"Get flushed, Shitstain!” The toilet water invaded my nostrils and made them burn. I struggled to lift my head, but the hands gripping the back of my head and pinning my arms were too strong. I was helpless to the whims of my assailants and could only wait for pity or mercy. My head was suddenly yanked up with a whoosh, a gasp of air finally filling my lungs. Even though the air of the school bathroom was dank with the smell of crap and dirt, I gulped each breath down desperately. The muffled laughter was now a piercing boom in my ears that I couldn’t escape. The blessing of oxygen didn’t last long, though, as my head was shoved back into the scum-crusted bowl of the toilet. This time, I felt the water rush around my head as the toilet was flushed. The swirling water descended deeper into the toilet, dragging another piece of my dignity with it. Once the toilet water had all siphoned out and the tank began to refill, I was released. Quickly, I jolted upright and backed away from the bowl, dripping water all over my green button-up shirt. The laughter hadn’t died down yet. I turned around, mustering up a hard glare at the people outside the stall. The trio of boys that attacked me were bent over, heaving and hollering like they were about to die of laughter. The two boys that were holding my arms only moments ago were David and Larry Wilson. Despite the same last name, they weren’t related. They might as well have been twins, though. They played the same sports, had similar voices, and were rarely seen apart. Even worship the same person, I thought bitterly, turning my glare to the leader of the trio: Jasper Brown, probably the most terrifying boy in Eastwood Middle School. His reign of terror began in the fourth grade and continued uncontested all the way to the present eighth grade. Currently he was laughing his stupid butt off while running a hand through his shiny blonde mullet. His wide eyes zeroed in on mine, and he laughed harder. “You look…you look so STUPID!” he said between fits of convulsive glee. In the mirror above Jasper’s head, my reflection stared back at me. My stomach churned. I DID look stupid. My copper and burgundy hair was stuck to my forehead at odd angles and the whole collar of my shirt was soaked through. My face was almost the same shade of bright red as my hair and scrunched up like a crumpled sweater. Worst of all, my birthmark was on full display. The bane of my existence rested right on my forehead for all to see. A giant brown splotch took up the entire left side of my forehead and stopped just above my left eye. I looked like I had the biggest skid mark ever glued to me, like life decided to take a dump on my face. This wretched mark was why Jasper called me “Shitstain.” My shoulders drooped, my anger dissipating like mist to leave only shameful humiliation in its wake. It wasn’t unusual for me to be dunked into the sink or toilet at school. The idea of flushing a “shitstain” down the toilet was an idea that never got old for Jasper. I’d been going home wet from bathroom water at least a couple times a week for months now.Swirlies and toilet torture were also less noticeable than just beating the crap out of me. Not that it would matter. Nobody could touch Jasper Brown, not even teachers or principals. The dude’s father ran the factory that put the town on the map. The lifeblood of the town came from Brown Manufacturing, and nobody wanted to lose their livelihoods. David’s and Larry’s fathers also worked at that factory, and I wondered if that’s the reason the two goons were so desperate to please the blond jerk. The screeching laughter finally faded away, and Jasper regained a smidge of selfcontrol. His smug toothy grin flashed at me, a predatory look in his eyes. His hands twitched, beginning to reach for me again. Was he not done with me yet? I waited, trying to gulp down any instinct to run. Running would be suicide. “Hey, Jaz?” David cut through the tension, “we’re going to be late to football practice.” Jasper flicked a glare over at his lackey, eyeing him for a second. David shifted uncomfortably, casting his eyes to the ground. Jasper turned his sneering face back at me. “Well, it looks like you’ve still got all that shit on your face,” Jasper mocked, waving a hand at my forehead, “Guess we’re going to have to do this again later. Who knows? Maybe it’ll work next time.” With that, Jasper left the bathroom, David and Larry quickly scuttling after him. I sighed, fighting back burning tears. Turning to the bathroom mirror again, I took in my pathetic appearance one last time before grabbing my backpack off the floor and exiting the bathroom. The halls of Eastwood Middle School were crowded with kids bustling to afterschool activities, waiting for buses, and standing around and chatting. Large posters were stuck to the walls with block letters that read, “Eastwood Homecoming 1978.” Even though homecoming was still two weeks away, students were abuzz. Everyone was planning outfits, pranks, seats for the big game, and all that other silly stuff. And there I was in the center of the excited cacophony, hair dripping wet and looking like an unwanted stray mutt. Glancing around at the other kids, a pang of jealousy radiated from my chest. It was bad enough that I had red hair, but my grotesque birthmark really made things worse for me. Nobody wanted to associate with me. Not that I had any qualities that made up for my face. I was neither smart nor strong. No athleticism, strange talents, or charisma here. My entire existence was the epitome of a loser. I didn’t even fit it with the other outcasts! They liked getting in trouble and wearing ripped clothing and black nail polish. My mom would skin me alive if I left the house looking anything like that. As I trudged through the halls, I noticed some of the kids turned to look at me. Some had pity in their eyes, others amusement. Either way, I hated it. I felt the sting in my eyes again and walked faster, willing my body to teleport home. By the time I got home, my hair and shirt were dry, but my hair had lost its perfect, neat form. I tried pressing the strands back into place, wondering if my mother would notice the mess. Fortunately for me, she was busy tending to the front flower beds. Her fiery red hair was hidden within a sunhat as she pulled weeds from around the colorful flowers I didn’t know the names of nor cared enough to learn. “Hi, Russell,” she greeted without looking up from her task. I was never quite sure how she always managed to know when I came home, but she did. “Hey, Mom,” I reciprocated the greeting and entered the house before she could see my “post-swirly” state. I flung the door open to my bedroom and flopped on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. While I did have homework to do, I didn’t really want to do any of it. The only thing I wanted to do was play. Feeling a bit more eager, I hopped off my bed and changed shirts. While many kids my age were starting to grow into more mature hobbies, I preferred playing pretend and creating wild fantasy games. The Russell in my games was stronger, braver, and more resilient than any other hero from his time. He laughed at danger and crushed people like Jasper. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Who wouldn’t want to be him instead of clumsy, scrawny, birthmarked me? “Today,” I announced, grabbing a couple of my action figures off my shelves, “we’re pirates. Sailing the Dark Sea for a lost treasure protected by the fiercest sea monster ever known to the world. With my loyal and brave crew, we’ll be as wealthy as kings when we find the….the….” Spinning around my room, I realized that nothing in my room served as a good treasure. My old pirate chest with doubloons was thrown out last winter. Something about my mom wanting to try a new deep-clean fad. I was lucky that my action figures survived her cleaning frenzy. What is a pirate without treasure to plunder? Thinking hard, I looked out my window and peered down at my mother, still yanking at the weeds. Then a thought occurred to me. She had plenty of jewelry in her bedroom. She was always buying new stuff, so I doubted she’d miss a single piece of jewelry. She probably only wore each piece once! I’m sure a pirate could make much better use of her collection than she could. With that, I bolted to my parent’s bedroom. Grinning to myself, I tiptoed into the bedroom and towards my mother’s vanity. The scent of my mother’s various perfumes invaded my nostrils, and I almost choked on the powerful mixture of lavender, jasmine, and patchouli. The colorful wallpaper on the walls of my parent’s bedroom was almost too much, with swirling and interlocking reds, oranges, and yellows making dizzying chains caging me in on all sides. I know it was supposed to be “fun and stimulating”, but it felt more garish than anything. Finally at the vanity, I searched for something to swipe. My gaze flicked over necklace holders, earring trees, trinket trays full of shiny brooches, and dark wooden jewelry boxes. I grabbed a random wooden box from the center of the vanity and opened it. Inside was only one piece of jewelry: a ring. Two bands of gold weaved back and forth between each other, creating a loosely-braided look. One of the gold bands was studded with small, square diamonds. In the center of the ring was an unusually large round diamond. I shifted the box around, watching the diamond sparkle and glimmer in the soft light of the lamp on the vanity. It was an absolutely perfect treasure for my quest. I removed the ring from the box, staring at it. If the ring was hidden away in a box, it surely wasn’t important to Mom. If she actually liked it, it would be more easily seen, displayed on one of the many ring holders and trays. Quickly shoving my prize in my pocket and sprinting out of the bedroom, I figured the ring wouldn’t even be missed. “Argh! We’re almost at the treasure!” I growled out in my best pirate voice. For the entire afternoon, I had been playing in the backyard, mostly in the pool, fighting sea monsters and other creatures for the lost treasure. The pristine blue chlorine water made my fingers and toes wrinkly, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t gotten to the treasure yet. Glancing over at the end of the pool, I smiled at the thought of the wonderful finale to my pirate journey. Some of the water from the pool was cycled through to a fountain on the deep end of the pool. Contrasting from the red square stones surrounding the pool and the white tiles lining the inside, the fountain was made of old gray stone. It was shaped like a short humanoid creature. Some sort of elf, gnome, or goblin. Its stone arms were stretched out in front of its short body, the long fingers cupped in a gesture of offering or accepting a gift. Water gently poured out from its palms, dropping into the pool. The creature’s face was contorted into a suspicious-looking smile. Despite its eyes lacking pupils, it still looked as though it was always staring at me. The goblin had a short pointed nose. Small, triangular ears poked out from the sides of its bald head. When the pool was being installed, my mother insisted on putting in the fountain as a “conversation piece” and a “piece of the past.” She brought it home from some trendy antique store during one of her many fads. It was annoying how my life always swayed back and forth depending on what my mother thought was “in.” But no matter what all those magazines and shows said, I was never, ever “in.” I swam over to the statue, staring at it for a moment. Its cheeky grin stared back at me, as if waiting for me to fall into a trap it prepared. My mother’s gold ring sat beside the statue, awaiting its moment in the spotlight. My wrinkled, soaked fingers snatched it off the red stone and placed it into the palms of the goblin statue, ready for the final battle for the treasure. A sudden zinging, crackling of energy coursed through me, and a sense of exciting anticipation made me grin. “Russell James Balkley!” a voice cut through my stupor, causing me to flinch. My mother, Finola Balkley, stood at the glass door of the house, hands on her hips. Uh-oh. “Yes, mom?” I asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible. Maybe she hadn’t seen me hide the ring in the fountain “My wedding ring is gone. Your sister told me she saw you with it.” Her snippy voice made her anger worse. Her emerald eyes were twinkling with the opportunity to punish me. I gulped. My older sister, Kathleen, probably didn’t see me with it at all. She just liked to blame things on me. Unfortunately, I HAD taken a ring, and couldn’t get out of this situation. Then my brain skidded to a halt as I realized what my mother had just said. “Your…wedding ring?” I sputtered out, feeling my stomach drop and my face flush. Great. Now I looked guilty for sure. How was I supposed to know my pirate treasure was her wedding ring? It’s not like I ever really look at her hands. PLUS aren’t you supposed to never take a wedding ring off or you’ll turn to stone or something? Oh, wait. She takes it off when she’s weeding. I’m dead. “Russell, I swear if you took my wedding ring to play your silly games,” my mother started, taking a couple steps outside. “I took a ring! But only to use it as pirate treasure! I didn’t know it was your wedding ring, and I didn’t break it! Promise!” I blurted, my voice coming out like the squeal of a stuck pig instead of an eighth grade boy. My mother didn’t look any happier, and I quickly reached into the hands of the statue to retrieve the ring. However, all my hands could feel was stone and water. No cool metal. “Wha-?” I looked into the cupped palms of the goblin. The ring had vanished. “No! It was right here. I just put it here!” My mother’s rage flared to new heights, her hair almost sticking up like Medusa’s snakes. She stomped to the end of the pool, grabbed me by the ear, and yanked me out of the pool. Scrambling to follow her tugging and get out of the pool, I cringed as she began to hurl insults at me. “You’re thirteen years old, and yet here you are goofing off like a preschooler! Didn’t anybody teach you not to take things that don’t belong to you? What kind of idiot am I raising? Oh, just you wait till your father gets home! You’ll be lucky to have any skin left on that bottom once we’re done with you!” She frantically dove into the pool and began searching the bottom for the gold ring. Actually searching for a lost treasure, I thought. The tears I had chased away earlier that day rushed back and fell down my cheeks. Dumbly, I sat down next to the weird fountain and waited. Everytime my mother came back up for air, she screeched threats and jabs and insults at me before diving again. “This is what I get for being such a good mother to you? You have NO idea how embarrassing it is to have a defective son like you.” Silence. “You’re an ungrateful, rotten child, you know that? ROTTEN!” Silence. “You