shoulder sharing the same pillow.

The next day Rylee and I did not immediately discuss with our family what we went through the night before. With the preparation and business Thanksgiving dinner brought to the household, we just spent time with our cousins entering and exiting the house. Later that night, after our extended family left, we bathed and sat in the kitchen talking and joking when my mom walked in to grab a snack. My mom has had many experiences with ghosts before, so I knew she’d believe us if we told her about what happened the night before. We told her the story, every detail we could recall, what channel the television was on before we went to sleep to the time we awoke the next morning. As Rylee explained what she saw, and where she saw the woman, I see my mom’s eyebrows move towards each other.

“What vanity?”

Rylee described the vanity, stating that my aunt moved it into her room a few days after

she moved in. And my mother’s face lights up.

She says the vanity Rylee’s describing is a part of a bedroom set owned by my great grandmother, ‘Maw Maw’ Rosie. She gifted the bedroom set to my aunt years ago. I personally don’t know too much about ‘Maw Maw’ Rosie, as my mom calls her, because she died long before I or even my older brother was born. Based on stories, I did know that she was a loving woman, who treated everyone as her own. My mom’s facial expression is as if she has solved a magnificent puzzle. She connects the two pieces, Rylee and ‘Maw Maw’ Rosie, the woman who only Rylee could see. Since Rylee just entered the family, she had been visited by my great grandmother because of the vanity that resided in Rylee’s room.

The three of us told my aunt, who retrieved the photo albums. First, we looked at pictures from my mom’s childhood. When my aunt turned the page, some of the last pictures captured of my great grandmother were hiding. In one photo, where Rylee confirmed this was who she saw, was ‘Maw Maw’ Rosie sitting with her legs crossed on the stool, in front of the vanity.

ALTERNATIVE

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ODE TO A COCKEREL BETHANY FERSON Xan, a man, not woman as thought to be, Born from egg, pale green, brother you had Mother’s golden feathers, lady Goldie, Fluffy cheeks, too soon taken, Fin the lad.

Simba, thy father’s name, the lone rooster, You came, beloved little chick, I held You in my hands, hatched late, too late for her to warm, step-mother Chickalea would meld Your half-siblings, three new into the fold, Claim them as hers, now are too old to sit Beneath her tiny wings, you grew too bold to stay at home, here you stand, ow! You bit My hand! Bloody little ingrate! Hormones Hit like a truck, git lest I make you flown!

STRATA JERRY TUHY

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ALTERNATIVE

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THE OWL RACHAEL SOTO

It was a late Wednesday night, three days before my eighteenth birthday, and the streets of Motley and Oates were quieter than usual.

The neighborhood houses cast a dark shadow onto the lanes riddled with potholes. The street light burned a crimson shade of red onto the intersection below; the last stop towards the destination. Following the abrupt stop, I found a moment to discretely exhale a sigh of relief. My right hand clutched the door panel at any, and every, crevice possible of being gripped. My left hand throbbed from the firm grip I had on my seatbelt lock – a security measure I had enforced upon myself for the fear of it malfunctioning. My petite stature consisted of short, non-athletic arms and poorly transferred, genetically modified legs that never seemed to meet the floor from every seat structure I ever encountered.

The awkward position I sat in was so tense and concave that it became apparent to my friend Michelle, the maniac behind the steering wheel.

Her quick glance was followed by a giggle under her breath. Although softly executed, it resonated in my ears like the laugh of Ursula in The Little Mermaid when she grew into a giant-like Darryl Hannah in Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman. To my recollection, this intersection light never took this long. We were so close to the pool hall that the thought of it comforted me enough to relax while riding shotgun. I should have driven. At that point, I was more eager to regain the blood flow in my fingers that once yearned to play piano but would now only serve as Chinese back scratchers.

Suddenly, the interior of the car was lit up by the glowing green beams that reflected off the hood of Michelle’s new car. Beyond the houses and past the trees, I could see a glimpse of a vibrant neon sign that read “Slick’s Billiards.”

