“We never know how high we are, till we are asked to rise.”

- Emily Dickinson

Oculus

Volume XX2012

Alabama School of Mathematics and Science1255 Dauphin Street

Mobile, AL 36604

Editor-in-Chief AmyWelch AssistantEditor LisaRenye

PoetryEditor KathrynHurst ArtEditor KaylinBowen

ProofingEditor ElizabethSelf

ProseEditor JuliaNelson Cover LisaRenye

KaylinBowen StaffMembers JuliaRath CaitlinNowlin AlexanderPeeples

FromtheEditor: TheAlabamaSchoolof MathandScienceOculushasalwaysbeenknownasaprestigiousaccomplishmenttothestudentswhoworkallyeartoproduceitandtothestudentswhowriteandsubmittheirpoems,shortstories,andartforconsideration.TheOculusisastudent-led,student-produced,andstudent-directedliterarymagazinethatdisplaysthefeelings,imaginations,andinsightof anentirestudentbodyinashortamountof space. Thisyear,theOculuswentthroughmanytwistsandturnsalongthewaytobecometheclusterof pagesthatyouarenowholding.Despitestruggles,complications,anddownrightmishaps,theOculusstaff cametogetherasaunitandovercameallobstacles.ThoughthisOculusisprobablyoneof theshortestinourpublicationhistory,Idoubtthattherehasbeenacollectionof staff thatishappiertopresentittoyoujustasitis—complete. Alargeamountof thanksgoouttotheOculusstaff—allof yourhardworkhassetastandardthatIdoubtanycaneversurpass.ThankstoDr.Jeff GoodmanandAndriaDiamondfortheirdedicationandcontributions.Andlast,butdefinitelynotleast,tothewritersandartistsof ASMS—therecouldn’tbeanOculuswithoutyou.We,asagroup,havebeengratefulfortheprivilegeof readingyourwordsandbeingabletoseethroughyoureyesforabrief time. We’vehadagreattimeformingandcreatingthe2011/2012AlabamaSchoolof MathematicsandScienceOculus,andhopethatyouenjoyitjustasmuch.

-AmyWelch Editor-in-Chief

Table of ContentsLiterature

BodyWorldMiddleAgedHisNameSHHHH...SwingSetImpression:Portraitof AlbertEinsteinOneof aKindFatherhood,ReclinedMyHeroElyseHighSchoolinaNutshellManInRedBeachBoysThat’sHerBrandNewASlowCountryNightTwo-Year-OldSoldierTimesInMayBarbieSilhouetteQuicksilverTheFateFamilyManGalacticPhaseForYou,DadAPlaceAboveACountryHomeTotheDandelioninMyBackyardOnwardKingof theSwampDon’tBeSurprisedRestraint

#6 #6 #7 #7 #8 #8 #12 #12 #13 #13 #14 #14 #15 #15 #17 #17 #18 #18 #19 #19 #20 #22 #22 #23 #25 #25 #32 #37 #37 #44 #44

AnonymousAiAbshireEstherGrubbeHannahBurnsHopeHeFreddyArguetaAlysonDanielsAlexisPierceJohnChancellorMorganJowersWhitneyRogersKerryEllisTylorSchmittTyroneRudolphKathrynHurstJohnUptonLateiIyeghaBaylinHesterAnonymousJordanDanfordAnonymousLateiIyeghaAnonymousAnonymousKerryEllisJohnChancellorJordanDanfordJordanDanfordTyroneRudolphJordanDanfordNickChaplow

Title Author Page

Short StoryTitle Author PageAlone...UntitledSaltHerDaddy

AnonymousGregTateHollisDeLaneyAlexisPierce

#16 #26 #27 #38

Artwork

BeachVortexAllThatRemainsIsWhatWeFindUnacceptableKnightEmbraSometimesIWonder,WhatIf ?FallSimplicityRedLipstickVioletCelestialRotationHonkReconciliationViolinTheReturntoRuinsContemptMyAngelTheGrandRescapeSoakingUptheSunColourBlockAbstractionEnlightenmentWaterfall

BekkaDicksFelipeShinsatoKonnorKuhlmann

BekkaDicksVeronicaKinoshitaAidenMcNellisNickChaplowDNAPreyearTiffanyNgoNickChaplowKonnorKuhlmannNickChaplowTracyLinAudreyArnoldDNAPreyearDNAPreyearKonnorKuhlmannAidenMcNellisNickChaplowDNAPreyearFelipeShinsatoBekkaDicks

#9 #9 #10

#10 #11 #11 #20 #21 #21 #23 #24 #24 #26 #32 #33 #33 #34 #34 #35 #35 #36 #36

Title Artist Page

6

Madeof stoneandforeversmilingthisisthestatue

of middle-agedMarty.Wavyhairwaxed

andeyesbulgingout.Hehasawrinkleforeachoneof hisworries.Aninsaneexpressionisplasteredon

thatchillsmybonesthroughoutmybody.Hespeakstomeof histale.

Howfakesmileshaddrivenhimcrazy.Turnedtostone

hebringsfeartoviewers,eventoI

whonowknowhisstory.Listenclosely,

you’llhearhimwhisper,“Don’tendup

Likemiddle-agedMarty.”Bodybareandfleshstripped

exposingwhatweshouldnotseeAnatomyanalyzedatsuchanangleisonlydisplayedinmorgues

Preciselycuttoeverydetailweareshownforwhatweare

Insensitivitymayhaveitsplaceherebutstillweallgazeon

TantalizinglypresentedMesmerizedwithoutdisgustNaturalisthebody’sbeautyIshouldfeelsolucky

Anonymous BodyWorld

AiAbshireMiddleAged

Hisvoice,acountryboom,makeslaughter

eruptthroughoutaroom.

Likeamilitarymanuponhisglisteninghead

restsshortbristlesof brownhair.

TheblackandsilverbandengravedwithAugust24,2010,restsonaworkingman’sfinger.

Hisheightmakesyousosmall

butstandsasaprotector.

Soyoung,thesuddenlossof hisparents

nowstrengthenshimasheclingstotheirmemory.

Hecapturesmewithhisgracelesshands.

Theexcitementweshareatourlatenighthomecomings

firesuptheworld.

…

Stonecoldsilence.

Asingledigitlaidoverclosedlips.

Apparitionof white.Unmoving.

Aface,incomplete.Abysmaleyesstaringchangless.

PowerfulUndyingSilence.

Hannah BurnsSHHHHH...

Esther GrubbeHisName

7

NexttomywhitehouseWiththegreenshrubbery,Steelbarsof happinessInbeigeandnavy.4yearsandcounting.

Spotsof rustamongstthejointsAdorntheniftystructure.Glisteningintherain,Gleamingundersun.Withthebirds.

SwingsandseesawleanSwingsidetosidelikeart.Assembledbyhand,

InstructionsandwrenchCreatedthismasterpiece.

Laughteritbringslittleonesjoy

WiththegentlewindMyswingsetsings.

Withbreezeinharmony.

Aging,butneverdisappearingHisinsightwillneverfade

HisequationsandscribbleddrawingsImprintedonhisface,withwhiteink

And hiswork imprinted on society, withblackink

Hiswhiteface,dimmedbythebrightnessof hiswhitehair

Wrinkles, fromthecountlesshours spentdiscovering

AndunderstandingThenextbigthing

Theendlessnessof space to theendless-nessof hismindcapacity

Thisportraitdepictsthemindof thegreatAlbertEinstein

Freddy ArguetaImpression:PortraitofAlbertEinstein

Hope HeSwingSet

8

Felipe SinshatoVortex

Bekka Dicks Beach

9

Bekka DicksKnight

Konnor KuhlmanAllThatRemainsIsWhatWeFindUnacceptable

10

11

Aiden McnellisSometimesIWonder,WhatIf?

Veronica KinoshitaEmbra

12

Heisof onekindadelighttohavenearby.