just wait till I’m done with you!” Silence filled the air again as she dove for the fourth time, and I felt sick. Why hadn’t she found the stupid ring yet? I didn’t want to sit here like this anymore. My wrinkly feet and hands felt too squishy, my skin stung with the burn of the sun, and my eyes itched from the chlorine water. “Such a no-good whelp! You’ve never made me proud once! There’s nothing about you I can brag to my friends about, Russell. Nothing!” It was like listening to a banshee, the venomous words digging deeper and deeper at my heart. My mother dove again. My stomach churned, flipping my emotions back and forth between guilt and shame to anger and bitterness. Why should I sit here and listen to this?! I hear this crap night and day, school and home. Why should I take this garbage from my own mother? Isn’t she supposed to love me? Support me? Be on my side for once?! My blood boiled as I stood up at the edge of the pool. I screamed at the water, “Why can’t you just love me?! I wish you’d do everything I wanted like a proper mother! I wish you’d like me and be proud of me!” That same energy I felt when I dropped the ring into the fountain crackled through the air, and I almost winced at the sudden rush of adrenaline that came and went as quick as a breeze. I felt dizzy. Silence fell on the pool for a good while, the shape of my mother in the pool freezing still. Uneasiness swam laps in my tummy as I waited for my mother to move even an inch. Suddenly, my mother rose up from the water, her hair covering her face. She then slowly made her way to the pool stairs, climbing up them gracefully. A cold chill ran through me, and I wondered how much worse I made my situation. Did she hear me under the water? My body was frozen as I watched my mother languidly approach me, squeezing water out of her hair and adjusting it away from her face. As she stood over me, her mouth cracked into a strangely pleasant smile. Her eyes were wide and happy, as if I was some coveted item she’d been desperately seeking and finally found "Oh my sweet, wonderful son,” she purred, clasping me tight. Still frozen, I tensely waited for an explanation for the sudden change in attitude. My mother released me from the hug, moving to caress my cheek. “Mom?” I tentatively said, “What’s wrong? You’re not mad?” She blinked, studying me for a moment. “Why on earth would I be mad?” My face scrunched up. This had to be a trick. She’d go back to yelling any second now. Her eyes were blank, as if she actually had no idea why she’d be angry with me. “Your….wedding ring? I took it and lost it in the pool?” I confessed, deciding that ripping off the band-aid would be the easier option than to delay my mother’s wrath. At least the hug was nice, I thought. My mother snickered, then laughed. Guffawed, even. My mother never laughed like this. She always stuck to polite, lady-like giggles rather than a booming, full-bellied laugh. “Oh!... You’re too funny!” she exclaimed between fits of laughter. “You were just playing. You didn’t mean to lose it!” I was silently getting more confused and agitated. What the actual heck was happening? Did my mother hit her head on the pool floor? She didn’t look injured, just drenched. In fact, she looked happier than I’d ever seen her before in my entire life. It was strange. Too strange. Was she still acting? “My precious son’s happiness is more important than any old ring,” she giggled, giving me a kiss on the top of my head. My mother has been replaced by aliens, I concluded as I watched my mother stride to the glass door, humming a soft tune. My mother would never in a million years put anybody before material things. Especially not me! She loved three things in this world: money, adoration, and stuff. She was always shopping, eating at pricey cafes with her friends, going to the beauty salon, and reading magazines on the latest trends. Secretly we may not have been as wealthy as all her friends, but she certainly strained my dad’s credit limit trying to keep up. One thing was for certain, her friends were all jealous of her fancy wedding ring and “perfect” bank accountant husband. My mom reveled in looking and being the perfect housewife with the perfect life. The only problem with her perfect picture was me. I never fit her world or gave her a reason to brag to her friends, so I was cast aside. She never mentioned me to her friends, to the point where I was practically a ghost in her world. My own mother treated me like a secret to hide. A shitstain. I stared in amazement at the glass door my mother disappeared through. Maybe I hit my head? Or did I pretend too hard and imagine my mother actually liking me? Loving me, even? Dinner was stressful. My mother hadn’t dropped the “I love my son” act yet and was spooning me extra helpings of pasta primavera with a giddy smile on her face. My sister scowled a bit deeper than usual. “Do we get any?” she asked, her snooty tone almost rivaling my mom’s. My mom blinked, and then looked at my sister and father like she just realized they were there. “Oh, um. Yes.” She served my sister’s plate and turned to my father to give him some of the pasta. Scooping what was left onto her plate, she sat down. My father said a quick and half-hearted grace before twirling a fork in his tagliatelle noodles and taking a bite. “Hm. Delicious,” he muttered between chewing. Kathleen poked at the carrot slices, red onions, and zucchini on her plate before finally deeming a carrot slice edible enough to impale with her fork and eat. “Anything happen today?” my father asked. “Nothing interesting,” my sister said, “just boring old school.” This earned a dismissive grunt from Dad, who looked from her to Mom. “Well I read in my Cosmopolitan magazine about what it’s REALLY like to be an airline stewardess, and let me tell you that I feel blessed to be here at home instead of working,” she answered, earning a more satisfied noise from my father. “What about you, darling?” My father swallowed another bite of pasta, “Nothing much besides the grind and the numbers. Isn’t much else to say. I don’t get to sit around at home all day making pies or reading magazines. My life is hard.” Mom flushed red, “I did other things, too. I weeded the garden and-” “Sure. You worked hard,” my father interrupted sarcastically. The table was silent, everyone chewing slowly. Kathleen looked between my parents and cleared her throat. “Did you find your ring, Mom?” she questioned, throwing a devious smirk at me. I gulped, looking at dad. He froze, watching his wife intently. My mom looked up from her pasta and blinked. “No,” she said, and that strangely blissful smile overtook her face again, “but that’s ok. These things happen.” “Which ring was it, Finola?” my father inquired, his gaze zeroing in on his wife’s empty ring finger. An angry fire was starting to build in his eyes as he cooly waited for my mother to respond. “The wedding one.” “Your wedding ring?! Do you have any idea how much that cost me? How did you lose it?” My father’s words were coming out in grating, hard syllables while my mom’s voice remained polite and calmed. My sister was staring at me, eyebrows raised in an annoyingly triumphant expression. My time on this earth was up, I thought as a cold sweat dampened my forehead. “Russell lost it while playing one of his wonderful little games. It’s no big deal and it’ll turn up soon,” my mother reasoned, happily sipping from her glass of white wine. My father stood up, his furious glare turned against me. “Russell! You lost your mother’s wedding ring?!” This was the day I died, I was sure of it. It was one thing to be an embarrassment to your father, it was another thing to steal and lose his wife’s wedding ring. My mother stood up quickly, placing a perfectly soft and smooth hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Arthur. There is no need to yell at Russell. He’s already apologized.” Kathleen’s mouth dropped open in shock as she heard our mom defend me. My sister’s wide eyes searched mine, hunting for an answer to this odd behavior. I shrugged at her, still not quite believing what was happening either. In all my life, my mother never defended me. Even Dad seemed surprised, but he didn’t let the shock sway him off his task. “No need? No need, Finola?!” His large palms slammed the table and Mom flinched, retracting her hand as if burned. “It will turn up,” Mom said, her voice quivering slightly. She swallowed hard, composing herself into her perfect, positive housewife image and then continued confidently. “We will find it. Besides, if push comes to shove, we can always get another one.” “Another wedding ring?! And just why would I do that, huh?” The irate tone in his voice made the room feel smaller. I didn’t understand how my mother could stand so calm and tall whenever he got like this. “Well,” my mother started, “how many people can afford to buy their wives two wedding rings, hmm? Think of the talk. A man who can buy his wife twice the diamonds. A man so powerful and rich that he doesn’t even care about a lost wedding ring. He simply replaces it.” Her hand slid over her husband’s hand, and she batted her lashes. “Don’t tell me what I already know,” he huffed. Somehow this financial flattery soothed him. He sat back down, still glowering at me, but temporarily placated. Kathleen stood up from the table with a magically empty plate. “My friends and I are going to the skating rink,” she announced, tossing her wavy, frizzy red hair. She left her plate on the table and started towards the front door. “Now wait just a minute, young lady,” my mother called out. “Who are you going with? Are you going to wear that? You need to be back by-” Kathleen interrupted with an eye roll and an exasperated moan. “Mooom! I’m going with Jerry and the girls. C’mon, Jerry is supposed to pick me up any minute.” Jerry was my sister’s boyfriend. He was as dumb as a box of rocks, with a stupid grin and beefy arms that he used to put me in the occasional headlock. I thought his nose was a smidge too small and his eyes a bit too far apart, but my sister claimed he looked like her favorite teendream idol, Donny Osmond. I never saw the resemblance. “In that outfit?” my mother further interrogated, gesturing to my sister with her fork. My sister waved a hand at her bright green and black-striped halter top and flared low-riding jeans. Her eyebrow quirked up, and she scoffed. “These threads are totally far out, Mom. Do you seriously want your daughter to look like a dork?” I couldn’t tell if my mom was re-thinking how she wanted her daughter to fit in with the cool kids or trying to decipher Kathleen’s sudden slang. A knock on the door echoed through the house, and Kathleen broke into a grin. “Gotta go! See you on the flip side.” She hurried out the door and was gone. Mom sat down slowly, staring at her plate with an indiscernible expression. My father scoffed and muttered something about her not raising anybody properly. My mother looked at me, and her face immediately cracked into that overly joyous expression. “Who cares about her,” she whispered, reaching across the table to pat my head. “I have all I need right here. My sweet boy…” By the next morning, my mom was still acting strange. She was acting so doting and sweet, but I was starting to like this new version of her. The constant worry that this loving attitude would vanish was the only thing keeping me from wallowing in the wonderful affection given to me. Sitting down for breakfast, I looked at the perfectly round sunny-side up egg, the piece of buttered toast with grape jelly, the full glass of orange juice, and— I blinked, surprised. Three slices of bacon?! I usually only got one, sometimes two if Mom made extra or if Kathleen didn’t want it. But THREE?! I gulped, wondering if this was a cruel trick. “Good morning, Russell,” Mom greeted, placing a kiss on my head. “Did you sleep well?” I nodded, stuffing a piece of bacon into my mouth just in case she thought of taking it all away. She smiled, petting my hair. “Your bangs are so long, it’s hiding your charming face,” she lifted my bangs, revealing my forehead. I instinctively reached to push them back down, but Mom batted my hand away gently. “There you are. My son is the most handsome in the world.” Unwanted tears sprung to my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away. Handsome? Me? As I stared into my mother’s eyes I found no sign of trickery or malice. My heart swelled almost to bursting, and a big grin broke out on my face. “Thanks, Mom.” I walked proudly into school, the birthmark on full display. I could tell I was drawing attention from the other students, but it didn’t matter to me. For the first time in my entire life, I was handsome to someone. My steps were light, and the world seemed brighter. I had a big smile on my face, looking people in the eyes and not at their shoes. And then I fell. I landed on my back, wondering if I had been tripped. A groan sounded from in front of me. Sitting up quickly, I saw Janet Smith on the ground in front of me. Oh my gosh, I had run into her. Blood rushed to my face as I frantically stood, reaching a hand out to help her. Janet was the most beautiful girl in our grade, possibly the whole world. Her hair was the richest shade of brown ever, and it always moved and flowed like soft ocean waves. She had an almost magical voice, and her laugh sounded like a ringing bell. While she never dated anybody, she was “claimed” by Jasper. Any time a boy would talk to Janet, Jasper would ensure it never happened again. “I..I..I’m so sorry,” I stammered. Janet ignored my hand, standing up on her own. She regarded me with a cold look, obviously annoyed by me. Feeling stupid, I retracted my hand. “Watch where you’re going,” she admonished, her tone flat. Oh no, I thought, my heart dropping, she hates me already. My mind frantically tried to come up with something, ANYTHING, to smooth over the incident. I wasn’t a casanova though, not like other boys or like the Russell I pretended to be in my imagination. It was better to just walk away from Janet, even if this was my one chance to get her to like me. My gaze dropped away from hers, focusing on the floor. Suddenly, a spark of something new flared in my chest. A warm, powerful feeling that I didn’t recognize. My mother’s strangely doting words echoed through my mind as I raised my eyes back to look at Janet’s. Most handsome in the world… Janet sniffed and started to walk around me. Quickly, I reached my hand out and caught her wrist. Her face whipped to look back at me. Before she could pull her wrist away, the words tumbled out of my mouth — it was now or never. “You look beautiful.” There was a moment of quiet between us as Janet’s eyes bored into mine. Then she snorted, her face filling with mirth. I tentatively smiled back. God, I hope she’s not laughing because she thinks I’m a loser. Please, please, please, my mind chanted repeatedly. “Thanks,” she finally