I had survived this time.

As we approached the lot, Michelle knew available parking near the hall was nonexistent.

If there were vacant spots, they were usually inhabited by horsepower-driven guys vocally competing with one another about whose custom vehicle was better. We park nearby to hear who wins. While walking through the lot a prism caught my eye. It had come from a compact disc that hung by an old withered shoelace on the rear-view mirror of the champion car. The owner of the Champ was the loudest and most obnoxious one who could not let anyone finish sentences. I

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wonder if this brawny male knew the disc’s prism effect resembled that of a disco ball glistening the dance floor at a Soul Train convention.

The front doors were tinted to an extreme in hopes of diminishing the view of the activities that awaited us inside. An 8x11 sheet of paper displayed on the right door panel constantly flapped as the wind whisked underneath it from the poorly taped corners. I often avoided eye contact with this paper that listed the names of people banned from the pool hall for misconduct; I knew them all.

The smog that filled the interior quickly swallowed us as we entered Slick’s for the third time this week. Ty, the owner, was so proud of his investment to purchase a vintage cigarette vending machine. He insisted on showing it to me every visit, and we visited almost daily! The knobs were cracked and no longer turned from the stripped rubber along the internal bolt. It was one of those stomp twice, clap once, fist bump the top twice types of machinery. A classic. The jukebox was booming and guests were vocalizing lyrics with their arms flapping to the beat of “Throw It Up” by Lil Jon and the Eastside Boyz. The ratio of people to pool tables was probably 4:1 on any given day. The attendance was guaranteed to consist of familiar and underage faces typically hidden behind a plume of cigarette smoke – the smog culprits. With no particular reason to go to the hall other than to socialize, play pool, and subject ourselves to second-hand smoke and profanity, this particular trip was scheduled and planned, unbeknownst to me.

Michelle led the way, as usual. She emphasized the arch in her back more and more with every step. She peacocked across the hall with her skin-painted M.U.D.D. jeans and cleavagerevealing blouses. A bold move to wear such a top that placed the stuffed bra of pudding-filled balloons at risk of being revealed. It was in this department alone that I outshined Michelle. Her face was consistently flawless. She smiled so confidently with her braces, as if she knew it was the final apparatus reconstructing her sole Godgiven flaw. When Michelle walks, she struts like a model. On the other hand, I walk as humanly as possible trying to be the exact opposite of my company that I end up looking like an introverted emo teenager trapped in her mental darkness.

As we made our way to our usual pool table, independent travels and all, I can not help but to glide my fingers along the green felt of every table I pass. The blood circulation had almost returned completely and proved so as the static friction on the sea of green felts tickled my fingertips. My momentary hand-to-table orgasm was quickly interrupted by a polyphonic tune chiming from a phone, buried deep in the confined space of a back pocket to Michelle’s jegging bottoms. Her scheme began to unravel

as her porcelain face distorted in a way that said “please don’t hate me for what I am about to tell you!” Suddenly, my heart raced faster than her driving habits on Galloway Avenue at two in the morning after a Saturday night out.

“Lamaron is on his way. He wanted to meet me up here but I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t have come” she says.

I quickly interrupt and yell, “Michelle! You know I hate —.”

“Being the third wheel! I know,” she exclaims! “So I asked him to bring someone for you! Some cousin of Lamaron who is here in town but... I’m not really sure who he is, honestly.”

She giggled again while everything in me was inflamed like the infamous warped cue stick that leaned in the corner by the exit door for years.

The exit door!

There before me stood the foundation of my great escape! Unfortunately, I was quickly reminded by the peeled vinyl lettering on the door that the alarm would sound upon exit. Her maniacal laugh was so empowering that I could faintly hear Christina wailing about some darn genie in a bottle and lots of rubbing. Like a “pickle” out of our high school ROTC Squad, I jerked an about-face and headed for the front door.

With a stare so hard on the door handle, I managed to overlook another guest walking in at the same time. There was an instant collision.