Almond-shapedbrowneyes,deepwithpupilsbottomless,likeamagician’stophat.Heightsurpassesmine,asacellotoaviolin.

Hishairisshortandneat,afreshlymowedsummerlawn.Thetinywrinklesbelowhiseyes,arevintagecurtainswithtiebacks.

Andhiscinnamoncheeks,reflectthelightof theearly-morningsky.

Hisspeakswithalovelyvoice,strong,kind,andof moderatepitch.Helaughstimidlyatthesilliestthings,

remindingmeof alittlekid.Somewhatshy,

likethesunonacloudyday,heisrelaxed

andveryslowtoanger.Heprotectsme

asalidprotectstheeye.

Itisgreen--nothuedinjadeormossoranyof thatnovella

JustgreenUnliketheotherdécorItsitsalone,plushAhomefor

dustandothersuchfollyWaiting,forever

foritsownertoreturnaneyesoreamong

Eyesores

Alexis PierceFatherhood,Reclined

Alyson DanielsOneofaKind

MyHeroTonedbody,atomboy,youAdventureoutintothis

Dark,forsakenworldspreadingThelightof yourbrightcrookedsmile

Still,Yourfemininebeautyshows

AsyourapricotskinedgesintopinkcheeksAndyoursapphireeyesfadetoemerald

Yet,OurGoddidn’tjustcreateabeautyAstheproverbsof 1000menTranscendintoyourwisdom

ThroughWhatevertrialortroubleOrwindorstorm

Myloveandadorationforyouwillremain

John ChancellorMyHero

Onasymmetricalfaceframedwithblonde,thoughrootsaredarkShewearsbrightcolors,preppy.

Happyuntilhome,rememberingherfathernolongerliveswithher.

Soinlove,herparentsuntiltheyletgoof it,andsoshe.

Notrustinloveorhappiness,soshewill

changeherself justtofitin.Ifeelsosadtoseeher

terrified,tryingtofindwhereshebelongs.If onlyshewouldbeElyse,

she’dfindwhatsheislookingfor.Hereyesliketheheavensonthesecolorfuldays.

Morgan JowersElyse

13

Darkframealmostburnedtrapsamaninred.

Smoke-filledhouseisblazingasorangeflamesrise.Waterquenchesathirstyhouse.themaninredmadeahero.

Kerry EllisManInRed

‘Beauty.

Originality.Beyourself…

Butlikeeveryoneelse.Dream.Believe.

Shootforthemoon!Yetdon’tsetyourself upforfailure.

Confused.Lost.

Justtryit!Gohere!Decisions.Decisions.

Morals.Principles.

Standstrongforbeliefs.Thentorndownbypeers.

Powerful.Strong.

Youcanchangetheworld.Forbetter…orforworse.

Perfection.Flawless.

AppearanceiseverythingPersonality,justaplus.

Judgment.Stereotypical.Everyoneequal?If only…

Whitney RogersHighSchoolinANutshell

14

Hepullsatmethewayariptidepullsyououttosea,sosoftandgentleitseemsthechoiceisuptome.

Hissmiledazzlinglikethecolorsof areef,Toweringoverme,atidalwavecrashingoverhead.

Ican’tkeepstandinginankledeepwaters,DareIgoanydeeper?

AllinoralloutisthechoiceImustmake…There’sanothercallingmefromtheocean’sdeep.

Likesun-soakedsand,warmandsoft.Muchsafer,nochanceof gettinginovermyhead…

ButcouldIgiveupthosewhite-cappedwavesfor-ever?

OrwouldIlamentneverbeingpulledintoanadven-turelikenoother.

Herjewelrycorrespondswithavarietyof clothesShemakesyourstomachdropwhenshecomescloseHerBathandBodyWorksfragranceexploresyournose

Suchabeautifulsmilewhichiswellcomposed

Whenshewalks,youcan’thelpbutstareAssheswaysherlong,dark,silkyhairShehasamanbutnoonecares

Shedoesmathsofastthatotherstudentscan’tcompare

If itweren’tforthatmanof hersGuyswouldbeonherbacklikebootsandspursSheisconsideredfly,soshesoarswiththebirdsKnowingthatyoucan’thavethisgirlreallyhurts

Tylor SchmittBeachBoys

Tyrone RudolphThat’sHer

15

Aloneshesatonthefloor.Noonearoundherbutthewallsthatendlesslywatched.Shewascontenttositupontheground.Andwait.Hesatupinhisbed.Itwasexactlyeightminutesbeforehisalarmwassupposedtoring.Everymorningwasthesame.Hedidn’tbothertobathe.Hejustthrewclothesonwithunexplainablespite.Hedidn’teat.Hejustleft.Hewentwheretheworldwantedhim.Hedidwhattheworldwantedhimtodo.Hethoughtwhattheworldwantedhimtothink.Everydaywasexactlythesame.Hedidn’tevennotice,butthat’sthebeautyof it.Theworldaroundhimpulledthestringseversogently,andheremainedoblivious.Hewasnoonespecialhehadnopurpose.Hehadnogoal.Hewouldleavenomarkupontheworld,becausethat’snotwhattheworldwanted.Hewouldsimplylive.Exist.Aloneshesatonthefloor.Noonearoundherbutthewallsthatspokenowords.Shewascontenttositupontheground.Andwait.Hedidn’tactoutof place.Hedidn’tdresstoattract.Hedidn’tevenspeakmuch.Hehadaduty,andhefulfilledit.Dayin.dayout.Hewascompletelyoutof syncwithhismind.Hecouldonlyheartheworld.Hewasn’tdepressed.Hewasn’tparticularlyhappy,either.Hejustfelt.Hedidwhatheneededtodo.Exist.Aloneshesatonthefloor.Noonearoundherbutthewallsthatlistenedinpeace.Shewascontenttositupontheground.Andwait.Oneday,heopenedhiseyes.Nottheeyesthattheworldhadgivenhim,buthiseyes.Hesaweverythingaroundhim.Hefinallysawalltherewastosee.Hesatinbewilder-ment,simplylooking.Helookedandlookedandlooked.Finallyhebegantohear.Heheardthesoundsaroundhim.Hedidn’theartheominousboomof theworld,butthelifeallaroundhim.Itwasallsobeautiful,butsosad.Nooneelsecouldseeorhear.They

onlydidwhattheworldwanted.Exist.Aloneshesatuponthefloor.Noonearoundherbutthewallsthatgavenocomfort.Shewascontenttositupontheground.Andwait.Hedrovehomeslowlythatday.Hehaddriventhatsamepathdayafterday,buthehadnoideawherehewasdriving.Heonlydidwhattheworldwanted.Hebegantothink.Slowly,atfirst,timidlystretchinghismind.Onethoughtledtoanother,whichledtoanotherandanotherandanother.Hewasthinking.Thinkingabouteverything.Why?Who?When?Where?What?Hecouldn’tstophisownmind.Hesataloneinhiscarandjustlaughed.Allthistimehehadn’tbeenalive.He’donlybeenatool.Aloneshesatuponthefloor.Noonearoundherbutthewallsthatsharednothought.Shewascontenttositupontheground.Andwait.Helayinbedandwondered.Beforehehadonlyexisted.Hehadnoplace.Hehadnoname.Hesatup.Everythinghadaname,buthecouldn’trecallhisown.Hejumpedoutof bedandintothestreet.Aname.Heneededaname.Heran.Heran.Heran.Hehadnoname.Hewasn’tmeanttohaveaname.Hewasmeanttoremainnameless.Aloneshesatuponthefloor.Noonearoundherbutthewallssohollow.Shewascontenttositupontheground.Andwait.Hestoppedrunning.Hewastired.Hehadneverbeentiredbefore.Hehadnevermovedonhisownfreewill.Helookeduponthehouseinfrontof him.Heheardtheeeriesilence.Hethoughtaboutwhyhehadcomehere.Hewonderedwhatwasinside.Aloneshesatuponthefloor.Thedooropened.Shewascontenttositupontheground.Hestaredather.Shesimplysat.Shelookedathim.Sheheardhisheavybreathing.Shethoughtabouthispurpose.Shewonderedwhathewoulddonext.Hewalkedover.Hesatdown.Andtheyexistedtogether.