replied, amused. “I’ll see you around.” She tossed her perfect brown hair over her shoulder and turned away. I watched her walk away and into her classroom before I finally breathed. Did that actually happen? My stomach butterflies went nuts. I felt like dancing as I made my way to my classroom. I, Russell Balkley, actually talked to Janet Smith! And I made her laugh! Could this day get any better?! I ran my fingers over the wretched mark on my forehead, feeling the slightly rougher skin. Maybe my luck is changing, I wondered as I sat down at my desk. *** The sound of clanging metal startled me awake. I shook my head and instinctively brushed my hair over my forehead. I peeked over at the alarm clock by my bed. It was 2:34 in the morning. The sounds continued and mixed with hushed voices as they drifted through my open window. I got out of bed and moved to my bedroom window, peeking out over the driveway. Three bikes were outside the house, one tipped over and laying on the ground. I scrunched up my face in confusion. Whose bikes were these? What’s going on? Who would come over here? Stupid Kathleen and her stupid friends usually took Jerry’s stupid car to go anywhere. My ears perked up at the sound of water splashing. The pool. I hurriedly half-ran, half-tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. My movements were as quiet as possible as I made my way to the glass door leading to the backyard. A full moon and the pool lights brightly illuminated the area, making it fairly easy to see. Three figures were scattered around the pool’s edge, reaching into black garbage bags and tossing bits of stuff into the water. A plastic water bottle floated on the surface of the pool, and a piece of cardboard sank under the surface. Trash? They were dumping trash in our pool. My heart leaped into high gear. If my father saw this, even if my mother was on my side, I would end up taking the heat for this! Somehow, some way my father would conclude that I did something that deserved this type of retaliation or maybe that I was actually the instigator of such a prank. Especially since Kathleen would rather die than not blame me for things. I was going to have to stop this and clean up the trash myself. I was going to have to be quick about it, too. Even with all the wine my folks drank that evening, they might hear the ruckus if it became too loud. I slid open the glass door and practically fell through the doorway. “Stop!” I cried, watching as the figures went still. They turned to look at me, and that’s when I noticed that their faces were familiar. The two figures on the sides of the pool were David and Larry Wilson, Jasper’s goonies. I gulped. That could only mean… The figure on the side nearest me grabbed my pajama shirt and pulled me close. Jasper’s smug face sneered back at me. The moonlight made the pulled back expression on his face look contorted and wrong. “Hello, Shitstain,” he greeted, gritting the words out through bared teeth, “I didn’t know you had the guts to talk to my girl.” “I didn’t-” “I saw you. They,” Jasper nodded at David and Larry,” saw you. You were just buggin’ out looking at her. You could’ve been given mercy, but you just HAD to talk to her. You even touched her!” “Not cool, dude!” David called, and Larry elbowed him in the ribs. They continued their task of filling the pool with garbage, taking extra care to shake the bags completely empty of their filthy contents. I was yanked closer to the water’s edge. A sense of panic gripped my chest. I glanced down at the trash-filled water, before meeting Jasper’s red hot stare again. “What did you say to her, Shitstain?” “Nothing I-” “What did you say?!” Jasper yelled in my face, shaking me back and forth with both hands. I was as helpless as a chew toy in the jaws of a rottweiler. I felt sick to my stomach. “I said she looked beautiful!” I confessed. Jasper’s arrogant smile returned, his anger mixing with mockery. “Aww. She looked beautiful,” he echoed, imitating a whinier version of my voice. “And who does she belong to? Hmm? Who does the best girl in school belong to?” The answer was, of course, Jasper, the “best boy in school.” I’ve seen this situation before. Only the best for the best. It made sense. However, something in me was running rampant. Some sort of unknown confidence that ran around my heart and mind in dizzying circles that made me honest instead of smart. “You’re not dating her, Jasper. Why haven’t you asked her out yet? Are you scared?” I snapped back, and instantly wanted to be dead. Why was I so endlessly stupid? Jasper looked stunned, blinking at me in shock. His mouth hung open a little, and nothing came out. Larry and David gasped and froze, watching us cautiously. Then I was underwater. The rush of water into my nostrils made me struggle for air. I broke the surface and got one gasp before I felt Jasper’s hands pushing me back down. A candy wrapper brushed my neck in the water as I splashed frantically. My head was then lifted above the surface, and I took in rapid, merciful breaths. “I want you flushed for good, Shitstain!” “Jaz!” Larry called out. But I was back in the water before I could hear the rest of his sentence. I struggled and fought against the pair of hands keeping me under. My lungs burned and felt like bursting. Then I was breathing again, and a sob wracked my whole body. “Jaz, stop! It’s too much!” David cried, and I could see his hands trying to pry Jasper’s arms off me. Jasper shook the smaller boy off, shoving my head back into the trash-filled pool. His voice roared over the water, and for a second I wondered if my parents would save me. My sister might be bothered by my death, right? My body was becoming tired, my chest begging to breathe again. In my exhaustion, my arms and legs weren’t thrashing as much anymore. Jasper pushed down harder, forcing my head to the side at an odd, painful angle. My blurry vision registered that I was looking up at the goblin statue, the cheeky grin taunting me. The pressure in my chest was unbearable. My lungs were going to take over and inhale, even though it meant my doom. This is it, isn’t it?, I thought to myself. All this over a girl. This was a pathetic way to go, right? And so young. I wasn’t going to be a great adult, I knew that. I still didn’t have any high-paying skills or smarts, but maybe I could’ve been happy. I wish…I wish I could’ve had a friend at least once. In my hazy vision, a flash of red caught my fading attention. My half-conscious mind fumbled on an explanation. The statue? A sudden rush of energy and consciousness rushed into me, and I was suddenly fully alive and awake. I was still underwater and trying to escape. I suddenly realized the light was coming from the goblin fountain. The blank eyes were glowing a deep red, and the grin on the statue looked ten times wider than ever. Feeling renewed, I pulled my head free from Jasper’s pressing hands. I quickly rolled to the side and pulled myself out of the water as my attacker fell forward and took my place in the water. David and Larry called out their leader’s name, before turning to me. “Dude! You’re alive?!” Larry asked, incredulous. “You should be dead!” David added, his eyes reflecting surprise and relief. I ignored them, standing up on my energized legs and staring down at the water. Jasper floated face down, still as a statue. A bruised and partially eaten apple bobbed by his legs and tapped his side. “....Jaz?” the two goons said in hushed voices. Oh no. Was he dead? Did I kill Jasper Brown? If I did, I was going to have to skip town and restart my entire life in hiding. It was going to be hard with my birthmark, but I could try. Jasper’s arm twitched. David and Larry gasped, leaning over the water. The blond monster’s head swung out of the water. If he was still alive, then I at least didn’t have to worry about going to jail. But I did have to worry about Jasper. He was silent as he pulled himself out of the water. Gulping, I backed away towards the glass door. To safety. “Russell,” Jasper called, making me halt. He never said my name. I wasn’t even sure he KNEW it. I warily eyed him as he took a lurching, shaky step forward. His head raised up slowly, his eyes meeting mine. He took a step closer to me, then another. Like an idiot, I stayed still. It wasn’t until the boy was right in front of me that I remembered that I was supposed to have survival instincts. “Jasper, I-” I was cut off by Jasper’s cacophonous laugh. He clapped me on the shoulder, and turned to David and Larry. The two guys glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in confusion. “That was SO fun!” Jasper exclaimed, sounding as happy as a lark. My train of thought screeched to a halt. What is happening? I was even more confused when Jasper wrapped an arm around my shoulder and brought me closer to his flabbergasted crew. They stared at us like we were aliens, neither one knowing what to say. “Chilling with Russell is always off the hook, right guys?” Jasper grinned. “Jaz, my man,” David started,”are you alright? You absolutely hate Shitstain, remember? You try to flush him down the toilet, ya know. Larry, tell him.” “Yeah, Jaz. You just tried to drown this loser because he talked to your girl.” Larry gestured at me, an accusatory look on his face. Did he think I did this? I shook my head and shrugged back. Jasper glowered at the two, releasing me and grabbing them both by the collars of their shirts. “Lying, really? That’s so lame,” Jasper looked back at me, an idea forming into his head, “in fact, why don’t you guys cool off in the pool?” With that, Jasper pushed David and Larry into the pool, their hands waving spastically as they fell in. “C’mon, Rus,” the blond urged, nodding his head back at the two boys splashing and sputtering in the water, “fix them.” “Wai- wait what?” Jasper came up beside me, nudging me forward with his elbow. “Fix them. Like how you fixed me. Show them the right way to act towards you.” With a gulp, I stood in front of the two boys trying to swim toward the walls of the pool to escape. David choked out a comment about swallowing some trash. Looking down at their confused and fearful faces, I remembered all their insults and jabs. How they assisted in tormenting me for years. I crouched down near the edge of the pool, and opened my mouth. “I wish you liked me.” The two froze, and started to sink into the pool. Bubbles rose to the surface as a minute passed. I watched them carefully until they began to move again. Rising to the surface, they drug themselves out of the water. They looked up at me with bright, friendly smiles on their faces. “Hey, dude,” Larry greeted. “Need us to do anything?” I blinked. Looking behind the duo of eagerly expectant boys, I saw the trash in the pool. A sigh ran through me at the thought of cleaning it all up. “Could you clean all the trash up and uh…go home….please?” I tentatively requested. The boys nodded quickly, jumping into action. Jasper joined them, diving into the pool to fish out all the trash while David grabbed the pool net. Feeling like I was in a dream, I backed away from them and into the living room, sliding the glass door shut after me. The guys continued to clean. I waited and watched them for over an hour. They cleaned silently and feverishly, not stopping for any breaks. My gaze drifted from the trio to the goblin fountain at the end of the pool. It wasn’t glowing anymore, nor did it seem alive in any way. Just a cold, hard, lifeless statue in the moonlight. Did I really see it glow at all?, I wondered as I made my way back up the stairs and into my room. My pajamas were still wet and sticking to my skin uncomfortably. After swapping into a dry set, I crawled under my covers and tried to go to sleep. Billions of questions crowded my head, keeping me awake. Eventually, my mind grew tired of all the thinking and finally let me sink into a deep sleep. “Rus?...Russell? Come back to Earth, space cadet?... Dude!” a voice broke me out of my thoughts. Startled, I sat up in my desk, looking at David, who waved a hand over my face. It was the day after the pool incident and Larry, David, and Jasper still hadn’t stopped being friendly to me. My other classmates were whispering and staring, looks of shock and suspicion on their faces. Jasper seemed to not notice, looking at me like I was the coolest person he knew. “What?” I asked, glancing between them, realizing I hadn’t been listening to whatever they were saying. “We’re going over to your house after school, right?” Larry asked. Remembering my near death experience from last night, I stiffened. Was my death rescheduled for today? Was this the calm before a very, very bad storm? “Why would you want to come over?” I sputtered out, tripping over my words. Jasper slid his arm around my shoulder, smacking it jovially. “To chill?” he stated, like it was the most obvious and normal thing in the world. “You’re our best friend, remember? You’re the coolest dude in school!” “I- What?” I paused, hunting for a sign of mockery, finding none. Their gazes were sincere. Their eyes almost pleading. Begging to be near me. It was odd, but not exactly unwelcome. “I mean…I’m down if you guys are.” The three boys celebrated, and a hesitant smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. Maybe this was a gift. Maybe it was finally time for me to be happy. My turn. *** The warm May air brushed against my face as I walked to school. It was near the end of the school year, and everything in my life had gotten better since last August. My best friends, Jasper, Larry, and David waited outside the school building to greet me every single day, and we hung out most afternoons. We watched the movies I wanted to see, went to the places I wanted to go, and played the games I wanted to play. It was nice to have someone to join me in my fantasy games where I was the hero, slaying my enemies and ruling the world. Every single day. I had the perfect life now. The coolest kids in school followed me around like desperate dogs, my parents doted on me and constantly brought me home presents, and my sister always took the blame for anything I ever did with an unnatural eagerness. Every day of my life was now filled with happiness and joy. What a relief, too, I thought. Last September I knew I wouldn’t have made it much longer with my father and sister getting very suspicious about mom’s behavior and my sudden super close friends. With the cold season approaching, I was pressed to take care of their suspicions before we closed our pool for the season. Luckily for me, I managed to coax them into the water and the fountain’s powers did its magic. It was a bit hard to get Dad into the water, but Mom helped give him the nudge he needed to just take the plunge. I approached the school building and saw my friends hanging outside near the sidewalk like always. When they saw me, they immediately lit up. They waved and grinned ear to ear. “Morning, dude!” David and Larry called out in unison. Their whole almost-twins thing hadn’t faded with the goblin fountain’s magic, which was fine. Jasper sprinted up to me, his athletic legs nearly teleporting him in an instant. “Ready for the test in Mrs. Walton’s class?” he asked, slipping my backpack off my shoulders and onto one of his own. Jasper and I walked up the steps to the school’s double doors while Larry and David shot ahead to hold the doors open for me. “I think so. The material isn’t too hard this time around,” I answered. “You’ll do great!” Larry chimed in, and David nodded fervently. “You’re super smart and great at everything.” I chuckled at that, and we started making our way to our first class of the day. People in school were still a little surprised by the sudden strangeness of Jasper, David, and Larry becoming my best friends out of nowhere, but they weren’t going to do anything about it. Which was fine. As long as nobody tried to take my happy life away from me, I didn’t really care what they thought. When I walked down the school hallway, I was king. The other students moved out of my way like roaches running from a light. It never got old. The exhilarating, powerful feeling of being in complete control. