Literary EditorsArden Coleman ’16 • Liang Luo ’17 • Luke O’Connor ’16 • Thomas Shaw ’18

HippocreneThe Arts and Literary Magazine

of Avon Old Farms School

2014 – 2015

Cover by: Stephen Guglielmo ’15 Design by: Michael Dembicer

Faculty AdvisorsBradford CarpenterJoseph LampeKatherine McSpadden

Cristina PintonGayle Robinson

Avon old FArmss c h o o l

Artists & PhotographersDylan Aron ’17Theodore Barnes ’15Jiuhua Chen ’15Arden Coleman ’16Will Farnham ’18Jason Filipe ’15Gerald Gladstone ’16Stephen Guglielmo ’15

Donghee Kim ’16Trevor Kratz ’15Kurt Linke ’16Orion Marco ’16Hunter Marshall ’18Devin McKenna ’15Mohammed Meraay ’15 Luke O’Connor ’16

John Rick ’15Max Rieser ’16Thomas Shaw ’18Joseph Suski ’17Ran Tao ’16Xavier Vega ’17Adrian Wowk ’15Sinthorn Xie ’16

Junyeop Ahn ’18Connor Fedorek ’18Jason Gong ’18Joon Ho Lee ’18Andrew Liptrot ’18Liang Luo ’17Yusuf Mansoor ’15

WritersHunter Marshall ’18Ben Mirageas ’18Chris Moore ’18Luke O’Connor ’16Chris Park ’18Connor Preen ’17Wyatt Reller ’18

Owen Safe ’18Ryan Schreck ’18Ran Tao ’17Andrew Waltzer ’16Qianchang Wang ’18Jake Whitty ’16Brady Williamson ’16

Will Farnham ’18

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Junyeop Ahn ’18

Great Escape

Hey friend, the wind blows toward the river, flows between high skyscrap-ers. Hey friend, why do you make your shoes dirty and ride on bicycle,Lifting your body up in the sky? Where are we going?

Already it is July, and the sun shines strong on us in this road where no fun exists. A bicycle is running with creaky wheels.Here in this town, with stores and people, it seems cool; it is cool but you keep going straight, friend. No content in this town!

Will you go, will you go from this cool town?Will you keep spinning your pedals, rolling your flat wheels,not knowing what is there at the end of this,and ride along this road surrounded by strange level trees?

Farewell, farewell, my tender friend! I’ll leave you here.You have became a dot in the intangible distance.I can’t follow you! But I’ll watch you for a moment.

Connor Preen ’17

Squashed

My lips shrivelled up in terror upon entry into the foreign hall of blinding white courts. Cohorts of the opposition flooded the stands whereas I stood alone. A lone double-dotted, black ball stood between me and my foe; we shook hands, and the glass door slammed shut and sealed our fate. Four–Eight—in what felt like mere seconds—I was losing the game of rackets. Rockets would have envied the horrifying speed of his shots; returning my hits with ease was no more than overkill. Eleven–Nil—a skunk marking my second fatigue-ridden loss: betrayed by my own sweat which caught my eye. I stood up as straight as my body allowed to firmly shake my victorious opponent’s hand twice in what felt to be the same minute.

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Donghee Kim ’16

Gerald Gladstone ’16

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Ran Tao ’16

Chris Moore ’18

Judged

I look like you, walk like you,Talk like you, dress like you,Eat like you, play like you,Learn like you, live like you. I am different, just like youIn unusual ways—Ways that you do not understand.That is okay, for I don’t understand bits of you.The difference is I let you be.I allow you to be the individual you areEven if it is not like me.We are all different in diverse ways. You don’t have to like my differencesAs I do not have to like yours,But in the end, I understand who you are,And you need to understand who I am.We are not the same.We like people for different reasons.That is okay; you do not have to love meBut you need to accept me. It was hard to tell—Harder now to hear you hate me.I am still like you in many waysBut different in only one unique way. I still look like you, walk like you,Talk like you, dress like you,Eat like you, play like you,Learn like you, live like you.