Anonymous

16

17

AknowingglanceAndafriendlysmile

AcaringhugAndalovinggoodbye

BrandnewfacesAndjudginglooksAsmilingfriendandanewattitude

AnewcityNeweducationAnewexperienceAndanewlife

ThestarsshinebrighterthandiamondsInthatlarge,cloudlesscountryskyArelaxedsummernightlikethis

Canleaveyouwithanawesomehigh.

Allof uswithourownhardships,Battlesthathaveyettobewon.Ourparentsdivorcedandhateful,Wouldbeanexampleof one.

Wesitinthattailgateandtalk,Whiletheloudcountrymusicplays.WhateverproblemsmayariseThattailgateisourgreatescape.

A2001FordRangerSmallandred,sitsjustuptheroadManytimesithasseemedtobe

Morecomfortablethanmyownhome

John UptonASlowCountryNight

Kathryn HurstBrandNew

18

Onabalmysummerday,Ilieintheyawningshade

of apinetree,Inthebrightshadow,

ponderingtheafternoonaway,Andeventhoughnothing

evergetsdone,thisishow

Ilovetospendthehoursof May.

WhenIgazeintohereyes,Ifindmyinspiration:Alittlesoldier,

intheheatof battle,afraid,butnevergivingup.

Strongandsweet,shestrutswithadmirablesassiness.

Hersillylaughiscontagiouswearingaprecioussmilethatbrightensdarkdays.

Butthesoundof hertrimmednailsgratingherbatteredskin,isscreechinginmyear.Fragileandpure,

shesuffersmorethanapersonshould.Psoriasis,acold-hearteddisease,

leftscarsandbumpsonherchocolatebrownskin.Armslikethescalesof asnake.Legslikethebarkof atree.Istareatherfeeblebody,

arevoltingchillrushesdownmyspine.Iturnmyunwillingeyes.

If Icouldtakeherpainawayandputthatburdenuponmyself,asingleheartbeatwoulduntieherfrometernalpeaceof mind.

Latei IyeghaTwo-Year-OldSoldier

Baylin HesterTimesinMay

19

WhenyouhearthewordBarbie.

Shecomestomind.Skinlikerubber

Sheexhauststhetanningbed.Eyesof iceGlisten

Reflectinglightliketheyardsof bleachedhairhangingfromherhead.

Decrepitbody,hiddenbeneathlayersof fake.Herfacialexpression,stuck.Confusedeyebrowsemphasize

Purestupidity.Cars,money,clothes,Allatherfingertips.Makeuphidesall.

Skin-tightdressesflauntthatfantasybody.

EverythingseeminglyperfectUnderthesurface,

Pills.Justtostayalive.

Anorexiaandbulimiaaretheshadows

ineverysnappedpicture.Butyoucannottell

Theflashdissipatestruth.Weseeheraswhatsheappears,

Barbie.Behindcloseddoors,Shecrieseverynight.

AnonymousBarbie

SheworealilyinherhairApinkdress,pinklikethemouthof the

flowerShedancedasilhouettewaltz

Sodelicate,likethesecondsfallingthistwilighthour

ShehummedasofttuneSosweetly,likethesonataof cricket

eveningsShewhirledinsolitude

Faintly,hershadowtoodancedontheceiling

YetIapproachedherAndshegrewslowlydimmer

AsthesunsetShefadedintotheglimmer

Of thechandelierO’erthedustyparquetfloorI’veseenherneveragain

Andneverbefore

Jordan DanfordSilhouette

Nick ChaplowFallSimplicity

ThosetimideyesAren’tfoolinganyone.He’llbreakthesilence

Oncehisnervesaredone.

WithselfishintentionsHeminglesamonglife,

Awkwardasthemoonishigh.Laughingathimself,

HetakestheinitiativetoPuteveryonedown.

Awhaleinshark’sclothing,Hedisregardswhathehas

Andpitieshisown‘misfortune.’He’llneveradmitthathe’swrong.

Withfalsepretensions,Heclaimsacleanstyle,

Facetiousastheocean,wide.Talkingtohimself,

He’llneverberealenoughtoImpresshisownlies.

AnonymousQuicksilver

20

DNA PreyearRedLipstick

Tiffany NgoViolet 21

22

Astheseasonschanged,thegraydanced

alonghisjetblackhair.Chocolateeyes,

old,yetfullof compassionstaredgailyathisson,

asheplayedinthesmallsandbox.Callousedhands,

fromhislongstrenuousdays,delicatelytuckedhissonintobed.Linesformedaroundhismouth

ashesmiledathiswife,thenhegentlytouchedhislipstohers.

Wrinklescoveredhislatte-coloredskin,ashewatchedhissongrowintoasimilarman.

AnonymousFamilyMan

Adimandlonelyswamp.Shallow,murkywater

arevoltinggoldenbrownfilledwithcreaturesunknown.Yetamongstalltheugly,

there’sasinglewhiteflower--beautycomparable

tothepale-skinnedholder.Butasorrowfulexpression

bringsdreadtohersurroundingandalonged-forlover

nevercame.Aslycallousedcrocodilelurksforun-expectingprey,yethertenderbodyandsoulremainquietlyunmoved.

Lifewithoutloveisnotworthliving.Sheliesintheswampandacceptsherfate.

Latei IyeghaTheFate

23

Nick ChaplowCelestialRotation

SkywardIturnmygazeYourlightsneverceasetoamazeContentinthemidnighthazeTobeinthegalacticphase

Transitiontotheouter-spacialSwimmingthroughthemoonlitflightLeavethecloudsthatbecomeglacialAndmeltintothemorninglight

IcouldlieforeverimmobilehereNumbandfreefromfear

AndIwouldn’tthinkitqueerIf Ijustdisappear

AnonymousGalacticPhase

Nick ChaplowReconciliation

Konnor KuhlmanHonk

24

Alonewithoutyouonceagain,Mythoughtsarethesame.Iwonderwhereyouare,andwhereyouhavebeen.Seventeenyearshavepassed.Ihavedonefinewithoutyou.

Irememberyourhandsarerough,muchlikeyourheart.

YethereIamwastingmytime.

ButyouarenothereandIdon’tneedyou.

TheclimbuptheladdertakesmeToaplaceIowecreditto.

Blandconcrete,trappedbyanagedfence,isfoundunderneaththesesshingles.Pecansandleavesfromtheoldtreeaddallthecolorthatyousee.

Escapingmediocrity,Iamtheonlyonenurturedbythisfreshairsanctuary.Aplace,lackingtribulation,

whereIfeelgreaterthanmyself.