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Janet Smith talking to one of her friends. My heart thumped against my ribcage as I watched her toss her soft, shiny brown hair over her shoulder. I could hear her bell-ring laughter, and my palms began to sweat. “Just go talk to her,” Jasper encouraged, nudging me in her direction, “Only the best girl for the best boy. She’s practically yours already.” I gulped, but nodded at my crew before striding over. “Janet?” I said, catching her attention, “can I talk to you real quick?” Janet’s friend giggled, and said a quick goodbye to her before leaving. Janet looked a little aggravated for a split second before turning to face me. “Russell, right?” she asked. “What do you want?” She remembers my name! I fought down a cheer as I stared into her rich, deep brown eyes. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I tried to think of something to say. “Would you maybe like to hang out this weekend?” I coughed out, trying to sound cool and casual. Janet sniffed and eyed me with judgment. “Can’t,” she answered flatly, “My birthday is this weekend.” With that, she turned on her heel and strutted off. My friends caught up to me, circling me and asking for details about what just happened. I floundered for an answer, wondering if the trio would laugh at me for my failure. After a quick explanation, they started scoffing. “She’s just playing hard to get,” David assured, patting me on the shoulder. Larry rolled his eyes, “You’re way better than her anyway. She just doesn’t see that.” I shrugged, trying to keep my cool despite the urge to run off and sulk. Jasper slung an arm around my shoulder and shook me gently. “She just needs to learn,” he laughed, turning me and nudging me towards Janet’s retreating form, “She just needs a push in the right direction. Right, Rus?” He winked at me, and I immediately knew exactly what he meant. The goblin fountain. The weather was getting warmer, but it was still a little early to open the pool again. Most people didn’t open their pools until early June. I nodded at Jasper and sprinted down the hall to catch Janet again. When I finally got close to her pretty form, I tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped a little, but turned around and stared at me in confusion. “I said no,” she reminded and blew a stray strand of hair off of her perfectly upturned nose. She gripped her books to her chest, and watched me with a mix of annoyance and cautiousness. Exhaling, I put on my best casual smile. “I know,” I stated, “but I was wondering if you were having a pool party?” Janet snorted at this, and relaxed her face into a more snooty expression. “Of course not. My dad doesn’t open our pool until after June 1. If I could choose, then I would definitely have a pool party. But I was born in May.” My smile grew as I saw my opening, “My family is opening our pool early this year. The weather should be warm this weekend. Why don’t you move the party to my place? We’ll provide the food and drinks too. All you have to do is show up.” Janet’s eyes widened as she stood up a bit straighter. She blinked and considered the offer. Her deep eyes glanced behind me for a second before she turned back to me. “Will Jasper be there?” she asked, a tint of pretty pink creeping along her round cheeks. My heart skidded to a stop and cracked. Really? Janet Smith, the girl of my dreams, has a crush on Jasper Brown? Rumor had it that she didn’t care much for Jasper, but it seemed his less aggressive behavior over the past few months had made her reconsider. My blood boiled as I turned to see Jasper and the other two boys watching me from a distance, eagerly giving me thumbs up and smiling. I breathed in deeply, and forced my shoulders to relax. “Of course. He’s my best friend,” I replied, “Food, pool, presents, and Jasper. All at my house. All you have to do is show up.” “Why are you doing all of this?” she interrogated, leaning forward as if to see into my head. “I- erm…You deserve the party of your dreams. Jasper also only goes to the best parties soooo….” Delight broke out along Janet’s face, and she nodded fervently. “Ok! Sure. Sounds groovy. Let’s talk after school about it, ok?” “Yeah. See you then.” With that, Janet practically skipped into the classroom, her hair bouncing with each step. David, Larry, and Jasper were suddenly beside me, clapping me on the back and asking about what I had said to her. “Well guys,” I announced, stepping into the classroom, “we have a lot of work to do.”
The day of the party couldn’t come soon enough. Excitement vibrated through the air like a sound wave. Kids from almost every grade were packed into my backyard, laughing and playing while their parents and grandparents chatted in a corner with cups of fresh iced lemonade. I grinned as I admired the excellent decorations. Getting my parents to pay for food and decorations was easy; and decorating was a breeze with a whole family and friend group to help me. I barely had to lift a finger. A buffet table under the shade of the patio was decorated with a three-cheese fondue, pepperoni pizza, fresh fruits, crackers, meats, and cup after cup of soda, lemonade, and tea. At the center of it all was a giant, two-tiered pink birthday cake. Faux roses lined the base and a cluster of candles topped the second tier like a crown. It was like royalty amongst the other foods on the table. I inhaled the sweet and savory smells of the warm cheese and the decadent cake. Mmmmm, mouth watering! The rest of the backyard was decorated with long pink streamers, bouquets of pink and white balloons, and tiny vases of fragrant hyacinths. I was proud that I learned a flower name for my Janet. The birthday girl herself was hovering around Jasper like a butterfly around a flower. Her bathing suit was a dark blue with clusters of bright yellow circles and smaller red polka dots. From a distance, they looked like exploding fireworks. She was gorgeous, her skin like radiant gold in the warm sun. Jasper was being friendly, but didn’t dare to give her more attention than necessary. He knew who she belonged to: ME. I looked around at all the people happily gathered on my property. They were laughing with one another, splashing in my pool, eating my food, and acting like they didn’t ignore and bully me everyday for most of my life. Even now, when all this was happening because of me, Janet was talking to Jasper. She was practically drooling over him. She’ll learn, I thought, they’ll all learn. I looked around the pool from my place by the fence, searching for my friends. David and Larry were spread on the far corners amongst the groups of people, while Jasper was busy entertaining the birthday girl. In the doorway of the house stood my mother. Catching my eye, she slowly shut and locked the huge glass doors that led into the house. She turned back to me, her mouth stretched into a wide grin. Around the side of the house, my father was locking the gates to the yard. He, too, looked up from his task to smile at me. Wide-eyed, happy. The happiest I’ve ever seen the man in my entire life. My sister was on the other side of the house locking the other gate. She was laughing, which she did so often now. She was happier this way. Everyone was. By now, my entire crew was watching me, awaiting orders. I nodded once, twice. They copied me and sprung into action. Mom retreated into the house, my sister vanished around the house. My father slunk back to watch the front porch. “Hey, hey, everybody!” Jasper’s voice boomed out in the backyard, halting everyone. “Let's all give a big round of applause for our birthday girl, Janet!” Whoops and clapping erupted as Janet blushed and smiled. She waved a perfectly-shaped hand at everyone, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Well everyone, I don’t think the clapping was good enough! How about we all jump in the pool together to honor Janet, eh?” More cheering followed by movement as David and Larry began to usher people toward the pool. Janet was led to stand right next to the wondrous goblin fountain, which was aptly adorned with a party hat. Unsure of the statue’s rules, I wanted to guarantee that the magic would still work. Before the party had started, I fed the fountain one of my mom’s gold necklaces. Just as I had suspected last year, the shiny jewelry dissolved in the creature’s stone hands. The crackle of energy I felt all those months ago had rippled through the air again. “Alright! Everyone ready?” Jasper shouted. The answer came in loud and excited yells. He looked at me for approval, grinning widely. One nod from me and everyone would jump. I had the power. I was in control. My eyes traveled from person to person, finally landing on Janet. In all her beautiful glory, she beamed at all the attention she was receiving from Jasper and the guests. Not one person spared me a glance–but that was about to change. They were all just ignorant, jealous even. I was amazing, smart, handsome, talented, and better than everyone here! I was just made to think I wasn’t. My birthmark wasn’t to blame, my personality wasn’t to blame. They were. THEY were always the problem. But now… now they were going to learn the truth. I nodded my head. David, Larry, and Jasper backed away from the ring of people. “Alright, everyone!” Jasper called, “On the count of three!” My heart began to beat faster. A smile cracked across my face—a sly smile reminiscent of the one carved on my favorite statue. Some guests bent their knees a little, ready to leap into the clear water. Into their new lives. “Three!....Two!.....One!” They’re all going to love me.
✽2021 Edition✽
THIS WINTER STORM Stephen Swaidner
Prologue: This was written on December 1st, 1977, by the author while working on an oil and gas production platform 50 miles in the Gulf of Mexico. Setting in 385 feet of water the tall steel structure rose another 140 feet above the water. It was completely surrounded by the sea and the sky touched the horizon in all directions. It was isolated unto itself and the weather of the winter storm.
This Winter Storm It was raining much harder now. The wind blows steady from the north. The cold wind and driving rain are typical this time of year. Rough seas are normal. The waves increase until swells can be seen breaking over the handrails of the lower catwalks. I think as long as I live, I shall never forget a winter offshore. This evening the clouds are growing darker. The shadows of the rig lights dance on the cold wet steel decks. They dance to the sounds of this winter storm. I shiver. Wool socks, insulated underwear, oil stained coveralls, and a winter liner in my hard hat have not stopped the cold. My breath turns white as it leaves my mouth. The white fog turns and twirls on end and then follows the wind into the rainy darkness. The cold rain hits my face, runs down to my chin, and drops onto my raincoat. The rivulet at my feet flows to the edge of the steel deck and collects in a puddle several inches deep. A cold droplet runs down the back of my neck. I shiver. The foghorn’s moans are muffled as the wind and rain increases. A steel door flies open and slams against the side of the generator shed. It continues to bang against the shed. The men inside are working on a control panel. They see the door blowing in the wind. They cannot stop to shut the door. I stand and walk into the storm to close their door. What I really want to do is to stand next to their generator engines. I am cold and I want to be warm. I don't want to hear those moaning foghorns either. They sound like they belong to this winter storm.
TO NOT EAT Fauram Patel
(Trigger Warning: Eating Disorders)
Food.
It's the only thing I can think about when I’m hungry. My mind rages and battles with itself as it fights to maintain control.
I can barely hold on as my pained internal screams overwhelm me until eventually, I can’t hear them anymore. My screams drown in their own blood as my mind takes over and I lose my free will.
It’s pure bliss now. No longer do I have to spend my days feeling the clawing of my stomach begging for food. No longer do I have to worry about when to eat, what to eat, how much to eat. Everything is perfect now! Why did I even fight for so long against my mind? I’m perfectly safe in its hands! And I could even finally lose those pounds I’ve been desperate to drop.
But what I don’t realize is that the exact opposite is happening. Or rather, I refuse to realize it. Can I really be blamed, though? It’s an addiction, it is! That feeling of being able to not eat and still feel good is just too great. Too satisfying. Too pleasurable. It’s an addiction; the minute I felt it the first time, I was hooked. I never want to let go of this feeling, and I want to, need to, feel this again and again for the rest of my life.
On the inside, my stomach screams but my mind intercepts.
I need to stop... This isn't good. But it feels so good. The best thing I've ever felt in my life! I can't stop. I need this feeling...
This is it, my first love. Never can I love anyone or anything the way I can love this feeling. Not one year from now, not ten years from now, and not thirty years from now. Never will I stop coming back to this, and every love I ever have after this will be nothing but a rebound. My mind knows I will always come back, so it will always wait.
My body wails in agony from suffering, but it’s okay. “Your body doesn’t have a mind. It doesn’t understand. This is the way, this is what’s right and what’s good for it,” my mind tells me. And I listen wholeheartedly. My mind knows what’s best for me. My body may be in misery. But I have grown accustomed to it. This is me now. I may be slowly killing myself, but it’s okay. As long as I get to feel this.