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Hunter Marshall ’18

Hunter Marshall ’18

The Average Man

I once heard a poemAbout how “deep” someone was.It made me thinkHow average my life is.I am so average thatMy dog does not get up to come to me when I walk in the room.I buy my clothes at T.J.Maxx and MarshallsBecause I am just average.I work just hard enough in my office on weekdays that no one notices me,And I wear mundane, casual business wear:Tan khaki pants, subdued striped collared shirt, brown loafers:Because I am just average.I have a two–story house not three stories or a ranch.I have a wife who is two years younger than I am, and we have two kids:One boy and one girl.They go to public school.They take the bus; I do not drive them.They do not have the latest iPhone;They have flip phones.They wear their cousins’ beaten up hand-me-downsBecause we are just average.They are not twinsBecause that would be different.My daughter even wears pink every Wednesday.My son wears green every Tuesday.They bring their lunch to schoolIn brown paper bags,But I always leave a note that says “Love Dad.”This note goes with theirPeanut butter and jelly sandwichesBecause they too are average.The reason I want to tell youSome of the average things in my lifeIs that...

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I do not wish to be Average.I want to be DIFFERENT.I want to do something good for mankind: make a stand,Make an impact, stand out.And by writing this...I realized that I can stop allThese average things,So my future life will look like thisI am Different.My dog does spins and walks up to me on his hind legs when he sees me.I buy my clothes at various stores likeJ. Crew, Old Navy as well as Marshalls and T.J.Maxx,Because I am so different (but not impractical and still frugal).I work hard in my office every day to the point where people seek me out for myIntegrity and innovation and enthusiasm.I end my day early on WednesdayBecause on Wednesday, I coach my son’s soccer teamAnd drive my daughter to dance class.I am DifferentEven though I have a two–story house not three stories because I choose to save for college.I have a wife who is two years younger than me, and I am happily married;I do not cheat and after 15 years of marriage still have “date night.”We hold hands when we walk in public because I am proud to be with her.I am different now and so are my kidsBecause I challenge them to be different and not be status quo.They now wear pink or green on any day they want.I help my kids with their homework at night,And get them a tutor when needed.I am Different becauseI try to do one extraordinarily, varied, unpredictable,Crazy, silly, and almost insane thing every day.I am Different,Because I once heard a poemAbout how “deep” someone wasAnd it changed my life.

Owen Safe ’18

Car ≠ Car

You know what a car is. These beautiful pieces of machinery often bring excitement and adrenaline pumping action to the driver and people in and around it. You know the feeling of driving aggressively over the speed limit just because you want to.There is always the risk of getting caught, but nothing compares to the addictive, sensational feeling of being forced into the back of the seat as the car accelerates. To some it might just be a car, a piece of metal that can move fast, but to me, it’s the connection to my heart. Whether you’re into Muscle or Import, we all share a the common passion for cars. From the rebellious smell of burnt rubber to the subtle but sweet pshhhhhhh sound of the blow–off valve, from the loud but beautiful BANG! of the backfire of an engine to the throaty V8 engine notes, we all dream of the smells and sounds of cars. Think about this. Cars are brilliant pieces of machinery. Every time a car starts a complicated, extraordinary thing happens. When you first push your foot against the brake, fluid from the master cylinder is forced into a caliper where it presses against a piston. The piston, in turn, squeezes two brake pads against the disk, which is attached to the wheel. Then once you turn the key, you wait until the engine builds up enough heat in the cylinders; this is the process of the engine turning over. Fuel pumps deliver the fuel from the fuel tank to the engine, and the fuel passes through a couple of fuel filters that clean it before it reaches the fuel injector nozzles. Next, the fuel injection pump pressurizes fuel into a delivery tube. The fuel, air, and spark then meet in the cylinders, and finally, combustion spreads from the small amount of fuel that’s placed under pressure in the precombustion chamber to the fuel and air in the combustion chamber itself, and familiarly, the car starts. There is something sensational about driving. Driving puts people in a state of mind that allows them to feel free. There is something about driving an open road. You don’t necessarily have to be going fast or breaking the law to feel it; you can just be going the speed limit on a curvy road and still have an amazing experience breaking into a corner and then taking the next straightaway at full speed. Although at times going fast can make driving an experience that you will always remember, there’s a certain simplicity driving with the wind blowing in your hair and the sun shining in your face that makes you crave this relaxing but also exhilarating experience all the time.

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John Rick ’15

Trevor Kratz ’15

Luke O’Connor ’16

Young Jun Song ’16

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Chris Park ’18

Changing into American

ChangeSay my parents to meYou cannot stay here

Change Say the people walking past meEveryone is taking the same journey

Change Say the people in Logan AirportYou are not with your kind anymoreIt is time for you to grow up

You must changeSaid the crewman in my airplaneThough not to a mature boy

You are changingSaid the clouds above the Pacific Ocean into something Very American

Are you ready to changeFrom the Korean way of life I lived there all my life

For the unknownYou will changeInto something very American

You will changeSays the sign at Logan airportSays the airport security guard

Jake Whitty ’16

Drifting in my Dreams

I sat in my bed at night Staring up at the rafters in my room.It was the late hours of the night— The only sound were dense waves Landing on the shore.