John ChancellorAPlaceAboveACountryHouse

Kerry EllisForYou,Dad

25

26

Tracy LinViolin

WordscannotexpressthewayIfeel…Theyhavelongforsakenme,butthat’showlifegoes,hereonedayandgonethenext.Inthishourof nightIlieawakethinkingof thetimethathasgoneby.Astimefliesbywhenwearetogether,Ifeelthebondstrongerthananyadhesivecouldeverform. InlongoverduesleepIdreamof yourpresencebymysideneverleaving.Doesthismakemeweak?IoncewishedIcouldfindsomeonethatfitthepagerippedfromthebookof mylife.Ibelievethatif thereisahandof fateuponmesmilingornotIstillmoveon.Isitinthestarsthatwemet?Wasitbythathandof fatethatdrewustogetherorwasitdumbluckthatthischancemeetinghappened? Whoisthisangelthatcamedownfromtheheavenstowishmeagoodlifethatfatemaysmileuponme?Thestarssharenosecretsregardlessof thequestion.Inthedeadof nightIstareupatthosebrightlightsinthemidnightskyandwonder.Why? Thisseemstoogoodtobetrue,butwhytemptfate?Whatistheretogainbytryingtocarveyourowndestiny?Whyfightwhatseemslikeitwasmeanttobe?Inthe

deadof nightIstareatthosebrightglow-ingbeingsinthemidnightskyandwonder.Whatwasitthatcausedthesechainsof eventstoalterthecourseof thelivesof two?WhateveritwasIwillnotfight,norwillIeverforgetthatfatefulnightwhenthelivesof thesetwobeingsbecameintertwined. AlthoughshehasslippedfrommysideIstillthinkandwonder.Whatwasthepriceof thatfatefuldaywhentheexcitementfadedfromtheoncehappymessage?Wasitafteryouweregonefrommysideorwasitwhenthetwointertwinedcouldnolongermeetfacetofaceasthedaysgrewshort?ThenightislongandemptyknowingIcannolongerseethatangel’sfacebutonceinabluemoon. Thehumanandtheangelarestillintertwined;althoughtheyarefarapart,theirheartsstayconnectedwitheachbeat.Isitinthestarsthattheangelhasbeentakenfrommyside,oristhisjustfateatitsageoldgameof give-and-take?I’mjustnotsureanymore,butIknowforsuretheanswerisuptheresomewhereamongstthestars.AlthoughthenightsarelongIwon’tstopsearchingforthatansweramongthestars.

Greg TateUntitled

27

TwodaysafterIreturnedhomeandthenewshadsettledin,mymotherbeganposingquestionafterquestion.Ifeltinterrogatedlikeacriminal.“Hewassuchagreatswimmer,though.Howcouldthathavehappened?Couldn’tyoudoanythingtohelphim?”shewouldask.Everytimesheaskedquestionssuchasthese,Ibegantocry,althoughitwasnoteasyforamaninhistwentiestocryinpublic. Apartfrommyself,nooneknewthetruthbehindmybrotherMichael’sdeath.Itwassuchapeculiarsituation.Ihadtoldthestoryupwardsof tentimesbynow.Ihaditdownpat.Itwasjustatragicaccident,asfarastherestof thefamilyknew.Ireassuredmyself,“Beingonthewatercanbedangerous,afterall.” Ithadbeenaboutaweekandahalf sincetheaccidenthadhappenedandmymother’sindecisivenesshadpushedthefuneralbacklaterandlater.Iwasmorethanhappybythispostponementbecauseitgavememoretimetothinkthingsover.Timehadneverfeltasprecioustomeasitdidthen. Morepeopleendedupcomingtohisfuneralthanonewouldexpect.Anyonewhoknewourfamilywouldforeseeasmall,unadornedevent.MystomachturnedasIlistenedtothepriestdeliverhisfuneralsermon.Hisbaldheadshinedatoplarge,sharpcorneredreadingglasseswiththickframes.Atthefuneral,IfeltmorenervousandscaredthanIdidremorseful.Ididn’tlikebeinginthespotlight,especiallythespotlightof aninterrogationroomthatIcouldn’thelpbutimaginemyself in. Mymotherstoodnexttomeatthefuneralinablackdresswithalargesilvercrosshangingfromherneck.Herdarkbrownhair,fleckedwithgray,waspinnedupintoatightbun,astyleIhadneverseenherwearbefore.Sheconstantlydabbedatherweepingeyeswithadelicatelystitchedhandkerchief embroidered

withapatternof lace.Herglassyeyeshadbeensurroundedbydismalredcirclessinceshehadwokenupthatmorningatfiveo’clocksharp,asalways. Asasinglemother,shehadlosthalf herfamilywithmybrother’sdeathanddidn’thaveanysupportotherthanme.Iwastooworriedaboutlyingtobeverycomfortingtoher.Thepainandguilteveryoneinthefamilyfeltcouldnotbehiddenbyanything.Mymotherespeciallywouldbeadrasticallydifferentpersonafterthelossof Michael. IwasoneyearyoungerthanMichaelandweweretheonlychildreninthefamily.HewasafewinchestallerthanIataboutsixfootflat.Hehadlightbrownhairandadark,redmoleonhisleftcheek.Hewasveryenthusiasticwhenitcametoexercisingandfitnessandhadeventriedtobeaveganforaboutayear.MybrotherhadalwaysbeenmoreathleticthanIandmadebettergrades.Healwayswasmysuperioranddidn’tcaretohelpeasemyjealousyatall,alwaysrubbinginhissuccessand“greatness.”Itriedveryhardtogetalongwithhim,butitseemedasif mymotherwasalwaysonhisside.Manyattemptsweremadeonmyparttogetonhisgoodsidebutitprovedtobenearlyimpossible.

***

Insidethissmallroom,orboxasitseemed,IfeltclaustrophobicasIstaredatthewoodencrucifixthathungfromthelatticegrateacrossthewindowintoFatherRamon’scompartment.Thedarklystainedwallsseemedtobeinchingtowardmefromallsides.Thiswasnotmyfirsttimegoingtoconfessional,butIwasnotaveryreligiousperson.IneededsomeonetotalktoandIknewIcouldtellFatherRamonwithoutgettingintotrouble. Kneelingonthepedestal,uncomfortablewithwhatIwasdoing,Isaid,“Forgiveme

Hollis DeLaneySalt

28

father,forIhavesinned,”justlikeIhadsaidonpreviousoccasions.“Whenwereyouatconfessionlast,child?”thepriestasked.Hisvoicewasdeepandcrisp.Icouldseetheoutlineof hisfaceandthesameunique,largereadingglassesthatIhadneverseenhimwithoutthroughthefragilelattice-workthatseparatedus.

“Afewtimesinthepast,father,”Irespondedshyly,whileploppingastripof mintygumintomymouthtotrytoebbmynervousnessaway. “Andwhatsinhaveyoucommitted?”hequietlywhispered. “Mybrotherisdead...”ImumbledasItriedtopeerthroughthescreenedwindowbetweenus.“Itwasmyfault,father.”Isaid,slowlylettingthesefrighteningwordsof confessionleavemymouth. “Wasitintentional,son?” “Of coursenot!”Isaid,raisingmyvoice. Then,FatherRamonsaid,“Tellmewhathashappened,”inasoothingvoice. “Lifehasn’tbeenthesameforthefamilysinceMichaelwaslost.But,noone’slifehadbeentwistedaroundasmuchasmine,Father.” “Continue,”saidFatherRamon. Andwiththat,Icontinuedtotellhimthestoryof mybrother’sdeath,“Well,Ihadtheideatogooutinthefamilyboat,atwenty-eightfootBuddyDavis,sothatwewouldhavesometimetomendolddisagreementsandcatchupwithoneanother.AtleastIthoughtthiswastheplan.‘Youcan’thandlethatboatonyourown.That’saterribleidea,’hewouldtellme.Iagreedthatthelargefishingboatwasnotmeantfortoolingaroundin,butitwasn’toftenwedidthis,andIreallywantedtogetonemoretripoutof theboatbeforeitwassenttostorageforthewinter.” “Yes,continueonson,”saidthepriest. “Yousee,thatday,MichaelwasconstantlynaggingateverymoveImade.Itwasmyideatogooutintheboatandhestronglydisagreed,of course.Withaforecastof aroundfifteenknotwinds,hethoughtitwastooroughtogooutforaspin.Hetoldme,alljokingaside,‘If Igetseasicktoday,Iswear