Typical short girl problems – my face into his stomach. Although I was in pain, I was curious who the rightful owner of this firm, ripped, washboard, Giorgio Armani scented, chiseled slab of prime rib belonged to! The upward stare was endless or so it seemed. Our eyes met. The chaos around me was silenced, and my vision was tunneled by a dark vignette putting this breathtaking creature solely in my sight. His emitting eyes were mysterious; shaded with the hue of an olive. His eyes were clear but had depth, warm but sharp as icicles, and oddly fixated back on me. He grabbed my nose the way a grandfather tricks a toddler into thinking he has stolen it right off the invalid’s face.

Still, he said nothing.

I said nothing.

“Get out of the way,” the bouncer yelled!

With his arm directional towards an empty pool table and his other hand on the small of my back while he guided me, the glorious 6 foot 4 inched human owl asked, “Do you want to play a game?”

I was speechless. I was unable to physically speak. The totem pole continued to smile and fixate on me with every inch that I made while he stood there awaiting my response. I coughed.

Not genuinely ill but like the awkward cough one would perform during rectal exams at the doctor’s office. Naturally, my mind began to drift, and I think of all the life threatening choices I had made

up until that point. I had concluded that our own contributions to the smog of smoke will eventually be linked directly to the pollution of our Earth’s atmosphere and prove relative amongst the threat in the existence of all mankind.

It was a powerful cough.

Embarrassed, I jerked an about-face, reached into the black hole of Michelle’s pocket, gripped her phone and flipped it open to begin dialing when I realized Lamaron was standing next to her.

“When did he get here?” I asked myself.

As I stood there confused, he leaned toward me to initiate a hug and in that moment I found the strength to vocalize words into his left ear.

“1-8-7 the cousin,” I whispered. “I’ve got this guy here!”

From time to time, I found myself using lingo that was not aimed for usage by my ethnicity and cultural background. Lamaron understood naturally. Suddenly, a belly laugh resounds behind me. The owl understood naturally!

“Rachael this is Michael, my cousin,” Lamaron says.

“He’s in town on leave from the Marine Corps until Saturday.”

The owl moved to stand directly behind me and perched his elbows onto my shoulders like he would his owl feet to his own tree.

I relapsed on smog and quickly ran outside with Michelle’s phone in my hand and finally made the call.

“Jonathan? It’s me. Look, I know it’s been four years,” and I subconsciously paused when I attempted to peek through the dark tint to see my owl.

I confidently continued, “I’m breaking up with you.”

ALTERNATIVE

/27

COOKIES JOAN DEICHERT

MOSS AND TWIGS JOAN DEICHERT

28 /E A S TFIELD COLLEGE

ALTERNATIVE

/29

SCARIEST MOMENT DEAVEN STOVALL

When I was nine years old, I had an experience most would call “paranormal”. I was at my grandmother’s house; her house was one of the first houses built in the neighborhood and has a dark past that prevented many people from moving in. It is known that there was a mysterious man, whom many of the long-time neighbors in that community have said had many secrets...some that didn’t stay a secret.

One night the man and his wife got into an argument, and he pushed her down the stairs; causing her to break her neck and die. Later that night, overcome with guilt, the man took his own life.

My grandmother invited some of her friends and my mom over for a “girls’ night”. Of course, I tagged along. One of grandmother’s friends kept rambling about the event that took place many years ago. She spoke negatively of the man who once lived in the house. Tired of her mockery, my grandmother told her to stop talking about the event and saying rude comments about the man. “If you keep talking about him, he is going to mess with you next!”

She joked. We all laughed at my grandmother.

None of us believed in the paranormal.

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Later that night, I was alone in the hallway downstairs playing with my GI-Joe action figures. I pretended that they were fighting; as GI Joe maneuvered a flipping kick in the air, I suddenly heard a noise. Thump. Thump.

It sounded as if someone was walking up the stairs, but I did not see anyone. I knew I was the only one downstairs, but a little bit of fear was enough to make me shiver. Something wasn’t right. I felt a presence…an evil presence.