Good things don’t last, and things that are bad things in disguise as good certainly don’t last. Eventually, I felt it again, with a more powerful force than ever before. It’s worse than anything I’ve ever felt and I just want it to end.
I run and eat so much food, more than I can remember ever eating at once, but the screaming only gets worse and I can’t breathe and everything is blurry and my ears are ringing and my head hurts and my legs hurt and everything hurts and make it stop, please just MAKE IT STOP! But it won't end. Not for a long time. It only gets worse, steadily, until I can take it no more.
To make it worse, eating is nearly impossible. Any time I try to eat to try and relieve the immense hunger, it only gets worse. To an outsider, it may seem as if I am exaggerating the pain. But they don't know. They don’t get it. It's worse than they could ever imagine.
I’m tempted to end it all, to end myself, but I can’t do it. My mind won’t let me. It holds me in a vice, refusing to let go, and I realize that this first love is also my first toxic love. I’m determined to make it through, hopeful that it will end one day.
I only keep suffering day after day. Month after month. And it keeps going on and on, until the days are just one big painful blur.
Until one day, when I wake up feeling better than ever. I’m suspicious at first, and I want to make sure that it never comes back. Then, when I am satisfied and believe it, I’m happier than I have ever been.
It's like a miracle, just in time too, as I was beginning to lose hope.
This is the best I've ever felt! Maybe all that pain was worth it after all!
But then one day, it comes back. Not as strong as before, but still strong enough to make me want to curl up into a ball and die there.
It goes away later, but leaves me with a sudden, burning realization.
This will never end. It will always come back.
I need help.
A MATTER OF TRUST Eric Morris Week 2 I don’t like my new neighborhood. I don’t like my new house either. It smells funny, like dust and mothballs. My room is okay. It’s bigger than my room at my real house, but there’s only one window and it’s nailed shut. Miss Jane tells me it’s to keep me safe. She doesn’t understand how much I hate the smell of mothballs. But I do like the window. I can see across the street, and if I put my cheek up to the glass I can see most of my neighbor’s yard. Miss Jane tells me not to do that because it makes her windows dirty. She says if I do it I’ll have to clean all the windows in the whole house. Sometimes I do it anyway. All the windows are nailed shut. Yesterday I saw the neighbor riding his bike down the street. His name is Jimmy, or maybe Timmy. I know because he rode through Miss Jane’s flower beds instead of riding on the street, and Miss Jane yelled at him, “Jimmy (or Timmy), you stay out of my flowers! I’ll hang you yet!” Sally says it’s “inappropriate” to say that to a black boy. I don’t think she should say it to anyone. I think his name’s Jimmy. He rides his bike everywhere, even to school. I wish I could ride my bike to school, but Miss Jane takes me in her minivan. She says I’m too young to be trusted, but she takes Sally to school, too. Sally is bigger than me. She told me she goes to school with Jimmy. Sally is in eleventh grade. I’m in fourth. That’s seven years if you subtract 4 from 11. I like to watch Jimmy whenever he is outside. Sometimes he rides his bike past the window, but sometimes he’s in his yard. He plays basketball. I think he’s pretty good, and he can jump really high! I bet he could jump over my head. I don’t get to go outside much. Only to the back yard when Miss Jane wants me to help her pull weeds. Sally has to mow because Miss Jane says I’m too young to be trusted, but Sally always tells me she had to mow when she was in fourth grade. I don’t think Sally lived with Miss Jane when she was in fourth grade. I’d rather mow because Miss Jane has so many flowers, and all the bugs like to crawl around in the black dirt. Mister Richard says I’m a sissy because I don’t like bugs. He’s married to Miss Jane, but I don’t see him a lot. He works at night and goes fishing when he doesn’t work. He uses bugs to catch fish. I think I’m just as much a boy as he is, or Jimmy, or even my dad.
Week 5 Sometimes, Jimmy has friends over and they go to his backyard. I can’t see over the fence, but whatever they do smells funny. Not like mothballs, but I still don’t like it. Whenever Miss Jane smells it she makes me go inside, even if I’m not done with the weeds. I guess that’s okay. She always tells Jimmy she’s going to call the police but she never does. I don’t think you can go to jail for being outside without a grown-up. At my real house I went outside all the time. Sometimes I went outside at night. Only when daddy looked really dizzy, though. I always did the wrong thing when he was dizzy, and he would get real mad at me. Momma always told me to go outside so he could get mad at her instead. Sally says Miss Jane doesn’t like Jimmy because he’s black. I don’t know why that matters. She says that he’s smart and funny, and she likes to skip her classes sometimes to go watch him practice basketball. He’s the best one on the team, she says. Miss Jane won’t let her go to a game even though Jimmy promises he will have her home by 10. My bedtime is at 8:30. Miss Jane turns out all the lights. I can’t even have a lamp on because Miss Jane thinks I won’t go to sleep if I have a light. I’m too young to be trusted, she says. Sometimes I don’t go to sleep even in the dark. I miss my mom, and even my dad, too. I wish he would stop drinking the stuff that makes him so mad at us. I know I would. I would do anything to be back at my real house with my real mom and dad. Sally told me her dad drinks stuff, too. She calls it whiskey, but I don’t think it’s the same stuff because her daddy didn’t get mad at her. She told me he loved her more after he had been drinking. She asked me if I knew what sex was and I said kind of. I know it’s something that people do when they love each other. Sally just started laughing, but then she started to cry and made me leave her room. I guess she misses her mom and dad like I do. It’s so boring in my room, though. There’s no TV or toys or books. Miss Jane says that’s because I don’t have permanent placement yet. She tells me soon I’ll have a new home but she doesn’t know if it will be with mom and dad. Sally is on her third permanent placement because she’s not allowed to be in a house with teenage boys. I’m glad I’m not that old because I really like Sally. She’s very pretty and she uses grown-up words sometimes that make me laugh. And she talks to me when I’m sad. Sometimes I cry, but I try not to because Mister Richard says that makes me a sissy. I’ll miss Sally when she leaves. She tells me that she can’t wait to leave, and that hurts my feelings a little because she’s my friend. I don’t really have friends at my school. They think I’m weird because I just showed up one day and told them I’m not supposed to talk about my mom and dad. I have one friend that I see at lunch every day, but he’s not allowed to play with me after school. Miss Jane says I’m too young to be trusted with having people over. When I look out my window, I imagine that the people across the street will come home one day with a boy like me who needs a new family. Then maybe we can play together, at least until my permanent placement. Sally’s birthday is soon, and when she leaves, I won’t be able to talk to anyone but Miss Jane. I asked Sally if she was happy to go see her mom and dad again, but she said she’s not going to see them. I told her it was weird to not want to see your mom and dad, and she got mad at me. She told me I thought that because my dad only hit me. That hurt my feelings pretty bad. She told me she was sorry and that her dad had done some really bad stuff to her. I asked her why dads do mean things sometimes, and she said she didn’t know. Then she told me to stay sweet when I got older. I don’t know what that means. I’m not sweet, or a sissy. I want to be like Jimmy. He’s smart and funny and good at basketball. And he gets to ride his bike to school. I wonder if anyone ever told Jimmy he was sweet. I bet they didn’t. My dad’s not sweet, either. Boys aren’t supposed to be sweet. They’re tough. When you’re not tough the girls make fun of you and the boys push you and do mean things. Sally’s the nicest girl I know and she even said I was a “momma’s boy.” They wouldn’t say that if I showed them how tough I was. It’s my mom’s fault, really. She makes dad have to toughen me up so I won’t be a momma’s boy. Or a sissy. At least that’s what he says.
Week 7 The people across the street get into fights sometimes. Not like mom and dad but they yell a lot. It’s usually late at night when I’m supposed to be asleep. The woman usually goes to the car and the man tries to stop her. She always leaves. I don’t ever hear Miss Jane and Mister Richard fighting. I guess they love each other more than the people across the street. Or mom and dad. That really makes me sad because I don’t want them to fight. When my mom and dad fight, he is usually the one that leaves. Then he comes back looking dizzy. Mom always says she’s scared of him but she still fights with him. Maybe she wants him to get in trouble. I asked Miss Jane if she thought my dad was bad but she just told me it wasn’t her place to talk about that. I have a helper called a “guardian ad litem” that’s supposed to help me when we go see the judge about going home or to get my permanent placement. They say I’m too young to talk in court, so the guardian ad litem will talk for me. I guess all the adults think I’m too young to be trusted. Maybe they think I’m stupid. Maybe momma’s boys make all the wrong choices. That’s why I want to be tough, so people will listen to me and treat me like I’m smart enough to do things for myself. I told Sally that I wasn’t going to be a momma’s boy anymore and that I was going to be tough like my dad. She said my dad was an asshole so I called her a bitch. I had never said that word before but that’s what dad says when mom won’t stop making him mad. I had to go to my room for the rest of the night. Miss Jane told me I had to apologize to Sally but I told her no because I don’t like how people think my dad is a bad person. I said I wasn’t sorry but I really was. I felt really bad about hurting Sally’s feelings. I told her later that I was sorry because I wanted her to be my friend and I don’t want her to be mad at me when she gets to leave. She said it was no big deal but she gave me a hug and said she was sorry, too. I never want to fight with her again. That’s what grown-ups and mean kids do. But I don’t know how to make people think I’m tough if I don’t fight. I bet Jimmy has been in a lot of fights and that’s why everyone likes him. Sally likes Jimmy a lot. She sneaks out to visit him sometimes. I don’t know how she figured out how to take the nails off the window without Miss Jane knowing. I caught her sneaking back in one time when I got up to use the bathroom and I heard noises. I opened her door and saw her climbing in the window. She made me promise not to tell, and I said I wouldn’t say anything if she’d tell me what she was doing. She told me that her and Jimmy hung out late at night sometimes. I asked her what they did together and she told me “stuff.” She said it was nothing I would understand. Of course not. I’m just a dumb kid. She said I don’t even know what sex is. I don’t know why that makes me feel weird inside. I like Jimmy, and I like Sally. But I don’t like them liking each other. Sally only likes to do kid stuff with me. Like I’m her little brother or something. She does grown-up stuff with Jimmy, and she keeps it a secret. I thought we told each other everything. At least, I tell her everything. I’ve never even talked to Jimmy. I wonder if she’s ever even told him about me. Maybe if she did, we could be friends, but I don’t want to see them together because I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I think Sally knows because she always tells me I’m her favorite little guy. It doesn’t make me feel better.
Week 10 I really just want to go home. I don’t like Miss Jane’s house, and I don’t like not having any friends. I miss my mom and dad. Why does he have to hit us like that? Why can’t mom just stop saying things that make him mad? They don’t even think about me. They just fight and dad drinks stuff and they throw things. I just want to go home. Sally left. We had her birthday party and the next day she came into the kitchen while we were having cereal and told us she was leaving. She didn’t ride with me and Miss Jane to school that day. When I got home from school she was gone. She left a note on my pillow that said she would come back and check in on me. I tried not to cry but I couldn’t help it. I miss her. I saw her a couple of days ago in Jimmy’s yard, but she didn’t come over. Miss Jane says we’re supposed to go to court next week with the guardian ad litem. She said mom will be there but probably not dad because he’s in another court. She said I may not get to see him for a while even if I do get to go home. I asked where he would live if he can’t live with me and mom, and she said that what he did was a crime and he may have to live in jail, even if me and mom forgive him. I don’t want that to happen but Miss Jane says I can only talk in court if they ask me questions. Everything about the way grown-ups handle fights is silly. I haven’t talked to mom or dad since September and it’s almost Thanksgiving. I might not even get to see dad for Christmas. I think sometimes that adults are really selfish. Mom and dad couldn’t stop fighting and the judge takes so long to talk to us and Miss Jane won’t buy me things because I could be leaving at any time. I don’t know if they’d even miss me if was gone.
Week 15 I spent Thanksgiving with a new family. They said mom wasn’t ready to “take the proper steps” to have us back in the same house. Dad wasn’t there. I started a new school. I tried to talk to a girl that reminded me of Sally but she said to leave her alone and called me a freak. So I punched her and made her nose bleed. I don’t want to be at that new school or at the new house. I wanted to go home but I don’t know anymore. I don’t really want to be anywhere. It’s almost Christmas. No one is riding their bikes, or pulling weeds, or mowing the lawn. It doesn’t snow, it’s just cold. Miss Celia and Mister Jerry drink hot chocolate and tell us to give thanks for the Lord’s blessings, but I don’t see them. They say this time is about family, and that we’re a family, for as long as I need a family. I don’t want a family. Families let you down. Families don’t think about you. They pretend to be happy until they get mad and then they do mean things to hurt everyone. Just like the kids at school. Just like Sally, who never came back. When I’m old enough, I won’t come back either.