thiswillbethelasttimeIevergetonaboatwithyouagain.’WhenIreplied,‘C’monMike,lightenup,’hegavemealookof disgust.Plus,Icouldn’tevengethimtohelpmemakepeanutbutterandjellysandwichesforourlunch,”Iexplainedtohim. “Itsoundslikeyouhadaroughstartthatmorning,butthoseinconsiderateactsshouldnotbepunishablebydeath,”FatherRamonquietlyreplied. “Yes,father,Iknow.” “Goonson.” “Okay,so,itonlytookonlyabouttwentyminutesbeforewebegantoapproachtheSandIslandLighthouse.Wehadalreadydecideditwouldbeadecentlunchspotanddestinationfortheday.ThenIsaidtohim,‘Ibroughttworods,sowecantrythrowingsomepogiesovertoseeif aredorjackwillbite!’tryingtostartaconversationaboutsomethinghereallyloves-fishing.Hedidn’treplyandjuststaredbackatthehorizon.Iguesshemayhavebeentryingtokeepfromgettingseasick.” “Ok,I’mlistening.” “Someof theroughestwatersandstrongestcurrentsarearoundDixieBarandthelighthousewhereweplannedtostopforlunch.Iwasdrivingtheboat.So,Itriedtosneakthebowof theboatupclosetotherockssoMichaelcouldhopoff withoutgettingwet.” “Isee.Isee.” “Butthespitof landthatSandIslandLightsitsuponisrockyandcaneasilybustthroughahullif youaren’tcareful.Eachwavewasbringingtheboatclosertodestruction!Iwascontrollingthetwin250horsepowerenginescalmly,becauseIreallywantedtoimpressmybrother.Hewasstandingonthetipof thebowwhenheyelled,‘Backoff!Underwaterrock!’Iresponsivelythrewbothenginesinreverse,throwinghimoff of theboatontotherocks.Luckily,hecaughthimself onallfours.Hewasastellarsoccerplayer,trackstar,andswimmer-arealathlete.SoIletoutasighof relief andwasthinking‘Noharmdone.’” “Verywell,”FatherRamoninterjected. Icontinuedtoexplaintohim,“Inaboutfifteenminutes,Ihadtheboatanchoredwith

29

itssternawayfromtherockyfoundation,heldinplacebythewindandcurrent.Iwasfeelingaccomplished,butmy‘loving’brotherneverfailstoreprimandandscrutinizeme.” “Yes,itsoundsasif youhadeveryrighttofeelaccomplished.Butyourbrother,whathappened?” “Well,hesarcasticallysaid,‘Fabulousjobsettingtheanchor.Youonlyalmostgotmekilled.’Thenhestartedtellingmehowtheboatwastoomuchformetohandleinthesechoppyseasandthingslikethat.” “Itsoundslikeyouaregettingbullied,child.Didyoutalktoyourparentsaboutthis?Yourbrothersoundslikeheneededtalkingto,”FatherRamentoldme. “Allmymomwouldeversaytohiminmydefensewerethingslike,‘Michael,trytogetalongwithyourbrother,’or‘Michael,dear,trytotreatyourbrotherlikeyoudoyourfriends.He’snearlyasoldasyou,’”Itoldthepriestinawhinyvoice,mimickingmymother. “Iunderstand.Thatcanbehard.” TryingtokeepmycomposureIcontinuedonwiththestory.“Thenmybrotherwasfurtherinsultingmewhenheinterruptedhimself,blurtingout,‘Wait,istheboatgettingfartheraway!?’Ilookedoutinthedirectionof theboat,anditwasevidentthattheboathadturnedalmostcompletelyaround.Father,theboatwasdriftingouttosea.Iwoulddoanythingnowtobeabletogobackandre-anchorthatboat!” “Iunderstand,butsometimesyoucan’tgoback.What’sdoneisdone.Lifetakesitscourse.” “Yes,father,buttomakeitworse,IdecidedIwasgoinginaftertheboat.Mybrothershoutedsomethinglike,‘Youmustbeoutof yourmind.Youwon’tmakeittothatboat.’Withoutfurtherado,shirtstillon,Irantotheedgeof thefarthestrockIcouldseeandbeganwadingmywaytowardtheboat.BeforeIknewittherocksbeneathmyfeethadvanished.SohereIam,swimminginarippingcurrentthatfeltlikeitwastryingtotearmylegsoff andpullmeunder.” “Thenwhatdidyoudo,child?” “Well,mybrotherwasasuperb

swimmer,yousee.Myswimmingskills,however,leavemuchtobedesired.Islowlybegantoswim,inbadform,towardtheboat,oftenlookingovermybacktoseemybrothershoutingandwavingatme.Icanrememberthosemomentsandplaythembackinmyheadsoeasily.It’sdrivingmeinsane.” “Traumatized,emotional;Iknowhowyoufeel,son.ContinuewithyourconfessionandyourvoicewillbeheardbyGod.”FatherRamonreplied. “Well,Iheardmybrotherbegintoyellinhisloud,raspyvoice,throughthefunnelof hishandsaroundhismouth,“Youwon’tmakeit!Swimback!”Inafewminutes,Ilookedbacktoseehisheadbobbingbehindme.Strokebystroke,Father,onearmafteranother,heswamafterme.HeriskedhislifeformeandnowIhavetakenhis.Iamoverwhelmedwithguilt.” “Thisisunderstandablebutdon’tbeafraid.Godwillforgiveyou.Keepgoing.” “Well,realityhitwhenwhenIrealizedIwasbeginningtohavetoswimup-currenttoreachtheboat.Then,Irealizedtheanchorhadbecomecaughtonsomethingunderwaterbecausetheanchorlinehadbecometaut.” Ifurtherexplainedthesequenceof events.“Soonmybrotherwasalmostswimmingnearmyside.Itwasobvioustousatthispoint,thatweneededtoswimforourlife,notfortheboat.Inseconds,theboatwasbehindusandallthatwecouldseeinthedirectionof thecurrentwastheopenGulf of Mexico.Therewerenoboatsinsightandtheonlychancesof survivingthesweepingtidewerethethreefinalbuoysmarkingtheshipchannel.” “ItsoundslikeyoushouldthanktheLordthatyouarestillalivetoday,”thepriestsaid,asIrepositionedmyself inthesmallconfessional. “Yes,father,”Ireplied.Mylegshadnowbecomestiff andthetemperaturewasuncomfortablywarm. Icontinued.“Aswewereswimming,allIheardfromMichaelwerepantingnoisesalongwithanoccasionalcursewordbetweenhisbreaths.Wewereswimmingforwhatseemedlikehourswhenitwasprobablyonly

30

tenminutes.Imurmuredsomethinglike,‘Needbetterangletobuoy,won’tmakeit,’throughmouthfulsof saltyseawater.Thefirstchannelmarkerflewbyus.Wemisseditcompletelyalongwiththesecond.Whatseemedtobeourlasthopeforsurvivalmightsoonpassbyif wedidn’tactfast.TheFarewellBuoywasthelastchannelmarkerleadingintothevastGulf of Mexico.”Ifeltasif FatherRamonwasenjoyingthestoryof theaccident.Heseemedintriguedbythechainof eventsthathadhappenedandsatanxiouslylikeachildtohearwhathappened.“Icouldheartheloudbellontopof theenormous,redbuoy,”Isaid.“Itwasatleasteightfeethighandtenfeetindiameter.Coveredinseaweedandbarnacles.Weknewitwouldn’tbeeasytomountthesteelstructure.Itookoff myshirt,andmybrotherandIeachheldoneend.Wetriedtostretchourselvesoutsowecouldcatchthebuoy.Wewerethrashedintomountainsof barnaclesthatweresharpenoughbreaktheskinjustbybrushingupagainstthem.Toourrelief,wewerenowholdingontoourfinallifeline.” “Yes,yes,”FatherRamonmurmured. “Doyousee?Hemadeittothebuoysafely.Hedidn’tdrown,”Isaid. “Son,youhavequiteanexperienceunderyourbelt.Godwaswatchingoutforyouonthatday,”thepriestsaid.Icouldhearhimshiftingaroundontheothersideof thewallasif hewaspreparingfortheendingof thetale. Heurgedmeonbysaying,“Nowgoon,howwashislifetakenfromhim,son?” “Well,wecrouchedatopthebuoy,leaningagainstthemetalstructurethatsupportedthelightandconstantlyringingbell.Nottomydisbelief,myownbrotherdidnotwaitevenaminutebeforecursingandscreamingatmeinbetweenthedeafeningringsof thebell.‘WhyonEarthwouldyoutrythat?Areyoustupid?’heblurtedout.Withoutlettingmeanswerhecontinued,‘Weareluckytobealive,andhereyouareactingasif nothinghappened!’orsomethinglikethat,”Itoldthepriest. Ifeltbeadsof sweatformonmybrowasIbecamehotwithanger.Icouldn’thelpbut