I began to drift off in the waterFeeling as if I were the only object in the ocean.The waves gently grasped me like an angel As I floated atop the blue abyss.

The moon lit up the ocean like a Tiki torch. I could see for miles.Duck Island was within my grasp, But I kept drifting silently.

Then my eyes shot open. The bright sunlight pierced my pupils. I realized I was no longer floating, So I got out of bed and walked to my kayak.

I sat in it and began drifting.

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Adrian Wowk ’15

Joseph Suski ’17

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Liyang Luo ’17

Forever Sixteen

Peaceful wind blows through the field.She is still standing there amused by the art of nature. Her amiable smile echoes the consoling sound of the bird andmelts the last piece of my heart’s windshield. She then slowly walks towards melaughing like an angel,And I am nervous about what to do.“Exuberant” is not exactly the word to describe how I feelbecause everything about her can make me kneel.The moment she looks into my eyes with her dreamy hands on my shoulders,I sense the world is different. Everything begins to calm down.Whimsical clouds dance graceful slow waltzesalong with the waving evergreens. We sit on the sweet grass listen to some jazz andWish that time would stop, and we are forever sixteen.

Stephen Guglielmo ’15

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Connor Fedorek ’18

Are You There?

Looking through the window staring at the sky.Are you somewhere out there?You didn’t say goodbye.

Trees say your namewith wind through their branches.Birds circle ’round megiving passing glances.

A thunderstorm erupts;it may never end.It’s followed by a rainbow— Are you there my friend?

The blowing wind whispers(rushing past my ear),“Friend; believe me,I’ll always be here.”

Owen Safe ’18

Memories

An average spring day. I stood still with my feet anchored to the ground and my hand stretched out. As still as I could be. Waiting for a dragonfly to land on my hand. This was a game that my sister and I loved to play. “Whoever can get a dragonfly to land on his hand first wins!” Our lawn swarmed with dragonflies—more than we have ever seen before.

2005, the year I moved into my new house. There was only one thing that I could think about: “Is there a swingset?”

A year after we moved. My mom had planned a surprise for us. A swingset was going to be built in our backyard. The best day of my life. When the truck arrived and dropped the swing set off, my sister and I were told we would have to wait a week to have it built. The man delivering the swing set saw the disappointment in our eyes and decided to call up his son and they built it that afternoon.

A small brass lock on the door to our basement to keep my sister and I from causing trouble. The only way to get downstairs was to ask our brother to unlock it. I would try and stretch my body as far as I could to try and unlock it. Now, when I open that door, the small brass lock on the door—now at eye–level—brings back so many memories.

My mom, helping me put my clothes away, reached up to open a drawer. The corner connects with my head. Not a fond memory but one that will always stay with me since I now have a small dent on my forehead.

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Stephen Guglielmo ’15

Ran Tao ’16

Script One

It is 5:10 in the morning, and yesterday, you stayed up till 1:00 A.M. finishing your AP U.S. DBQ and just then you remembered that, yes, there is morning practice today. Your body is still sore from the parachute drills you did yesterday and your aching core is stopping you from climbing out of bed. The snooze button tempts you to press it again, so you can shut your eyelids and go back to sleep. But you are going to get up, and you are going to get dressed and run over to the bus in ten minutes because you don’t want to be slow. You want to be fast. You have to give more today and keep on practicing to be fast.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon. You’ve just had an awful day without a single free block, and even worse than that, you failed three tests. But no matter how bad you feel, how tired you are, or how long it took you to finish puking up your lunch during the diving break, you must get on the block before the whistle and dive off with all of your strength the second you hear coach’s whistle. Forget the fatigue of your body, and leave your thoughts behind. The third 25 feels like the first for you when you ignore the pain. However, your team still lost its last meet. All you can do is sigh and go work harder tomorrow. That’s perseverance.

It’s Championship time. This is the only moment you have been preparing for this season. You went to bed at 10:00 yesterday night and woke up at 5:45 this morning to get on the bus and head to Canterbury. You bite on bagels without cream cheese, and not until you hear some maniac yelling, “Yeah, boy!” do you realize that you have arrived. Today, every single millisecond counts, and that could be the winning difference for your team. You need to take 30 seconds off your 500 free, and you’ve got 10 seconds to shave from your 100 fly. Sounds unrealistic, right? But you know what? Now you are going to get in the pool and you are going to win.