Week 0 “Ryan, do you understand why we’re taking you to live with Miss Jane?” “I think so. It’s because dad hit mom, and because he hit me before.” “Well, that’s part of it. There are physical reasons and there are emotional reasons. Hitting people is a physical issue, but there are emotional issues that cause us to act out sometimes. Your dad has some opportunities to learn how to better manage his anger, and he needs some time alone to do that. Your mom also needs some alone time to deal with everything that has happened. There are going to be many changes, and she will have her own emotional opportunities to work through. You may have some, too.” “What kind of changes?” “Well, while your dad is healing, your mom may not be able to pay for the house you live in, so you all might have to move into a smaller house for a while. That may mean changing jobs, and it means that you may need after school care while she works. There are lots of things that can happen. Our job is to make sure that you and your mom and your dad all transition into a new lifestyle that is healthy for the whole family.” “How long will I have to be with Miss Jane?” “It’s hard to say. But I know that your mom and dad are committed to getting through this and having everyone back together as soon as possible. It may be tough for a couple of weeks, but our goal is to make sure that you all have a wonderful Christmas together, with new ways to be happy and love each other.” “Is dad going to jail?” “That’s not for us to decide, but no matter what, we promise to do everything we can to make sure that you don’t have to be away from your parents any longer than what is absolutely necessary.” “I’m really scared.” “I know, Ryan. But I also know that you’re tough, and while it may be difficult at first, you will make new friends at school, and Miss Jane and Mister Richard will take care of whatever you need. And what you need right now is to trust us just like we trust you to be strong while your parents deal with these difficulties. Do you trust us?” “I guess.” “Good. We’ll have this sorted out before you know it. Now, Miss Jane will be here in a few minutes, so get your things ready, and we’ll take you to meet her.”
THE PRESTIGIOUS AWARD by Candyce Sweet “It is a very prestigious award, and quite frankly, someone who has been sitting back on their laurels should not be eligible for it,” Professor Springboard said. “Well, I don’t think they would get it, even if they did get a nomination, but who would nominate someone who hadn’t put in the work? It’s not going to be an issue, really.” Professor Perez believed himself to be the epitome of diplomacy in interoffice politics. “No, no, no. They should not even be eligible for a nomination, even if they did get someone to do it. You know how these things are. All politics. Everyone’s faculty evaluations should be gone over with a fine-tooth comb, and if they have not met certain metrics, like productivity, then they should not even be eligible for the nomination. You know I am right about this. If that stipulation is not made, then someone will get the award by sheer politics alone, regardless of the work they have completed,” Springboard responded as she tossed her hair, accentuating her point and sending her red curls flying in as many directions as there were ringlets unrestrained by the many bobby pins and barrettes. Perez declined to reiterate his previous statement, instead allowing it to waft about the room seeking purchase elsewhere. The very prestigious award on which Professor Springboard had commented had just been announced by the college’s president, Hardman. Most found his name rather fitting and entirely apt as he made the announcement during the beginning of the semester’s Convocation address, and now each department was gathering individually to discuss it. President Hardman had not given many details, and in his frowning way with his clipped speech, merely mentioned that a plaque would be awarded to the winning recipient with a prize of a $10,000 stipend. “I wonder if they’ll hold up a check like they used to do with Publisher’s Clearing House winners, or like they do when someone wins the lottery,” Professor Sanderson said in a southern drawl that seemed specifically designed to make her fellow faculty members cringe. “How utterly ridiculous!” Professor Abthorpe interjected. “It’s a stipend. It’ll be added to the winner’s paycheck, with all benefits and taxes taken out. It won’t even be the entire $10,000! That’s why Hardman said ‘stipend’ to begin with.” He huffed like a ham actor on a theatre stage. “Even so,” Perez said, “$10,000 less benefits and taxes is still a nice chunk of change. I know I’ll certainly go up for it.” “What will you do to win that prize? Hardman was none too clear on how to win it, was he?” Sanderson drawled out again, taking twice the time to get the sentence out as it might take most people. President Hardman indeed had not given many specifics. He mentioned “service to the college,” but he said it with something akin to a snarl, and “those practices that lead to student success,” which he almost spit out with a kind of venom usually reserved for those things one hated with a passion. It might have left the casual observer to wonder if it were really a prize at all or that perhaps the president wanted to ensure that people did not apply for it, which seemed odd since he was the one who invented the prize in the first place. Those faculty members without tenure and still relatively new to the college would certainly not attempt to win it for fear of angering the man who would be awarding it, putting their tenure chances at risk. Those who had been with the college longer knew that there was no way to avoid angering Hardman and quite frankly, if one wanted to accomplish anything, one was just going to have to incur his wrath. “I will do what I have always done in service to this fine institution,” Perez said, “which is to say that I will go above and beyond for my students as I always have, which, indeed, should be more than enough to demonstrate how much effort I go to for student success and which is, of course, in service to the college at all times.” Professor Milner, the most senior professor in the English department in both age and length of employment, began, “Now, y’all know I don’t like to toot my own horn,” which prompted reactions such as the rolling of the eyes of some and the gentle, and not so gentle, sighs of others. There was even a dramatic dropping of a chin to one owner’s chest. “But I’ve been in service to this college for longer than I care to remember, and being a team player is paramount to success, for the college, for the students, and for faculty and staff. Why, I remember a time back in ’88 when…” Knowing glances passed back and forth as listeners stopped listening. It was actually Professor Milner that Springboard had been talking about when she mentioned “productivity” being a requirement for the application process for the prestigious award. Milner was a likeable enough fellow to the college at large, though that boggled the mind of those in the English department, because it was well known to that department that Milner hadn’t done a thing for the college, except to teach his classes, in decades. And there was, quite frankly, some who thought his teaching style was only suitable for the stone age, for the carving of cuneiform into clay tables, and not for the digital age. He was sometimes overheard asking his class at the start of the period, “So, ladies and gentlemen, what are we doing in class today?” The man genuinely didn’t know and had to ask the students! Why he hadn’t retired already was a sore subject, especially for Ambrose Abthorpe who was eager to take his position as most senior faculty member in the English department. *** “Professor Springboard,” Sanderson said, “I would be delighted to nominate you for this award, if…” she paused, “you do the same for me,” she finally got around to saying. Elmira Springboard did not move a muscle, but that didn’t stop the curls from bouncing to and fro, much like snakes might bounce around on Medusa’s head, each with an independent will of its own. Becky Sanderson had often wondered just what would happen if the rest of the curls broke free of their restraining bobby pins and barrettes, and indeed, such a possible occurrence was often the talk of the department. Not where Professor Springboard could hear, of course. No, that would be rude. Springboard was saved from having to answer by a staff member who, rather than actually knocking on the office door, said instead, “Knock, knock,” in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. Springboard thought the woman looked vaguely familiar and at least knew enough to know that the woman worked at the college, while Sanderson would have sworn she had never seen this woman in her life. “Hi, I know you are super busy, but I had a question I wanted to ask you. Well, that’s not actually true. I have a favor to ask of you,” she said, though her smile faltered at the looks at the professors’ faces. “I’m Sara Maclin from over in the Advising department. Um, well,” she continued, “as you know, we are trying to change our advising processes over in Advising to make it easier for students to get enrolled in the college and in their classes. We thought some flyers and maybe even some handouts could help. You know the type we mean. Something that lays out the whole process for them so they don’t have to try to remember everything we say as they’re getting their applications in. Something they could refer back to every step of the way. We thought that here in the English department, you could be a big help for that, you know, because you all are such great writers…” Her voice trailed off. Professor Springboard seemed to stand a little straighter while simultaneously lowering her chin. “I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly do that. You see, I’ll be working to get my paperwork and travel forms and such submitted for a conference I’ll be attending this semester that is focused on student retention and learning. I’ll simply be too busy, my focus being on the students taking my classes this term. But perhaps Professor Sanderson…? I’ll leave you two to talk about it. I have a meeting to get to.” And with that, Springboard left, glad that she didn’t have to answer Sanderson’s request for a nomination for the prestigious award but worried about how she would avoid the woman in the future, in case that question arose again. *** Few in the English department had wanted to share an office with Professor Milner, though the word “few” may be too charitable. Perhaps “none” would be closer to the mark. He had a habit of sharing stories from the past, long before some of the others had even been with the institution, and as a result, most of the people from his stories were unknown to his listener as many were no longer working for the college and hadn’t for decades. Professor Perez, however, knew a secret that none of the others seemed to know. Milner was never in the office. He did not know to dread being assigned an office with Milner as a new faculty member until he talked with others in the department, and while he did not disagree with them in principle, sharing an office with Milner was the best thing that had happened to him at the college because he essentially got an office to himself, a boon that none of the others professors had, except Abthorpe, but that was only by a directive of Human Resources. That boon meant that he heard more gossip than anyone else. When a fellow faculty member passed by his office and saw that it was empty save for him, they would come in to sympathize with how awful it was he had to share with Milner. That sympathy would give way to gossip, and the quantity of that gossip grew. That was how Perez first learned that the prestigious award was going to someone either in the English department or in the Science department. Abthorpe had learned from one of his students, who was also a student worker in the President’s office, that while the committee was looking over all of the nomination letters and applications, that they had narrowed it down to English or Science. He tended to wear nice dress slacks, well-tailored, and crisp, clean shirts, though both were always in black. Whether perpetually in mourning or because he thought black was a slimming color, Perez did not know, but it produced the effect where Abthorpe was seemingly always in shadow. Or perhaps he was a shadow himself. His jet-black hair completed his monochromatic look. Abthorpe sucked the light out of the office as he entered it, remarking to Perez, “Oh, Milner not here again? Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in here. Office hours are required, you know. I wonder if he thinks his tenure would protect him if someone in administration found out he was never here?” Perez used this opportunity to ask what Abthrope’s plans were for his application for the prestigious award. “I am writing a series of articles for publication that will highlight how the K-12 school system so woefully under-prepares students for college and academic life which is the main, and perhaps only, cause for our students failing our courses. How can we teach and retain students when they’ve no idea how to learn? Many of them don’t even know how to read. They come to my composition courses without the vaguest idea of how to do MLA format. It’s ridiculous! How can you teach students like that? We must radically revolutionize the K-12 system if we are to have any kind of hope at preparing the next generation,” Abthorpe said with a kind of vehemence he usually reserved for the failings of the administration, both real and imagined. “Yes,” Perez said with an air of the diplomat about him, “but don’t students learn MLA format in your composition class? How can they be expected to come in already knowing it?” Abthorpe huffed and sputtered, and with an air of one who is used to not being understood by his intellectual inferiors, as indeed most of his so-called colleagues were, changed the subject. “And what are you doing to win the prestigious award and stipend?” “I am doing a case study,” Perez said, learning forward over the desk and speaking softly as if to take Abthorpe into his confidence. “It has implications on the technological advancements in regards to the evolution of writing styles as well as writing output among faculty and scholars, but that’s all I can say for now.” He sat straight up at his desk once more, pleased with himself. *** Professor Abthorpe darkened the doorway of Professor Sanderson’s classroom, as indeed he would darken any room he was in. Sanderson had finally asked Abthorpe to write her nomination for the prestigious award, with the caveat that she would write one in return for him. She had worried about this partnership, as Abthorpe often had sharp words for his students, especially those who had not already grasped the content of the course starting on day one. She had concerns about what a nomination would mean to the committee coming from him, and what would happen to her reputation writing one for him, but at the end of it, it was the only thing she could do, lest she not get a nomination at all. Abthorpe had had an office mate once, as they all did, but like Professor Perez, he got to enjoy his office by himself these days. His constant grumbling, cussing, and yelling at the bravest of students who actually stopped by his office (as well as his colleagues) caused what was termed “a hostile work environment” by Human Resources, and they had to move his office mate or risk a lawsuit. Unlike Perez, few stopped by his