“Mom!” “Mom?”

There was no response. To quell my fear, I quickly returned to playing with my toys.

Shortly after, I heard my grandmother, mom and their friends coming down the stairs.

After they made it down, the lady, who had joked earlier about the events that took place, realized she had left one of her belonging upstairs. She quickly turned around and scrambled upstairs to grab what she left. I had a clear view of the stairs from the hallway. I saw the lady walk toward the top of the stairs, then I saw a large, dark figure. It was also at the top of the stairs swaying back and forth, as if anxiously waiting for something.

As the lady begins to take a step to come

down the stairs, the dark figure stops swaying.

Then I see it make a pushing gesture in the woman’s direction. No sooner had the figure done this, the woman came tumbling down the stairs. She made this horrific sound, as she held her ankle, clearly in agonizing pain. While rolling back and forth at the end of the stairs, she screamed and cried. My grandmother, mom and their friends rushed to assist her, but I remained glued to my spot in the hallway. I quickly look back to the top of the stairs to still see the thing, but it has become more than a figure. I now see a man looking down at the woman with a sinister smile that left me speechless and terrified. I felt the color drain from my face and my heart began pounding like someone was using it as a drum. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” My mom shouted. Little did she know...

Later that night, after we took the woman to the emergency room, my mom and I returned to the house. When we got there, I was hesitant to go back inside. My mom nudged me forward. “What’s wrong?” Why are you acting like this?” “Are you scared?” I looked at my mom and started to explain what I saw.

She turned her mouth to the side and rolled

her eyes. I could tell that she didn’t believe me.

Even though I was irritated, I used more detail to explain what I saw, from the moment I heard something walking up the stairs, to the lady being pushed by the figure at the top of the stair.

“Things like that just don’t happen.” “It’s just a myth.”

To make me feel better she told me we can check every room in the house, so I could be sure nothing else besides us was the house.

As we went from room to room downstairs, everything seemed to be okay. We finally went upstairs where I last saw the figure. Again, we checked each room and neither saw nor heard anything. The second we stood still, and my mom began to comfort me, I heard the stairs creaking once again, as if someone were walking up the stairs. The fears that had settled returned.

I could not move. I quickly turned to my mom to ask if she heard it too, but the look on her face was more than enough for me to have my answer. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.

She seemed paralyzed. Now, she believed.

ALTERNATIVE

/31

TITAN CHIANNA GOMEZ

32 /E A S TFIELD COLLEGE

ALTERNATIVE

/33

THE PREGNANCY SCARE J JOHNSON

I sat on the edge of her bed and watched her walk into the bathroom with a pregnancy test in her hand. I’m seventeen years old. I can’t afford to have a baby right now.

I could feel the nerves getting to me as my legs bounced up and down in a frenzy. I realized how difficult this may be for her, but what about me? I am just as scared as she is. I have college to think about and football. ****

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but let a tear fall. My body began to shake uncontrollably, and my palms started to sweat. I had met this guy two months ago, and suddenly, I found myself standing with a pregnancy test in my hand. “Lord be with me,” I mumbled under my breath.

I was reading the instructions on the box while I made my way to the toilet. I pulled down my underwear and proceeded to pee on the little stick. ****

I sat, wondering what could be taking so long. A series of flashbacks started running through my mind of the night we had sex at the house party. Suddenly, a sharp pain in my head had hit me like a ton of bricks. I was trying my best to stay calm, but my body didn’t seem to like that idea. “Shit, you really did it now,” I whispered to myself while shaking my head. I stared at the floor, but then a door knob turned, causing me to jump up quickly.

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My heart started to race as she walked over to me. I noticed that there is nothing in her hands. “What happened? Are we…you know?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. I set the test on the counter. It says to wait three minutes. I came out here because I didn’t want to wait alone.” ****

I could see the panic in his eyes. They were blood-shot red, and he couldn’t stop biting his bottom lip. Seeing him like that made me want to break out in tears. How were we going to be parents? We were still kids ourselves.