I don’t care what you do, but you are touching the wall in front of everyone else in the pool. And after you’ve been half a body behind for 50 yards, you magically catch up with the guy in front of you. Your coaches are screaming, your teammates are yelling, and your manager is making frantic gestures. You glide into the finish with full strength

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capping off the fastest swim of your life. And you are standing up there on the podium, looking around with a gold medal lying on your chest, and you know how you got here. Your team ended a 38-year drought.

So AOF swim team, let’s wake up and have some fun.

Dylan Aron ’17

Qianchang Wang ’18

From the Tiny Hole to Observe the Whole World

Try to imagine what’s in your head when you hear the word “physics.” Many different and complicated equations fill the blackboard of your mind like E = m*c*c.

And the strict instructor always looks solemn and stares at you to see if your mind is focused. Is that physics? Absolutely not!

I love science, and one thing I learned in physics really impressed me: “Once sound hits an object, it will be reflected.” When I read this, I stopped and started to think it over. Sound is like a message sent to people, and when it reflects, they reply positively or negatively. The next day in class, we learned that the speed of the sound, in an environment at 20 degrees Celsius, is 340 meters per second. It also seems true that people should be able hear both sounds: the original one and the reflected one. So, with a calculation, we soon found out that if people would like to hear the reflected voice, they should be at least 17 meters away from the other person or the objects. This idea seems merely theoretical, but it reminds me of things happen in daily life like when people stay too close to something, they lose their ability to experience reflections: their own ideas, their own voice, their own soul reflected back.

From my perspective, the complex relations between human beings can be found in the way sounds work. When we get too close, we cannot hear our voice deep in our soul. This is profound, isn’t it? Thus, keep a distance and stay open to hearing other voices, so you can hear your own at the same time.

Getting back to reflected sounds, whatever the sound is or whatever object it hits, it will be reflected. One way to look at that is to see that sound also has power. When you attack somebody, he will attack back the way you did. There is a well-known story illustrate this idea. Once a dog went in a wooden house. Inside the house was a mirror. At first the dog was aggressive toward the dog in the mirror. He barked loudly, trying to scare that dog, which seemed like his enemy. What did he see? His reflection. So the dog’s behavior was a reaction to what he saw: an angry and aggressive dog. This pattern continued. Afraid, the dog barked even more aggressively. Finally, the dog ran out of energy

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and lay on the floor. Guess what happened next? The dog looked up, saw his docile reflection, which he took to be yet another dog, and he wagged his tail to show his kindness to the dog. Then he saw the dog did the same thing—wagged his tail to greet him. He had a wonderful time there and came back for several more times.

Getting back to the idea of sound reflection, when we send out ideas to the world others will respond. They will reflect back your own attitudes and behaviors. Send out kindness and you get kindness reflected back; send out anger, and that’s what you get back. We also know from physics that energy can change the shape and motion–state of an object. Therefore, any exchange of ideas between two people can change them irrevocably; a dialogue can change a mind and make a person more thoughtful and wiser than before.

Max Rieser ’16

Devin McKenna ’15

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Luke O’Connor ’16

Caravan

The curtain opens.The lights blind me. The conductor’s hands jump, And I start beating down on the skins and metals. I hear the sharp elegance of the keys chime in, And then the winds blow up in my ears. My hands start moving faster. Sweat starts to drip like a leaky faucet Down the bridge of my nose and the tips of my fingers and Falls gracefully with the music. Each sweat bead trembles each time a note is played Because it can’t help itself. The stage goes from being a forest of sounds To a garden filled with the most beautiful flower of them all— A flower of beats and chimes and dings and bongs. My hands start to move faster and faster and faster and faster As if they were the hearts of hummingbirds Beating 20 times a second. My hands start to bleed. The blood from my hands enters the same cycle as my sweat, Dripping onto the drums and trembling. My hands become invisible. The Audience becomes captivated.The music becomes unstoppable.

Ben Mirageas ’18

Five Antemeridian

The sun glimmers over the horizonThe sail reveals itself to the wind

The mast sways back and forth like a tree in a stormMy boat glides smoothly through the choppy sea

There is not a soul in sight for her to worryMornings like these last for a lifetime

Hunter Marshall ’18

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Jason Filipe ’15

Chris Moore ’18

Friday at Sea

Friday at Sea for the joy and experience:Salt air, sunshine, waves, sound of the sea; The feeling of freedom with life being in front—Leaving my problems in port; Power to control where we go, to control my life:Rocked to sleep by the sound and feel of the sea,

Then, when waking, drawn to jump into the sea.It seemed like a friend, but one to be left alone for now: The sea talking in whispers, full of storiesOf adventures near and far, of strange places and strange people— Enough to make me want to sail away and never return.Friday at Sea changed my view and my world.