office to share news and the latest gossip, so Abthorpe found that when he wanted information, he had to seek it out himself, hence the darkening of Sanderson’s classroom. “You get that email from admin about that new initiative?” he huffed, like an overworked engine ready to start sputtering before giving up the ghost. “Oh, the one from Career Services asking all of the departments to come up with a list of potential jobs and their starting salaries for students interested in that major? Well, I did get that email, but honestly, isn’t that their job? I’m not about to do their job for them. It’s their responsibility to find out what jobs there are and what they pay. Best I can do for them is to tell them about being a professor with their English degrees and tell them what I make in a year,” to which she added under her breath, “though it’s not as much as the others in this department make.” Abthorpe found Sanderson’s slow, southern drawl annoying. It sounded to him like a bit of overacting one might get on a tv show or a movie from an “actor” faking a Southern accent without ever having been to the American South at all. It was just too ridiculous to be true. “No, not that one. The one about the new initiative--HSS, they’re calling it. All of these acronyms are ridiculous! Just call it what it is! There’s no reason to hide this nonsense behind a jumble of useless letters!” Abthorpe’s face twisted and scrunched more and more with each word. He was of completely average height, but he could make himself seem a foot taller, almost as if the door frame was too small, and he’d have to turn sideways to get through. “HSS? No, I guess I didn’t get that email. Or maybe I just haven’t checked it yet,” Sanderson drawled out interminably. “It stands for Helping Students Succeed,” Milner said from out in the hallway. “Sorry, folks, don’t mean to intrude, but I just happened to overhear y’all’s conversation. It’s an initiative that those admin folks cooked up. I’ll tell you, I have seen this sort of thing before. Everyone thinks they’ve come up with something brand new, but let me tell you, I did this exact sort of thing they’re asking for back in the ‘70s. Ole Campbell was our President then. What’s new is just what’s old come back around with a new coat of paint slapped on. Now, y’all know I don’t like to toot my own horn, but when ole Campbell asked me way back then to do just this sort of thing, I jumped into action. Jumped! It reminds me of a quote from old Mark Twain. He said…” Abthorpe jumped in to interrupt. “Sorry, Milner. I’ve got to run to my next meeting.” “Oh, and I have to get ready for my next class, Professor Milner. Perhaps we can finish this talk another time,” Sanderson said, smiling apologetically and closing the door without waiting for an answer. *** President Hardman looked out over the crowd with a steely eye, casting it back and forth in a sweeping motion as if he were looking for some culprit. “We are gathered here today to honor a faculty member who has gone above and beyond in service to this college,” he said, making every effort to quell the upward curling of his lip into its accustomed sneer. “A faculty member who puts student success at the forefront of their activities on campus, both inside the classroom and outside it.” He glowered at those assembled as if to say he had judged them all and found all wanting. “As you know,” he continued, “there is a stipend that accompanies this award in the amount of $10,000.” He waited for applause, but none was forthcoming. “There were many faculty members who stepped up to the plate and worked hard this academic year to demonstrate their focus on student success and service to the college, and many nominations were received. The committee should be thanked heartily for their work in reviewing all of the nominations and applications,” though his upturned left nostril and deadened, monotone voice indicated he didn’t think they should be thanked at all, much less heartily. “It was a challenge, they said, to narrow down all of the many applicants to just one winner, but a winner we have.” “Oh, good God. Just get on with it!” muttered Springboard. “The winning faculty member has demonstrated service to the college with a focus on student success in many ways, too numerous to list here,” Hardman continued. “But for just a few of the more notable, this faculty member volunteered to help the Advising department create a flyer and other documentation to appeal to students, helping them to navigate the entire process from filling out an application, to choosing a major, to enrolling in classes. This person also worked with Career Services to provide a list of careers in students’ chosen fields, and for both of these projects, the faculty member helped to coordinate with PR and Graphic Design to design all of the requisite flyers, documents, and other resources. This faculty member also worked with administration on the HSS Initiative--Helping Students Succeed, though I can’t list all of the duties that entailed here. This faculty member was positively tireless in their efforts this past academic year, though I’m told that’s nothing new given their past work ethic. It seems then,” Hardman said, as if somewhat dejected and deflated, “that this faculty member very much deserves this coveted award. In fact, I don’t think a day has gone by when I haven’t seen this faculty member walking the hallways of the administration building, always ready to lend a helping hand to all who ask for it. I’m told this faculty member even goes to other departments and helps out where they can.” It began to dawn on the English department faculty that they had made a critical error in assuming that the award would go to one of them. As they exchanged glances back and forth, each one saw that while they certainly hadn’t volunteered to help Advising or Career Services and that none of them had done squat for the ridiculous HSS Initiative, no one else in their department had either. So, the only conclusion was that the rumor mill was indeed wrong, and the award was never going to go to someone in the English department. How disappointing. The only consolation to each individual was that if they couldn’t win it, at least no one else in the department was going to, either. Just imagine what bragging rights that person would have! President Hardman cleared his throat, a sound not unlike someone getting ready to go on the attack in times of war. “And the winner is….” he said into the microphone, drawing out the last word to the point of absurdity. “…Professor Milner!” Thunderous applause erupted from the gathered crowd. The bleachers positively shook. If someone were to cast their eye about the place, they would no doubt come to the conclusion that Professor Milner was indeed a popular fellow, well-liked by his peers as they praised his great success. Further, it was clear that he was popular not just among his peers but among the students as well, for those few students who had joined the gathering were clapping along, smiling and talking with each other about what a well-earned and well-deserved success it was. If an eye were to linger on the members of the English department, however, there might be a drawing down of the brow line, or perhaps, instead, a raising of a single eyebrow. Some might achieve both. That is because it appeared that the faculty members gathered in the area of the gymnasium reserved for English were not as enthused about the colleague from their department winning the prestigious award with accompanying stipend. In fact, while a gamut of emotions played about the faces of the assembled department, none of the emotions represented appeared to be of the positive variety. No happiness, no joy. At best, there might have been a grudging respect, but very grudging indeed. “Well, ain’t that a bi---,” Abthorpe said, though the rest of the sentiment was lost in the noise of the crowd. “What the f---,” Springboard said at the same time, this sentiment also lost in the din. “This is outrageous! After all of the work I put in! After all of the effort! The energy! The sheer gall of the committee to choose that, that…” Perez thundered before sputtering at the end, unsure of how to finish his thought. Some of the esteemed faculty of the English department said nothing at all but simply sat. Some were lost in thought while others seethed with thoughts inhospitable rampaging through their minds, the echoes of which passed across their faces. They had ample time to think whatever thoughts they wanted to as Milner left their ranks and made his way up the steps of the temporary platform to receive his prize and make his speech. After some time, Hardman was able to hand the plaque to Milner, once he had finally made it across the platform. Milner smiled endearingly as he traced his etched name on the plaque with his fingertips. Then, laying the plaque upon the podium and gripping both sides with his hands, as if to steady himself, he began his impromptu speech. “Now, y’all know I don’t like to toot my own horn…”
REFLECTIONS WITHIN By Elizabeth McDaniel “Kesarra! Quit your preening!” my grandmother barked at me from the other side of the bedroom door. I startled for a second, and then glared at the wooden door that separated us. Throughout my entire life my grandmother acted like looking at myself or liking how I looked was worse than murder. If I glanced at myself for too long in our little bedroom mirror, she’d admonish me and speak old proverbs on vanity. It was infuriating. I felt that I should be proud of how I look, especially since many of the others in our town said I was the prettiest. After one last glance at myself, I opened the rough, wooden door and faced my grandmother. She was sneering at me like I had done something horrid, which was her usual face whenever she caught me gazing into the mirror. I sighed, preparing myself for another lecture. I’d heard these SO many times that I’d basically memorized every existing proverb about vanity. My grandmother had leathery, wrinkled skin tanned from years of hard work. Her disapproving lips were puckered with age. Her hair was gray and in two simple plaits that hung loosely over her hunched shoulders. Her eyes were a glinting sharp blue that pierced through me. She never wore shifts under her course wool dress. Her hair was never tucked in a linen veil--showing that she was unmarried and poor. But what stood out the most and made her look so ugly were the raised white lines of hideous scars all over her face. My grandmother never spoke about the origin of the sinister looking disfigurements, and the townspeople never had the same theory. Some said it was an animal, others the Evil One. Some even told of a jealous spirit who became enraged when it found out that my grandmother was so beautiful she was going to marry rich and escape poverty. They claimed the spirit unleashed its fury on my grandmother by taking away her beauty and status. I never knew what to believe. But I did believe that my grandmother’s hatred for lovely appearances was jealousy, and that my own beauty was the kindling for her fiery lessons on vanity. “You know what I’m going to say, Kessa,” my grandmother started, using her stern lecture voice. She wasn’t an openly sweet woman to anyone. She had lived too long for that. Being the oldest woman in the village and surviving a Black Death outbreak can take the softness out of a person. Most of my interactions with her were on the receiving end of a scolding. “I know, grandmother. Vanity is a grave sin. I must not be tempted by the face the Lord gave me,” I recited with as much venom as I dared muster. My grandmother narrowed her eyes and was about to launch into another sermon about my disrespectful and rude tone when my mother called for me from downstairs. “Best get to your mother. Hopefully you’ll treat her with more respect than your grandma,” she spat, wrinkled lips pulled into a repulsed grimace. I quickly nodded my head and stomped down the stairs to the main floor of our inn where my mother waved for me from the kitchen door. My mother always had a slightly frazzled and tired look about her. Although she was only twenty-seven years old, she already showed signs of wrinkles and graying hair. The wealthy noble ladies that sometimes passed through the town never had a single wrinkle on their pale ivory faces. While she could never pass for a noble lady, my mother could look so much lovelier if she didn’t have those wrinkles or let the sadness drain from her eyes. My mother adjusted her linen veil over her gray and brown hair and hurriedly pushed a tray of food and drink into my arms. “Please go out and deliver these to the back two tables. I have to cook up a couple more meals,” my mother instructed, giving me her usual sad smile before turning away to continue cooking. I left the kitchen and went into the main tavern room where I delivered the worn wood plates and cups of food and drink to the customers. Running an inn was difficult for my parents, and I could tell that they didn’t want me to take over after I was married. The inn was for my younger brother--which suited me just fine. All I really wanted was to marry rich and be as adored as the noble ladies that occasionally came through our miniscule town. Running around serving the customers and cleaning wasn’t enjoyable at all. I craved fresh outside air and sunshine. Smiling to myself, I remembered that tomorrow I was going to the market to restock the inn’s supply of food. Then I could see the bright, open skies and feel the late summer breezes across my face. But the best part was that I could speak to my friends. We loved to shop together and think of what we would do if we had the same wealthy lifestyles as the nobles and royalty. I woke early the next day to slip from my lumpy bed and tiptoe to the mirror on the bedroom wall. The mirror was old and patchy from desilvering, but it gave a clear enough picture for me to take note of my appearance--soft blonde hair in a linen veil tied back with a bow, sky blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and delicate chin. My forehead was neither too big nor too small. Nose not too flat or too pointy. Pretty. Perfect. Once I was fully adjusted and prepared to go, I slinked out of the bedroom and past the customer’s rooms, ignoring the stench of the full chamber pots that lined the hallway, until I reached the main floor. My father was seated at one of the simple board tables. He gave me a nod and a smile that reached his deep blue eyes. We had to be extremely quiet or else we’d risk waking the tired travellers and knights that slept just above our heads. Noticing my basket for produce and a stack of coins on a table, I swiped them up and swiftly headed for the market. “But he’s not going to wait forever for an answer, Kesarra!” my friend Annis cried, handing over a few coins for a small bundle of coarse bread. “Annis is right, Kess,” my other friend Wasila agreed, crossing her arms over her flat chest. “You can’t just wait around when you have basically all the boys in town waiting on your decision.” We walked away from the bread stall and down the clustered street, nodding a greeting to many of the townspeople. I had many friends in the town, but Annis and Wasila were my closest out of all of them. “I want to get married too! Let us have a turn,” Annis pouted, pooching out her ill proportioned lower lip. I giggled lightly, stopping at a potato stall and selecting a few firm, sproutless potatoes. “I would gladly speed your marriages along, but it's just too hard to decide! The men in this place are less than ideal,” I replied, paying for my potatoes. Wasila rolled her dark eyes. Annis grinned