tobeginspeakinglouderandwithmoreforce,stillhopingthatnooneoutsidecouldhearme. “Father,Iwasclosetotearsandinnomoodtolistentohim.SoIscreamedathimandtoldhimtoshutup,andwithoutanotherword,IthrewalltheforcethatIcouldmanageintohim,shovingmyarmsintohischest.FatherRamon,hewastakenbysurprise.Heflewbackwardsandhithisheadontheroundededgeof thebuoyonthewaydown.Heflippedonceandthenplungedintotheocean,headfirst.Iwaitedfive,ten,thenfifteenseconds.Heneversurfaced,Father.” SilencefilledthecubiclecompartmentthatIkneltin.“Son,letuspray,”thepriestsaid,solemnly.WesaidaprayerandalthoughIdidn’tknowwhatitmeantinitsentirety,Ibegantoweephardernow. “Father,Isobbeduncontrollablyforatleastanhouruntilasmallfishingvesselpickedmeup.Icouldn’ttellthetruth.Ithoughttomyself,‘Ihavetocreateastory,andImustkeepitconsistent,’Iwasterrifiedof myfate,butcouldn’tdarelettherealstoryout.Ihavetoldeveryonethathewasswimmingbehindmeandmusthavegottenacramp.ItoldthemMichaeldrownedtryingtoswimtotheFarewellBuoy.Father,nooneelseknowsthetruth!HowcouldIdosuchathing?” “Calmdown,son.Eventheharshestsinscanbeforgiven.Youmustdotherightthing,though.Turnyourself inandbethankfulforyourlifeandforGod’slove,”thepriestsaid. Icouldhaveguessedthepriest’sresponsetowhathadhappened,butIwasstillrelievedtohaveletsomeoneknowbesidemyself.Icouldnowimaginemymother’sresponsetothetruth.Wouldsheforgiveme?WouldIbesenttojail?Istillhadmanyunansweredquestions,butitwascleartomenowthatIneededtotellmymother. IstaredatthefloorinsilenceforamomentwhenIrealizedagoldenlightbegantoshinethroughacrackfromunderthedoor.Thesunmustbesettinglowenoughtosendadirectrayof lightthroughthestainedglasswindowsof thechurch.IknewitmustbelateandIshouldbeonmywayhome. Wetookamomenttoprayonceagain

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andIwastoldhowIcouldbeforgiven.IthankedFatherRamonandquietlyandswiftlylefttheconfessional.

***

“Howwasyourday?”mymotheraskedmeassheladledaspoonfulof spicychickensoupintomybowl.Watchingher,Itriedtoimaginewhatherreactionwouldbetothetruthof herson’sdeath.Icouldimagineher,flustered,yellingandcrying.MaybeIshouldn’tdoit. “Fine,thanks,”Iresponded.“Youdidareallynicejobwithdinnertonight.”Werarelyhadsuchelaboratemealsandweneveractuallyateinthediningroom.Frozendinnersatthekitchencounterwerethenormforher,evenwhenhersonscamehomefromcollege.Suchanoccasion,andIwouldhavetobreakitasthebearerof badnews. Besidesanoccasionalcomplimentonthefood,Ididn’tstrikemuchconversationafterthat.Mymothermadeafewattemptstotalkaboutamovieshehadwatchedorcondolencegiftsthatfriendshadsentusinthemail,butshemainlystucktosmalltalkaboutdinner.FatherRamontoldmewhatIneedtodo,Ithought,butIcan’tseemtogivethefinalpushandletitallout.Afterall,itcouldruinmyfuture. “Ithinkthissoupturnedoutprettygood.Whatdoyouthink?”askedmymom. Thoughtsrushingthroughmyminddistractedmefromtheconversationwewerehaving.Ireallyshouldtellher.I’msureshewillbeforgiving. “Uhm,what?”Ireplied,puzzled. “Thesoup...?Doyoulikeit?” “Oh,Ohyeah,itsdelicious,mom,”Isaid.Icouldonlyhelpbutthinkaboutmynextwords.Coulditbetimetotellher?Howwouldshehandlethetruth? “Iaddedextrachickenandcayennepepperjustforyou,”shesaidinasweetvoiceasif shewastryingtobribemetodosomething. “Thanks,IfeellikeI’meatinginafivestarrestaurantinNewYorkCity!”Isaidto

herjokingly,tryingtoshowalittlebitof agrin.Underneaththesmile,Iwasmakingupmymind.“I’mmakingtherightdecision,”Ireassuredmyself.“Shewon’tbetooharshonme.” Shechuckledandcontinuedtotellmealltheworksheputintothesoup,“Ihadtopeelalmosttencarrotsandthetwoof thetomatoesIboughtwerehalf rotten.” “Well,itstastesreallygood,”Irepliedtryingtonotletmynervousfeelingsof anxietyshowthrough.Theconversationwasgoingnowhere,butmymotherwasoblivioustotheblandnessof ourchitchat.NowIfeltasif tellingherwouldcompletelybreakherandruinourrelationship.Whatif itdrovehertoinsanityorsheevenkillingherself ?Whatwouldbemyconsequences?Despitemynegativethoughtsonthesituation,witheverysecond,Iwasgettingclosertolettingitallout.Iwaspreparedtospillmyheartouttoherandtellherthecompletetruth. Shewasstilljustgoingonandonaboutsupper,“Doyouthinkthesoupisalittlebland?”,sheasked. “No,Ithinkithasplentyof flavor.YoushouldhaveinvitedAuntRebeccaorthetwinsoverfordinner,”Isuggested.“Theywouldhavelovedthismeal.” Ignoringmycommentaboutinvitingfamilyover,shesaid,“Youknowwhat,I’mgoingtoaddsomesaltandpeppertomine.I’lltellyouhowittastes.” Ithoughttomyself,“AndIwilltellyouwhathappened...” Shetookafewbitesandherfacelitup. “Mom,Ihave-”,Isaid. “Oh,man!Thisissomuchbetter!”sheexclaimed,interruptingme. “Mom,”Isaid. “Wow,thisreallymakesthedish!” “Mom!”,Isaidagain. “What?Geez,letmeenjoymydinner,”shereplied. Istartedshakingveryslightlyinmyhandsoutof nervousnessandIknewnowwasthetimetotellher.“Mom,”Isaid,“I...I...”Icouldfeelthewordsformingonmylips.“Canyou,please,passthesalt?”,Iaskedher.