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Qianchang Wang ’18

Invasion of the Blue Realm

Freezingly cold breezeBlowing slightly,Pushing the sloop.We invade the realm of the water.

The sail is flapping—Sways weakly and recklesslyCompared to the wind.We are shown the power of Nature.

The sail is trimmed.Holding the rope tightlyWith our hands.The sloop was pushed to heel over.

Quickly go through the harbor.We finally escaped—Narrowly.

Ryan Schreck ’18

The Sea Not Taken

After Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”

Two waves diverged in the blue sea,And sorry I could not sail bothAnd be one boat, long I floatedAnd looked down far as I couldTo where it bent at the marina;

Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,But it was calm and wanted wakeThough as for that passing thereHad sailed them, really, about the same,

And both that morning equally layIn waves no boat has polluted black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads to way,I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two waves diverged in a sea, and ITook the one less sailed by,And that has made all the difference.

It’s with shame that I declare the path I sailedHad no wind.

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Orion Marco ’16

Sinthorn Xie ’16

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Theodore Barnes ’15

Thomas Shaw ’18

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Yusuf Mansoor ’15

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,stiff-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through snowTill to the old chapel we turned our backs,and towards classes began to trudge.Students walked asleep. Many had not sleptbut limped on, exhausted. All went cold, all tired,deaf even to the news of snowstormsheaded their way.

Test! TEST! Quick boys! An ecstasy of studying,learning the complex info just in time,But someone still was unprepared and unready.Dim, through a haze of test-taking,in my periphery, I saw him failing.

If in some smothering dreams you too could could sitin the classroom where he got his gradeand watch the white eyes filling with fear, If you could hear; at every second, the excusescome gargling forth from his panic-stricken lungs,My friend, you would not tell with such zestto students tired from some hours of studyingthe old Lie: Dulce et decorum estdesipere in loco.

Andrew Liptrot ’18

Death of Ulysses

After Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “Ulysses”

All my life I’ve lived in the realm of danger. I plundered Troy’s hallowed heights; I brought strong Troy to its knees. On those fields; I cut many,But none cut me. I spoke with monsters, and I Left afeared. I seduced goddesses. I Sailed into the mouth of Hades and spoke with The dead. Then I sailed from Hades again. I Slaughtered suitors that plagued my house like so Many pigs. My name is known to all that walk This Earth: shepherds, kings, demigods, gods themselves.I am Cunning Ulysses, the much enduring,Great–hearted, mastermind of war. The Great Glory of the Achaeans himself. I am Ulysses! And here I lay dying.

I tried to sail past the stars, and I failed.Every unknown constellation wounds my prideFor I now know that I could never see all.My nights are spent crying amongst these baths of starsBecause I can’t escape them. They hound me.I have crossed oceans, deserts, and grand citiesSince I left Ithaca many suns past.I have past the realm of all that is familiar,And still I find this world tame.Mariners that travell’d with me have died orSettled, and since, I wander alone.

Finally, my roaming has been ceased butNot of my own will. I am kept here asPrisoner of my own age. This hideous island,Made of barren rock, salt, and sloping hills,Proves my final resting place. It’s filled with

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Savage and rugged beasts, and these beastsAre stronger than my old self. I detestThis isle for its familiarity;I abhor my old legs for growing feeble;I loathe my senile arms for turning frail;And I feel nothing but contempt for myOnce cunning mind now turned senseless. I led a hero’s life, but here I await A craven’s sad death!

The hour is late; the moon has long past peaked.Finally, I will return to Hades again,But when I do, I will not die like this—Lying on soft grass, alone, steel not in hand,Cruelly close to my one true home. No, I’llGather my strength; walk to the foaming shore;Die where I lived. My death comes in waves.

Kurt Linke ’16

Luke O’Connor ’16

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Wyatt Reller ’18

“I am falling from a plane.”

After Philip Larkin’s “I am washed upon a rock.”

I am falling from a planeIn an endless rushing sea.The ground is fixed like a wall;It stays and comes at me.

My heart is pounding like a gun.A lonely bird floats in the sky.I shoot past its wings.If hit it I did, its life would be over.