cheekily and teased, “You’re just waiting for a nobleman to take notice of you and sweep you away.” I blushed hard in embarrassment, trying to ignore my friend’s statements by intently observing a blacksmith’s wares. “You wouldn’t even take a knight? Most of those men are noblemen’s sons!” Wasila pointed out. I frowned. “Is it so wrong to want to marry rich? Is it that laughable to want to be free from poverty?” Annis shook her head, but Wasila spoke up. “It is a sin to be ungrateful for what the good God above has given you. We are not blameless or clean on our own.” Wasila closed her eyes in sincere reverence and continued, “We are lucky that we are not barred from heaven eternal or tortured in this life. We are lucky to be given what we are.” I paused, considering my friend’s words. I did have a roof over my head, the Death that plagued the world skipped over the inn and my family, and I had my delicate and refined beauty. I was lucky to be alive and with so much, but that did not mean that I didn’t want more. I sighed, knowing that Wasila was firm in her beliefs. “You’re right,” I relented, letting my shoulders droop. “I should be grateful. And the inn is doing well this season. We should have enough supplies to last us the autumn and winter. So I guess I shou-” Annis interrupted excitedly, “Should hurry up and select a lucky man! I really want to marry Blaxton! He’s so hard-working and clever!” We made our way back to the inn slowly, chatting about the townspeople and our hopes for the future. The air was fresh with the scent of herbs and earth, and the sun was brilliantly housed in a cloudless, azure sky. Annis was talking about how Blaxton helped her carry a heavy sack of grain for her, and Walisa listened attentively in her reserved manner. I only half-listened, disheartened by the idea that I would not be able to marry a wealthy nobleman and be adorned in rich purple silks. I knew in the back of my mind that it would not happen, but secretly I could not help but dream of rich meats, sweet fruits, and warm, fresh bread. The odorous chamber pots and sweaty travellers were far away, and the world would smell like fresh flowers and crisp air sweetened by affluence. Smiling to myself, I could almost see the vibrant colors and imagine the taste of salted fish and the feel of silk smoother than milk. My daydreaming continued after I parted ways with my best friends, through the lunch rush at the inn, and into my laundry chores. The clothes, sheets, and tablecloths were gently flapping in the warm breeze as I hung them on the taut laundry line that stretched between two wooden posts at the back of the inn. The stables weren’t far, and the sound of nickering horses and my brother pouring water into the troughs filled my ears, carried by the smell of hay. Still daydreaming, I pulled a red kerchief out of my woven laundry basket. My fingers brushed the worn, but delicate fabric lovingly. I had found the kerchief after a noble family had stayed in our inn. The matriarch of the group was the most stunning lady I’ve ever seen. Her eyes were like perfectly ripe blueberries, and her face was as pale as a winter’s snow. Her lips were almost the same shade of scarlet as the kerchief tied around her hair. The kerchief reminded me of costly and rare strawberries, and was softer than anything else I owned. I treasured it with all my heart and only wore it when I knew my hideous grandmother would not catch me. Every time I placed the kerchief around my hair, I felt like an angel. My features were perfectly suited to my wonderful keepsake, convincing me that I would make for an appealing noblewoman. Just like the gorgeous previous owner. Suddenly, a gust of wind snatched the kerchief from my hands, yanking my treasure along. I gasped in horror and desperately reached out to grasp the floating kerchief and failed--my fingers just barely brushing the fabric. The vibrant red scarf drifted through the air, away from my flailing and grabbing arms and into the dark woods that surrounded our provincial town. With a wail of despair, I gathered my skirts and made my way to the edge of the forest. My family, especially my oppressive grandmother, warned me that the woods were dangerous and filled with wild animals. Animals that could scar faces, I thought with a shudder. Even if an animal wasn’t what destroyed grandmother’s face, it was still frightening to envision claws tearing at my unblemished beauty. I stared into the forest, my heart heavy with the loss of the kerchief. I longed to feel it in my hands again. It was my most valuable possession and the only connection I had to the lavish life I craved. Considering my options, I decided that facing the dangers of the woods was better than forever mourning my missing link to a better status. Tentatively, I stepped into the shaded foliage and began my hunt. The forest was dark, but I wagered that the red kerchief would stand out amongst the deep green enough for me to find it. I soon discovered, however, that searching through the woods was more difficult than I expected, and with each passing minute the panic of losing the kerchief squeezed my heart and throat tighter and tighter. Just when tears began to blur my vision, the thick trees parted into a serene clearing. The sunlight was glinting off the emerald grass like precious jewels, and a small lake stretched before me like liquid sapphires. Nestled just at the edge of the lake was my ruby red kerchief. Choking out a gasp of relief, I rushed to the water’s edge and snatched up my prized possession. I hugged it close to me for a second before slipping off my linen veil. My golden locks tumbled out and were quickly hidden again by my precious scarlet accessory. I looked into the still lake, gazing at my reflection--pretty and seemingly wealthy. Admiring my pale and thin neck, I imagined what it might look like adorned with jewels. I sighed at my mirror image and wished that someone would tell me just how beautiful I was. In a perfect world, I would be complimented day and night. As if my wish was heard, a tingle of sound reached my ears. At first I thought it was merely my imagination or a lark’s far away tune. But the noise grew louder until it formed a chorus of voices, clear and unmistakable. “Look how pretty,” one said. I startled, backing away from the lake. The voice was definitely coming from the sparkling water. This was impossible, but yet I was sure of what my ears had heard. Was it a trick from the Evil One? My heart beat rapidly, and I turned to leave the lake. “Don’t go away, pretty girl!” the voices begged. “Come back and show us your lovely face!” Again I was surprised, but the voices seemed to be talking about me. The lake thought I was lovely? Hesitant, I moved slowly back to the water’s edge and peeked my face over the reflective surface. “Yes, yes!” the voices cheered, sounding like a musical bell. “You are so gorgeous! Red is a splendid color for you!” I blushed and smiled at my reflection. The compliments continued to pour from within the lake, praising my smile, my eyes, and even my high cheekbones. “What are you?” I finally asked, curious about the lake voices. “We are friends of beauty!” they chimed back. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen beauty. We have been so lonely and lost. But now, you are here! Stay, let us praise you!” I was thrilled. Finally, I found friends that truly appreciated my appearance. My beauty was seen as sacred to the lake residents. But a nagging feeling was tugging at me. The sun had moved lower in the sky, and I needed to finish my chores. “Well, I would stay, but I have work to do at home so-” I stood up to leave, and the voices started to wail. “You will visit us soon, right?! We MUST see you more! You are the most beautiful woman we have ever seen! You can’t deprive us of your fair visage! That would be like taking bread from the poor!” I agreed to visit again, and the voices were placated. I found my way home and hid my kerchief, looking forward to hearing the remarks of my new perfect friends again. “Annis, am I beautiful?” I asked, buying a spool of sturdy wool thread at the market. Annis blinked at me, confused. “Yes? Of course you are,” she replied slowly, placing her hands on her wide hips. “And?” I prompted, trying to elicit more from her. Wasila gave me a curious look. “Is this about the nobleman thing?” she questioned, raising a thin eyebrow. “No. I was just wondering if you thought I was pretty. That’s all.” I pretended to inspect some dried plants to avoid Wasila’s and Annis’ gazes. It had been about two weeks since I discovered the lake. I had snuck away from work to visit the clear waters almost every day, and each time the voices in the lake marvelled at my beauty and spent hours complimenting me and discussing how I deserved riches. To them, I deserved better than a simple nobleman, I deserved to marry the king himself. Annis and Wasila had never said anything like that before. They thought the wealthiest I could be was in our pretend games of “what if.” They never spent hours complimenting me like the voices in the lake. “Kesarra, you’ve been acting weird lately. I hear you’ve been behind on your chores and you disappear frequently. Are you okay?” Wasila looked concerned as she interrogated me. I could not risk telling the girls about the lake. The lake was my secret place, and the voices were my friends. I would not share the lake with curvy, full-lipped Annis and willowy, sharp Wasila. Not that the voices would compliment them. The inhabitants of the lake said that I was the most stunning and radiant woman they’d ever seen. So they’d ignore these two girls for sure. “Oh my gosh. Did you actually seduce a noble?!” Annis squealed, excitedly clapping her hands, “We never thought you could actually do it, but we’re very proud of you, aren’t we, Wasila?” I was taken aback. These fake friends never thought I could get a man of status to notice me? A burning anger filled me, and I fought back furious tears. My friends in the lake agreed that I was worthy of nobility and royalty, that my beauty far exceeded that of the queen herself. Obviously the lake and its inhabitants were the only ones who cared about me and knew what I deserved. “Forget it. I have to catch up on my chores,” I grumbled before stomping away and back to the inn. After that, I snuck away more and more to the lake. My reflection was always there and always pleasing. My sweet friends were always there and always had more compliments for me, comparing me to every flower, queen, and angel. No. Not comparing. Putting me above them all. The voices said that God had never made such a beautiful creature before and none shall ever come close again. The summer turned to fall; fall turned to winter. In the heaviest part of winter the lake froze over, so I could no longer hear the sweet whispers of my friends. It was agonizing, and the season never seemed to end. The daily longing to hear the lake’s voices created an unbearable listlessness within me. I was blanketed with the heavy coldness of depression and barely talked to anyone in town anymore. Nobody was as good to me as the wonderful whispers from the water. Finally, the winter snow melted, and I was free to visit the residents of the lake again. It was a sun-filled early spring day, and I made my way quickly through the trees and into my secret haven. The lake was just as beautiful as I remembered it. Lush green grass, clear blue waters, and the air of a sacred space designed for me and me alone. Spring had added a gift of blooming yellow narcissus flowers to my temple, encircling the lake like a wreath. Their fragrance added to the aura of the clearing, almost intoxicating me. I had waited so long to hear my friends. I rushed to the edge of the waters and sat amongst the narcissus flowers. I peered into the water at my reflection and called for my friends. “You’ve returned! Hooray!” they cried, relieved that I had not forsaken them. “We could not see you and were so lonely. Now that you have brought us back the gift of your beauty, our joy can be restored!” I could feel the weight of winter melt off me as I heard the blessed praise from the lake inhabitants. Excitement ran through me, and relief flooded my heart. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. Lean in close to the water! Let us be blessed by your nearness. Do not deny us this honor. Please!” the waters begged, crying out in urgent desperation. I was thrilled. My friends were still just as kind to me as before. I inched closer to the water, looming over the surface of the deep sapphire closer than I had dared before. “Oh yes! Your face is much easier to see now! How lovely it is. Please lean in closer. We wish to see our queen, our goddess, as close as possible!” It seemed that there were even more voices than before, all praising and chanting for me. They continued to implore me to move in closer to give them a better view of the exquisite details of my features. At their beckoning, I leaned in closer and closer to the waters, stretching myself far away from the edge of the shore. My friends were so kind, so perfect. And so was I. Suddenly, my hand slipped, throwing me off balance. My body fell forward, and I plunged deep into the cold waters of the lake. I struggled to claw upwards through the frigid wall of water to reach the surface, mentally pleading to my friends for salvation. “Stay with us,” the voices demanded, “stay with us and become one of us.” Something was gripping my ankles, dragging me farther away from the light. I thrashed, frantically looking down at my ankles. A multitude of bony hands grabbed at my legs and ankles, sinking their jagged nails into my delicate skin. Multiple corpses of varied stages of decomposition were all scattered along the bottom of the lake, surging at me to keep me from swimming away. Rotting flesh and bone tangled in a murky spider web of vegetation was all I could see. My lungs burned as I struggled to keep the water from filling them. I thought of Annis and Wasila, my family, and my scarred grandmother. The old lectures ran through my mind, almost mocking me for my mistake. “Vanity ruins, Kesarra,” my grandmother’s voice echoed through my mind. I was growing tired. Very tired. The world was going black and I was losing the ability to struggle against the vile dead pulling me. My body screamed at me to breathe, and my head began to hum with a high pitched ring muffling the whispers of the dead. Then the world went black.
I woke up to the sound of movement above the water. My head turned upwards, seeing the form of a girl peeking into the sapphire depths of our tomb. She had chestnut brown hair and eyes that glowed like honey in the sunlight. Her dress was different from the ones I’d seen before. It was a nicer fabric than the coarse wool from my lifetime, and her hair was hanging off her shoulders--not contained within a veil. How long had I been down here patiently lying dormant for the next person to find us? Looking around, I noticed the others waking, too. They also knew that someone new had found us. Our voices began to bubble out of our lifeless mouths, reaching the girl on the water’s edge. “Look how lovely she is!” we began, startling the girl. She backed away, disappearing from our sight. “No! Come back, pretty girl! Let us see your face,” we cried, the gears already in motion, our next victim already chosen. We waited, and the chestnut haired girl returned, curious and hopeful. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked, her eyes wide and sparkling. Vanity ruins, I thought as ghoulish grins blanketed the bottom of the lake. “Yes,” we replied in unison, “the most beautiful girl in the world.”