“Okay. Three minutes. How long has it been so far?” he asked with a hand on the back of his neck.

“I set an alarm on my cellphone. So, it’s been maybe a minute or so,” I replied.

“Okay,” he said and then sat back down on the bed, shaking his head from left to right.

I sat next to him and looked off into the distance.

“I can see how stressed you are. I didn’t ask for this to happen either, you know?” I said in a soft tone.

“And you think I did? I made sure to use protection,” he muttered each word with an icy tone. “I’m probably not even the father,” he added under his breath.

“That’s it. How many times do I have to tell you that I was a virgin when I slept with you that night. That was the only time I have ever

had sex.” I jumped up, fighting back tears. ****

I watched as she stared down at me from above. I probably shouldn’t have taken it there with the whole ‘I’m not the father’ thing, but I couldn’t help but speak my mind. I don’t really know her like that. To me, she is just some sexy ass female I met at a house party. And we just happened to have sex with no questions asked. We sort of kept in touch after, but we didn’t make anything official.

She seemed like a great person. Shit, it’s just like I said, I didn’t really know her that well. ****

I couldn’t believe he was still having doubts about whether he was the father. I kept telling him that the night of the house party was the only time I had any kind of sexual intercourse. I’m sure he thought I was a slut because I slept with him and barely knew him, but I was drunk. ****

An alarm ringing brought us both back to reality. She pulled out her cellphone and said, “It’s been three minutes. I’m going to go get the test.”

She walked away and stepped into the restroom. I stood up slowly. My heart began to beat so fast that it felt like it was going to jump out of my chest. The pounding sound started to fill the room. It got so loud that it seemed like I was drowning in anxiety.

How was I going to tell my dad? Oh God. Please don’t let it say pregnant. That’s all I kept saying in my head. At that point, I was ready to get on my knees and say a prayer. ****

I walked into the bathroom and picked up the stick. I closed my eyes tight because I knew once I opened them, there was no turning back. I turned away from the mirror and opened my eyes.

I looked down with hesitation. And staring back at me was one pink line.

I don’t think I have ever been so happy and relieved to see one little pink line in my life.

The excitement had gotten the best of me, and I caught myself running back into the bedroom to Tyler.

“What did it say?” he asked.

“Negative! It said negative!” I said with a big smile plastered on my face.

Before I knew it, he had pulled me into his arms. We stood there jumping up and down together while squeezing the life out of one another. After a few seconds, he looked down at me with an apologetic look in his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did about not being the father and everything.”

The seriousness in his voice had me feeling warm inside.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” I whispered before I planted my lips onto his.

ALTERNATIVE

/35

MONSTER WITHIN THE MAN JORDAN LACKEY The monster and the man These words are who I am Put to page, Every discretion and rage, Committed by my hand In the land, of gods and monsters, I’m the monster within the man Scratching and clawing, When broken legs, refuse to stand

DOTS OHHMY JOSHH

36 /E A S TFIELD COLLEGE

ALTERNATIVE

/37

PAPER PLANES ABIGAIL LESAGE

Charles Wilson struggled to turn the shiny brass door handle to his tiny New York townhouse. He was fairly small for his age, even though he was only six. His hands were full with an assortment of homework and papers that he had been working on during the bus ride.

His half empty backpack was slipping off his shoulder by the time he managed to overcome the door handle. He burst into the apartment bubbling with life and threw his backpack, along with the majority of his papers onto a pile in the corner. He held onto a worksheet about different types of birds from science class. He rushed around the apartment trying to find his mom to show her his work. He eventually tracked down her voice and found her in the living room behind a pair of dark brown double doors. He was a bit confused as to why the doors were closed, but he pushed against them and entered the living room.