If I could slow my rapid descent,The bird might hover near me falling.Curiosity within its small bird mind,And as I fall, a single thought,

And when I land on the hard ground,The bird would go down and landatop my body on the moundand peck its beak at my hand,

And as I fall to the floor,The wave of thoughts come aroundOr end–of–life–and–death’s loreAnd, meters ahead, is the ground.

Jason Gong ’18

Illumination

When the dust seizes the freezing eaves,when the roses become the dew of the red and brown fall,I use the old rattan to wrap up my luggageand fly to the land that’s full of shawls.

When the fallen leaves become the carpet of the land,When the peonies become the fog in the faraway sky,Bless me, bless me, my beloved family;that’s the shadow of me saying goodbye.

Maybe the lack of direction will tear my steps,but I believe the future will provide me with wings and dreams.Although the frustration has made it hard to keep walking,But I believe illumination is in the beam.

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Max Rieser ’16

Andrew Waltzer ’16

My Guardian

After Shane Koyczan’s “The Crickets Have Arthritis”

I awoke from my dreams to the unfamiliar, sterile scent of clean sheets and death, and the eternal, monotonous buzzing and beeping of this machine kept me from returning to that surreal state. I was alive, and all I could think about was how much of a failure I was. What kind of human is so useless that he can’t even kill himself properly? My eyes opened to the sight of a completely barren room with a small clipboard stuck to the wall, and when I turned my head, I gazed upon another bed with this strange creature in it. It took me a minute to realize that that strange creature was just some kid in Star Wars pajamas. A small, colorful, hand–drawn sign on the side of his bed told me his name was Louis, but other than that, I could only see his face with its mixed look of fear and bravery.

It wasn’t long after I had begun staring at him that he turned his gaze towards me. I managed a smile, but I felt like he saw right through me. His stare made me feel as though I was as fake as every reality show on television today. Out of fear, I held my breath, looked away, and pretended to sleep. “Who the fuck is this kid?” I thought to myself. “What’s he going to say? Can he speak? Why is he here? What’s wrong with him?” My mind wondered possibilities, but it never crossed my mind to even give him a chance. Paranoia clenched my entire body, but a small, disheveled voice broke the silence and calmed me.

Louis was nine–years old. I would have asked him why he was in this shithole, but upon further inspection, his body told it all. His bald head and skin-and-bones frame displayed the cancer that was running through his veins determined to end his life. This kid looked like a thirty–year–old man that just got the shit beaten out of him but could still laugh it off and smoke a few cigarettes. His body was a time bomb ready to go off at any moment. Despite the circumstances, Louis was as talkative as a boy could be. It wasn’t long before he began taking out all these old knick-knacks from a drawer and exclaiming the story and relevance of each object. I was confused as to why this kid was willing to say anything to me, but I was willing to listen. I watched the glow in

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his eyes while describing the object curled in his hands, and I realized that everything he owned had no purpose but to remind him of his past. They were like treasure to him, and his supply of sentimental jewels seemed endless.

The next day and hundreds of stories later, his family arrived. His mother, father, brother, and sister all ignored me, so I sat there listening and longing for a cigarette. The hours moved lethargically to me, but for them, every second they shared was a gift from God. They stayed well past visiting hours because that term didn’t apply to them, but when they did leave, I turned to Louis. He no longer seemed to have that childlike enthusiasm about him. The pale, scared look on his face told me he missed his family and was terrified of the future. After staring into the wall for a few minutes, Louis said, “The worst part about being sick is you get all the free ice cream you ask for. The worst part about that is realizing that there’s nothing more they can do for you. Ice cream can’t make everything okay.”

His words filled me with emotion. Here was a boy whose life was being siphoned out of him, and where was God to help him through it? He’s probably sitting at home helping a banker get out of a parking ticket because he was next in line for miracles. Doctors surrounded and prodded Louis every day, but their tests only scared and hurt him. He was alone and dying, so I asked him, “Are you scared?” Louis’s response filled me with immense pride and respect. “Fuck, yea,” he said. He immediately regretted using such vulgar language, but he had a right to it. He was in a position that few other people could say they’re in, and if it took him a curse word to help him get through it, I wanted to teach him to swear as if the Devil were listening to him and taking notes with a pen and pad. I wanted to help him in every way I could, but even with such a pure goal, my shitty self seemed to get in the way.