Audrey ArnoldTheReturntoRuins

Jordan DanfordTotheDandeliononMyLawn

TothedandeliononmylawnIrespectyou

Youhavesomehowmanagednottobestruckdownbythewhirlingbladesof my

lawnmowerAndsomehowyouhavemanagedto

avoidbeingcrushedbyroamingcatsanddogsandneighborhoodchildrenAndIfindmyself saddened

ThatyouhavewitheredanddiedUnnoticedbytherestof theworld

ButInoticedAndIheldalittlefuneralAndalthoughnoonecame

Ileftalittleleaf whereyoustoodThewindblewitawayacrosstheyardWhereIsawtheotherdandelions

32

33

DNA PreyearMyAngel

DNA PreyearContempt

34

Konnor KuhlmanTheGrandRescape

Aiden McnellisSoakingUptheSun

35

DNA PreyearColourBlock

Felipe SinsatoAbstraction

Bekka DicksWaterfall

Nick ChaplowEnlightenment

36

37

Jordan Danford Onward

OnwardwetraveledLikebashfulbarefootwand’rersbasking

warmindeedinwarmyoungsunWeswaminlightdownbeatenpathsDownbeatsandrhythmsonourbacks

WecametogethertobealoneYetyoungandyouthful,weonourown

FoundfirefrolicsfarfromhomeSowemarchedswiftlyon

OnswiftMarchwinds,wedriftedon

AcrocodilenavigateshiswayThroughthestillwatersof thedayItisreadytoeat,notimeforplay

Butdoesn’trealizethatheisthepreyThevillagekidsareplayingcatch

Thecrocspotsthem,youknowwhat’snext

ThecrocpreparestoattackButitcapturedquicklyfromtheback

Abald-headed,muscularmanTakesthecrocoutwithbarehandsDestroysallof itsfutureplans

ThatcrocwillnevergohungryagainAliontattoosymbolizingcourageous

thingsHeinterceptsvillainsfromtheirevil

schemesHeisaherotomany,orsoitseems

Strongandcourageous,heistheSwampKing

Tyrone RudolphKingoftheSwamp

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Therearetimeswhenshewishesshewasaboy,if onlysothatwhenherdaddycallsherJuniorshewouldbehisjuniorandnothermomma’s.Shedoesn’tmuchmindbeingaLillian;name’salwaysbeenkindtoherandshedoeslovehermommalikeagoodgirlshould,butshelovesherdaddysomethingfierce.If she’saJunior,she’saChristopherJunior,throughandthrough,evenif shedoesn’thavetherightequipmenttogowiththename. ShethinksthebabyinherbellyisgoingtobeaChristopherJunior.DanielmightwantittobeaDanielJunior,andshe’ddoitif itweren’tfortheconvictioninherthathisbabyisgoingtobesomuchlikeherdaddy.Thebabykickssothatwhenshetakesherdaddy’shand–wideandflatlikeabearpaw–andputsitonherbelly,aslowgrinmovesacrosshisfacewhenhesays,“He’srodeo-in’inthere!” Butthenthesmilegoesawayandhegetsrealquiet,hisfacepaintedwiththelong-gones.Foragoodwhilehealwayslookedlong-gonetoher,butafterhecametostaywiththem,andasJunior’sbellyswelledwithlove,thelesslongandgoneChristopherManninglooked. Hestillgetsthatwaysometimeswhenhethinkssheisn’tlookingthough,anditirkshersomethingbad. Butthebaby’skicksremindherof herolddaddy,beforehishairpepperedgrayandbeforethelong-gonescame–whenhe’dpickherupandswingheroverhisheadandkissherandrubherbackwhenshewasscared–andshemakesuphermindit’saChristopher,evenif it’sagirl. Herdaddyliveswiththemnow,inthelittlehousetheyrentfromthefellowDan-ielworksfor.It’satightfit,butcomfortablyso.Well,atleastuntilJuniorkeptgettingbiggereverydamnday.Thentheclosenessbecomesonlyslightlycramped. Sherollsoutof bedandcreepsdownthehallandintothekitchen,wherethesmellof stalecoffeefromthenightbeforemakesherretchintothestainedsink.It’snotlongbefore

herdaddyappears,rumpledandunshaved,comingupbehindhertorubherbackandgethersomewater.Herdaddy’salwaystakencareof her,andJu-niorneverletsmommatellherotherwise. “Gettingclose,”hesays,sittingatthericketytableandpouringhimself acupof thestale,coldcoffee.Hedrinksitandshewantstoretchagain,wantstoknockitoutof hishandandmakehimsomenew,butthereisn’tanybecauseDanielisnotinyetwiththegroceries–damnslowpoke. “Youlookreadytopop,”saysherdaddy. “IfeellikeI’mgonnapop,”shesays,sinkingintothechairacrossfromherdaddy.Thechairsqueaksandgroans,protestingjustlikeababe,andshethinksit’dberightfunnyif itjustfellapartfromunderherandshelandedonthefloor,thebabyjustpoppingoutrightintoherdaddy’shands.Shelaughs.“Tellthetruth,Iwouldn’tmind.I’mtiredof this.Nomoreafterthis,Itellyouwhat.” Herdaddylaughsanddrinkshisbadcoffee.“You’resayin’thatnow,butoncethisone’soutandcrawlin’,you’llbewishin’foranotherone.Yourmommasaidthesamething;shedidn’twantnomoreandthenyouwasstartin’towalkandtalkandshedamnnearknockedmethroughawall,jumpin’onmetogiveheranother.” Juniorgoesredintheface.“Daddy,”shescolds,“that’snotright!”Shelaughs,though,andpicksupthecoffeepottogetitawayfromhimbeforehepourshimself anymore. Danielcomeshomeandthere’sbreakfast—atablefilledwitheggsandbaconandnewcoffee—andDanielgoesoutsidetohaveasmokebecauseJuniordoesn’tallowitinthehouse.“Doc’sorders,”shetellsherdaddy.“Nosmokin’ordrinkin’coffee.” “Damn,”saysherdaddy,takingoutacigaretteandpokingitbetweenhislips.“Don’tknowhowyoudoit.YourmommasmokedanddranktheentiretimewithyouandRe-gina.”

Alexis PierceHerDaddy

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Juniorsnorts.“Probablywhyshe’splainuselessnow,”shesays.Sheloveshermothertodeathbutshehasn’tgotthetimeforherteenagesillinessandattitude.“Goon,getoutsidewiththatcancerstick.” Herdaddygoeswithoutafuss,andshewatcheshimandDanielthroughthekitchenwindowuntilshehastopee.She’sjustabouttoclosethebathroomdoorwhenthere’sashoutandDaniel’svoicetellingsomeonetosendanambulance.

ShecomesbackoutwithleadinherfeettoseeDanielbentoverherfatheronthefrontporch,blowingairinhismouthandhit-tinghiminthechest.Shedoesn’tknowwherehelearnedthatorevenwhen—he’salwaysjustbeendownthestreet,acountryboywithbigfootstepstofollowin. Thesirensinthedistancegetlouderthough,andshewetsherself inthemiddleof thehallway.Thewarmthof itdoesnothingtothawherfrozenheart.ChristopherManningdiesatten-thirtyinthemorningonMay13,1989.He’sawfulyoungtohaveaheartattack,saysthedoctor,butyoucan’teatbaconanddrinkcoffeeandsmokethewayhedoeseverymorningandexpecttoliveforever.DanielhastotakeJunioroutof thehospitalandsitherdownintheparkinglot.“Yougottocalmdown,”hetellsher.“Ain’tnosensegettingyourself allworkedup.Thinkaboutthebaby,Lillian,damn.” Sheisthinkingaboutthebaby,shewantstosnap,andhowit’snevergoingtoknowitsgrandpa.It’snevergoingtoknowhowtobeaChristopherbecauseChristopherManningisgone.Shedoesn’tknowhowshecanhaveababywithoutherdaddyaround.Whensheimaginedit,hewasalwaysthere,asilentstrangerinthecorner.HeandDanielandhermommaandevenReginawereallsupposedtowalkwithherdowntheroadof mother-hoodandnowit’sallwrong.It’sallwrongbecauseherdaddyisgoneandsheisalone. Thebabykicksherinrehearsedagreement. Somehow,shegetshomewithoutpeeingonherself again,andshesitsinthesamechairshesatinafewhoursago.Her