He walked into the living room to find his mom sitting on an old couch, clutching a familiar wooden picture frame and a faded yellow, knit sweater. Charles could tell from the way she sat that she was sad. She sat with her shoulders hunched over and held her head in her hands. There were two people in blue uniforms in the room with her. A gentle looking woman with her hair pulled back into a neat bun sat on the couch next to his mom, and a tall man stood across from her. The woman held her hand softly on his mom’s back, like she was comforting her. Charles stood in the doorway, slightly intimidated by these strange people in uniform and the feeling of gloom in the usually cheery living room. He looked at them curiously until he noticed their funny looking hats and couldn’t help but giggle. His mother’s head shot

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up when she heard him, and she jumped up.

She quickly made her way across the room and pushed Charles out of the room. “Go on and play, Charles. Mommy is busy right now.” Charles opened his mouth to protest, but something about his mother’s face told him not to fight it.

Charles stood in the hallway slightly confused. He was not looking forward to a boring afternoon spent alone. He held the page with the diverse flock of birds in his hand. His eyes came to rest on a picture of a majestic white falcon soaring through the clear sky. His little blue eyes lit up as he was struck with a genius idea. He was going to make a paper airplane! He had distant, but pleasant memories of making paper airplanes with his dad before he had left to be a pilot. Charles was so excited he could barely contain himself. He searched the house, violently looking for paper to use. He couldn’t find anything, so eventually he started using notebook paper and pieces of homework from his backpack.

Charles spent what seemed like an eternity trying to perfect his paper airplane. He was being as scientific as possible for a six-yearold to be. He would try something and then test it and notice what worked well and what needed to be fixed. Despite his young age, he was intensely focused and determined on making the perfect paper airplane. He tried the best he could to recall all the times he and his dad made them together. They used to spend hours playing with paper airplanes. Charles remembered watching intently as his dad folded and pinched the plane into place.

Charles jumped to his feet with his latest creation in his hand. He ran down the narrow hallway and stopped at the end. He threw the airplane with high hopes, but it only sailed a few feet before swerving violently and crashing to the ground. His heart sank and he moped his way over to pick it up. He plopped down into a pile of his failed creations and hung his head in frustration. He fell onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

After a few minutes of sulking he decided he was still determined to make the

perfect airplane. He resolved to give it one more try before giving up. He pulled a fresh piece of paper out of his notebook and laid it flat on the ground. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried his very hardest to visualize his dad’s hands as they folded the paper airplane into place. He opened his eyes and started folding the paper with a new vigor. He made the final fold and held it up happily. He stood up and cradled it carefully in both hands. He walked to the end of the hallway. He took a deep breath and threw the small plane with careful calculation. He closed his eyes tight for a second and held his breath before looking at where it landed. The plane had landed all the way at the end of the hallway! He had done it! He had made the perfect airplane! He jumped for joy and darted across the hallway to pick it up.

Charles was so proud of himself. He threw the plane over and over, watching with amazement as it soared through the air and came to a gentle skid on the ground. He was so excited about his creation that he couldn’t wait to share it with someone. He ran to the living room to show his mom what he had made, but he stopped at the door when he remembered her glassy eyes and the scary uniforms. His next instinct was to go show his dad.

He bounced to his dad’s office and burst through the door. He stopped to gaze fondly at the yellowed photographs of boats and planes hung haphazardly on the wall. He laughed with glee as he ran around the room with his plane held high. He threw the plane and watched it soar, and then dove down to collect it and did it all over again. He held his arms out wide and zipped around the room making plane noises.

He pretended he was a fighter pilot in the Air Force like his dad. He flew around the room until he was out of breath. He picked up the plane off the ground and examined it gently in his hand.

He was disappointed he couldn’t give it to his dad now, but he decided to leave it on his desk for him when he got back.

Everything on the desk was perfectly placed in its position. It looked like it was regularly dusted, but it was visible that nothing

had been moved in over six months. The desk was rather tall, so Charles had to stand on his tiptoes to see the top. Charles wasn’t satisfied with viewing the desk from below, so he rolled out the heavy leather office chair and heaved himself into the middle of it. He sat comfortably in the chair with the paper airplane in his lap.

Sitting in the oversized chair he could easily imagine himself like his dad. He drew himself up and pulled the chair closer to the desk.