He asked me if I believed in angels, and before I could stop myself, I said, ”Eh, not lately.” A silence overcame the room, and I felt as if I had helped this kid up then proceeded to kick him down again. I waited for words of sorrow or hate, but they never came. Louis was just a kid. He didn’t know what hate was. Despite all my flaws and failures, he remained as loyal as a dog. This kid was dying and had every right to be terrified and desolate, but he never was. He only greeted me with smiles and patience, and as I sat there listening to even more of his stories, I thought, “This kid deserves all the life in the world. Why the

fuck am I the one who will live? Where’s the justice in that, God?”Louis was never given a chance. He fought the inevitable while I

recovered from one of many fuck–ups, and as I sat there waiting for God’s answer, I realized that it would never come. There just aren’t enough miracles to go around, and too many people are filling God’s waiting room with petitions for wealth while we are stuck, lost, and left to our own devices. We want to find answers, but the search party is filled with people looking to improve upon their mountains of treasure. They can’t tell the difference between want and need because their minds are suffocating with greed. People don’t know what they have until it’s been taken away from them, and they’ve seen a glimpse of the hell that awaits them.

I spent nine days with Louis, and on the tenth, I was preparing to leave. My body was ready to take on whatever sick stunt was waiting outside, but my mind was stuck in that room with Louis. I couldn’t leave him like this. I needed to help him, but how can you help a dying nine–year–old boy? A promise: a promise that his thoughts and feelings would not die with him. I looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m going to remember you, kid. I’m going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. I’ll show them that bravery does exist in this world.” A promise from me usually doesn’t mean much, but for Louis, it was all he could ask for. Louis cracked this world wide open and found the prize inside, but he needed me to be his messenger. He needed me to tell the world that every breath is precious, and I needed him to give me a purpose in life. We only have so long to live, so don’t waste any time bitching, moaning, or trying to get ahead. Savor every breath as if it were your last, and thank God that you had that breath to hold. You don’t know how many you have left.I once told Louis that I didn’t believe in angels, but Louis showed me that no matter how shitty life can get, one needs to be brave in order to rise above. Despite the inevitable, Louis was kind and compassionate. He was my guardian angel. Before I met him, I was wasting my life away thinking about the dark and not looking towards the light, but now I have a mission, a goal, a reason to start again. I don’t often believe in angels, but on the day I left, Louis pulled a feather from his pillow, handed it to me, and said, “This is for you.” I half expected him to say, “See, this is the first one I grew.”

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Chris Moore ’18

Survivor

Attacked by a brother,Placed in agony,Messed with my existence—with me,Caused hurt for no reason.

Understood by a good friend,Pushed to speak, the secret acknowledged,Care from some, anger from others:No one truly understands.

Real friends emerge and lesser ones disappear.They go directly to aching and fear and angerBut also love and gentleness and adorationI exist for them. I survive for them.

No more physical pain.Now it is crueler—it truly hurtsInside me where no one can seeAnd no one realizes or maybe they do.

I am different now.I don’t know what I feel, but I do.I will endure—someway, somehow.I am a survivor, I am the greatest.

Alvaro de la Cruz ’18

The Bullied

My life has been an awful place.I’ve been bullied for my pace.I am slow, but not in school,and that’s what made me not cool.

I don’t know why I was such a target.I followed the rules,but people still called me a fool.It’s time for kids to stop.I put my foot down,and they frown.

Finally I have their attention.I can say what I want to mention:“Its time to stop the bullyingand start pushing towards a new beginning.”

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Ran Tao ’16

Brady Williamson ’16

How the Water Made Me: A Fiction

Dear Mom, The waters here are calm, timid and still. However they are teeming with fish—all kinds too; everything from koi and bass to trout and salmon. Salmon! Can you believe that? I know that was always your favorite. You knew I’d never forget. You would ask the waiter, “Can I have the salmon poached?” There is no need to catch and eat the fish I reel in here because the land itself has food aplenty.

I want you to know I like this place much more than home, but I need not offend you. Of course I miss you, Mike, and even Dad. I got to talk to Dad’s brother a little while back, and it turns out he’s not a bad guy. I felt like I should’ve talked to Dad more. I should have connected with him or at least responded to his letters. Although he left us, he is my father. I think much more up here mostly because I have the time to do so. There is no school, no schedule, no structure and I love it. I’d have to say I like the loose structure the most. No one tells you when to eat, when to sleep, when to bathe, when to do anything really. Some people would lose their minds without constantly being told what’s next on the to–do list. I honestly haven’t been bored whatsoever up here. It’s like when you longed for summer to come but about a month in, you run out of options to keep you busy. But here, the possibilities are endless. Most often, I find myself near the water, whether sailing or fishing, relaxing or swimming. I find refuge in the water; it’s the place I go when troubled. I sleep much more and dream harder here. I can remember what I’m dreaming and my dreams are sweet. No nightmares but pleasant thoughts form the greatest concoction of dreams. I hate being vague, but I cannot explain my true feelings. I have clear recollections of the great times I am having but I can’t put them into words.

I wish you and Mike could experience this with me but “at the same time”, enjoy the time you have left with the people you love. I know you’ll both join me someday and hopefully, for your sake, that day won’t be soon. But I can surely wait for that day, and when it comes, I will be happier than I ever was. I can’t imagine I could be happier than I am right now practically because all I ever wanted from life is here.

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However, like most people I was afraid of death. Most of the time I didn’t think about it, but once I began, I couldn’t stop. Where will I go, I wondered? Will I be alone? What can I do? But the concept I had the most trouble with was the idea of eternity. And when that car came speeding through the stop light heading straight for Mike’s car, I knew…. Time stopped, and I saw my future. Believe me I actually did. And at that moment right then, I was no longer afraid to die.

Here the water is never polluted, the fish never die, there’s no famine, no rape, no murder and no drunk drivers. And here, I have learned about forgiveness. What a gift! We must always forgive those we love, but it’s far more important to forgive those we despise. I offer you this bit of knowledge. Although the man driving the other car lived and I perished, the best thing you can do is forgive him. He made one crucial mistake, and I was at the wrong end of it. I know his actions weren’t purposeful, but he did, however, make the choice to get behind the wheel.

But the greatest regret of my life was what I failed to do. I forgot to tell people I love them. I regret all the time I wasted doing the things I was told would provide me with a content lifestyle: going to school, doing my homework, eating my vegetables, attending summer camp, getting a job, playing this sport. But the time I wasted on these was precious—more precious than I had imagined. I had a secret list, you could call it a “bucket list,” on which I cataloged a bunch of things I wanted to do in my life. Of the thirteen things I wanted to do, I accomplished none. And that has to be my greatest regret. I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, swim in the clear waters of Bora Bora, and have an authentic Philly Cheese Steak. I wished for these things because I could escape reality. I could imagine myself at these places having the most fun I ever would.

My days for the past six years had been exactly the same. I followed the routine: get up, go to school, come home, play sports, go to bed and repeat. In that blur that my life became, I lost track of what mattered. I only went to school because it would get me into a good college and provide a good life. But I wasted time in school preparing for a life I would never had. I’m not suggesting I should have dropped out of school, but I should have taken more days off. I should have gone to France in the summer and the Dominican at Christmas. I wanted more out of life. I wanted to feel as important as I do now. I

never had a friend that I could tell everything to because I was afraid they’d judge me or, even worse, spread rumours that I was crazy. But here, everyone is my friend, and I tell the ocean my secrets. I scream my deepest fears into the sky because up here I won’t be judged. No one will bully me, post mean things on their Facebook or call me names. That’s the biggest difference from here and there; I feel safe. Mom, I want you to know I love you, and this is where I belong. Your Son, Charles

Mohammed Meraay ’15

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Xavier Vega ’17

Donghee Kim ’16

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Liyang Luo ’17

Room

I lie upon the wall in my small room,Staring at the rain outside the window.Everyone has left the dorm but me.It is so dark, I can’t find my shadow.Light is dimming while I —screaming with fists—punch the floor constantly.Raindrops are dripping onto my right wrist;Everything turns abstractly. An old photo of her lies on my knee—Smiling and waving on the country street.I try to grasp, but it suddenly flees;Rain ends; light shines; I can still feel the heat. Life is full of desperation and downhills,But there are people who care for you still.

Kurt Linke ’16

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Jiuhua Chen ’15

Ben Mirageas ’18

Words

I’ve been staring at a blank page for hours searching for words that I’ve never even heard of:ameliorate, commensurate, dissimulate, interpolate, recriminate,...I was lucky I could even pronounce those. However, words can control people. Words are interesting.Say the word “crisp” and feel the word start in the back of your mouth and end in the front.

Arden Coleman ’16

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Arden Coleman ’16

Joon Ho Lee ’18

Silence

Like the eyeof a typhoon—Nobody knowswhat happens after this silence,This silence—I can hear the falling leaves,the stray cat meowing,and my momcalling,I miss you.

Stephen Guglielmo ’15

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Stephen Guglielmo ’15

Jiuhua Chen ’15