He examined the desk more closely and noticed one thing out of place. In the center of the desk there was what looked to be an American flag, folded in the shape of a triangle. Charles was confused by this. He didn’t understand what it was or why it was there, but it seemed like the perfect place to leave his paper airplane for when his dad returned. He gently set the plane on top of the flag and sat back in the chair. He examined the desk, and eventually his eyes came to rest on a picture frame. Inside the worn-out wooden frame, there was a picture of him and his dad. In the picture Charles was being flown through the air with his arms held high on his dad’s shoulders. Charles’ face was lit up with ecstatic laughter as he soared through the sky.

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He soaked up the rich smell of the wooden desk along with the leather chair. He opened his eyes, almost expecting to be greeted with the wide grin of his dad with open arms, but nothing was there. Charles’ heart filled with something he could only describe as “the bluesies” like his mom would call it. Charles let out a sigh and sunk into the chair, suddenly exhausted. If he really used his imagination, he could almost feel his dad’s arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. He eventually fell asleep in the oversized chair, with what might have been the beginnings of a teardrop resting on his cheek.

ALTERNATIVE

/39

#2 THUSHAL SASANKAN

FIREFLIES JORDAN LACKEY Her words came like fireflies Flying fast and steady, She’s ready, for a firefight Sparing your heart, From the hate in her eyes When she said that she loved you, You knew that she lied

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ALTERNATIVE DISCIPLINES AND PROGRAMS DIGITAL MEDIA

Sharpen your computer and design skills in the fast-paced, creative world of graphic design, desktop publishing, and digital photography and video.

Learn the Adobe software including Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign, and more.

Contact Oslynn Williams for more information.

EFCDigitalMedia@dcccd.edu

VISUAL ART

Combine creativity and critical thinking. Topics of study may include art appreciation, history and foundations, as well as hands-on instruction in drawing, design, painting, sculpture, fiber arts, art metals, ceramics, watercolor and digital art.

Contact David Wilburn for more information. davidwilburn@dcccd.edu

WRITING

Apart from your core English requirements, we offer many other courses to help you strengthen your writing, reading, and thinking skills.

Creative writing; British, American, and world literature; and technical and business writing are all options beyond Composition.

Contact Caitlin Stanford-Kintner for more information. cstanfordkintner@dcccd.edu

DANCE

Whether your goal is to dance professionally or to enrich your personal life, you’ll find a wide variety of classes that may include tap, hiphop, ballroom, ballet, modern dance, jazz, dance performance, world dance, dance composition and anatomy and kinesiology for dance.

Contact Danielle Georgiou for more information. dgeorgiou@dcccd.edu

MUSIC

The EFC Music Department offers the full range of courses for the first two years as a music major and has courses for nonmajors who are interested in music classes. Students can sing in the choir, play an instrument in the jazz band, or play with guitar, piano, and strings ensembles.

Students can improve musical skills through small group classes and private lessons in voice and most instruments. Students can learn to read music or improve music literacy with music fundamentals, theory, and ear training classes. All students interested in music classes, especially music majors, should talk with a music faculty member before registering for classes.

Contact Oscar Passley for more information. oscarpassley@dcccd.edu

THEATER/DRAMA

Beyond developing artistic skills, theatre helps students to refine skills in collaboration, criticalthinking, creative problem-solving and effective communication. Drama classes may include introduction to theatre, makeup, costumes, acting, voice for the theater, and introduction to cinema.

Contact Dusty Reasons Thomas for more information. dreasons@dcccd.edu

COMMUNICATIONS/JOURNALISM

Prepare yourself for a media career by taking courses including media writing, news reporting, news photography, public relations, advertising, writing for radio, TV and film, radio and television news, radio and television announcing, principles of journalism, and media literacy. Many of our skills classes are connected to Eastfield’s award-winning student media organization, The Et Cetera, so students can get hands-on experience and get their work published.

Contact Lori Dann for more information. loridann@dcccd.edu

Equal Opportunity Educational Institution