daddy’scoffeecupisstillwhereheleftit,butshehadn’tthehearttowashitout.ThephoneringsandDanielanswersit,tellinghermommathatshe’snotfittotalkrightnowandthey’llcomebylater. “Idon’twanttogo,”shetellshim,andhervoicesoundsstrained.Itdoesn’tsoundlikehernormaltreble;no,itsoundslikehermomma’svoice—oldandwarnout. “Youhavetogo,”saysDaniel.“Yourmomma’supset,too.” “No,sheisn’t.ShehatedDaddy,youknowthat.” Danielsighs.“She’sgonnawanttoseeyouanyway,soyou’regonnagoovertherelikeagoodgirl.” Shedoesgo,butnotbecauseof Daniel’surging.Shegoesbecauseshe’stootiredtoargue.Hermommahugsherandgiveshersomethingtodrink,abitterconcoctionof teaandmilk.Reginaisthere,red-eyedandsnif-flinginawaythatmakesJuniorwanttoslapherupsidethehead.Shewantstoyellather:“Younevervisitedwithhim,youain’tneversomuchasgivehimaphonecallonhisbirthday!”andcallherthingsthatmightmakeasailorblushandcausehermommatothrowherout.Atleastthenshe’shaveanexcusetogohomeandlaydown. Instead,shesitsquietandletsthemtalkaroundherwhileDanielholdsherhandtightacrossthetable,aricketyharboronabrokenshore. ThefuneralisshortbecauseChris-topherManning’swillsaidhedidn’twantone.Regardless,hermommainsistedthattheygetapreachertosayafewchoicewordsatleast,beforethebodywascrematedintodust.Ju-niorgottheurn,whichisuglyandmetalandsitsonherkitchentablebecauseshedoesn’tknowwhatelsetodowithit.Danielsaystheyoughttohaveitinterredsomewherebutsheknowsherdaddy.“Hedon’twanttobeintheground,”shetellshim.“He’dhatethat.Can’tseetheskywhenyou’recoveredindirt.” Truthis,shecan’tputitinthegroundbecausethenherdaddy’dbeoutof hersightforever.Shesitsacrossfromitinthemornings,drinkingwaterorteaandfeelingherbabykickagainstherlikeanangrymule.The

urndoesn’ttalkandforacrazysecondshethinksnothing’schanged,becauseherdaddyhoardedwordsliketheywerevaluableandhewasafraidof spendingthemalltooquick.If shethinksaboutit,shecanprobablycountouthowmanywordshe’dgivenhersincethedayshewasborn.Soanurnthatdoesn’tspeakisn’ttoodifferentfromherdaddyatall. Exceptthatitis.Itdoesn’tsmellliketobaccoandcloves,anditdoesn’thavecal-lousedhandsthatrubherbackinthemorningsaftershepukes,anditdoesn’tcallherlittledarlin’.Itdoesn’thavehereyesorhersnubnoseorhertemper.It’snottheChristophertoherJunior. Shedoesn’tknowwhatshemissesmost—herdaddy,orwhoshehadbeentoherdaddy. Eventually,itwastimetogothroughherdaddy’sthings,aprocesssheprolongedtotheveryend.Theyneededthesparebedroomforthebaby,Danielremindedher,andshehadtomakeroomforthecribhewasbuild-ingoutbehindthehouse.So,shewentinearlyonemorninginMay,whenthesunwassmilingshyandtheroomwasstagnantwithsummerheat.Foralongtimeshecouldn’tevencrossthethreshold.Shestoodinthedoorwayandlookedatthebitsandpiecesof herdaddy’slife,tryingtosolvethepuzzlewithsofewpieces.Hedidn’thavemuch.Whenhe’dcometostaywiththem,allhe’dbroughtweresomeclothesandfishinglines,bootsandacoupleof bookshedidn’treadbutcouldn’tgetridof,forsomereason.Thereisn’tanythingonthewallsexceptacoupleof picturesof herandReginaaslittlegirls,picturesthatareatruetestamenttotime.Itdoesn’tlooklikeanyonelivedintheroomandshethinksmaybeherdaddyhadn’tbeenlivingatall,butthatthishadbeenjustaplacetobebeforethenextthingcamealong.Shewondersif he’dknownwhatthenextthingwouldturnouttobe,of if heevencaredtothinkaboutit. Shestartsontherandomthingsfirst,thingsscatteredaround.ThebooksturnouttobeBiblesthatbelongedtohergrandparentssosheputsthoseaside,ahomageof sortsof peoplesheneverevenmet.PapersscatteredhereandthereshethrowsintobagsforDan-

ieltodealwiththenexttimehehasthingstoburn.Shestripsthebedandforcesherself totakethesheetsouttothewash,foldinguptheblanketintoaneatlittlesquare,tryingtoplaceitonthetopshelf of thecloset,butitwon’tgo.Shestandsonthetipsof hertoes—andshewrylythinksthattherearenotfatballerinasoutthere,she’soneof akind—andreachesupuntilshecanfeelaroundwithherhands. Andthatiswhenherfingersfindsomethinghardandsquare.Abox. Abootbox,olderthansheis,andtwiceasdusty.Shesneezesfivetimeswhensheopensitandthebabykicksherinannoyance.Initarepostcards,stacksof them.Thedateononeis1968.There’sanotheronefrom1967.They’realladdressedChristopherManning,andthey’reallsignedbyonename:William. ShevaguelyrememberssomeonecalledWilliam.Shereadseachcard,andeachcardpromisesavisit.Theoldestone—Friend,howtimehasflown—haspostmarkfromTen-nessee.Shetakeseachcardoutof theboxandarrangesthemonthenakedbed,accordingtodate,andafterawhileshefindsherself staringatasecrethistoryof herdaddythatgoesonforalmosttwentyyears. ThefrontdoorslamsandDanielcallsoutagreeting,soshecarefullyputsthepostcardsbackinthebox.Shegoestofindhimwithakissandtellshim,“Ineedtogotomymomma’s.”Sohehasaquickcupof coffeeandasmokebeforehelpingherintothetruckanddrivingherover.Shetakestheboxwithher. “Idon’tknownoWilliamMarsh,”sayshermomma,andforsomereasonthisdoesn’tsurpriseJunioratall.“Mustabeenoneof yourdaddy’srodeobuddies.”There’sacold,hardlinetohermouthwhenshesaysit,saystheworldrodeolikeshewastastingsomethingawfulandtart. Juniorlooksather.“IrememberaWilliam,”shesays.“WhenIwaslittle.Daddybroughthimhome.”Shefightsforthemem-ory,lookingforthefaceandsmilingwhenshefindsit.“Hewasrealhandsome.Niceeyes—” Hermommaslamsherhanddownonthetableandknocksoverthesugarbowl.“Youdon’tknownothin’!”shesays.“You’re

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rememberin’theTVorsomethin’.” “No,”Juniorargues.“IrememberWilliamMarsh;Ijustdon’tknowwhathap-penedtohim.Ithoughtyoumightknow.” “Itoldyou,Idon’tknownothin’.”Hermomma’seyeswerewet,butnotfromtears.“Nowgethome,beforeitgetsdark.” JuniortellsDanielabouttheboxonthedriveback.“Hekeptthemall,”shesays,wrappingherhandsaroundtheboxthewaysheusedtoholdherdaddy’shands.“Sotheymusthavebeenimportanttohim.” “Wasyourdadeverinthearmy?”heasks,voicehonestinitsquery.Sheshakesherhead. “No,theArmydidn’tgethim.”Shelooksoutthewindow.“MusthavebeensomethingelseaboutWilliamMarshworthrememberin’if itwasn’ttheArmy.” Atthelibrary,shegetsaTennesseephonebookandlooksupMarsh.There’sfour,buttwoaren’thome,oneisanOriental(andJuniordoesn’treallyknowwhattothinkaboutthat)andtheotherhasanansweringmachine.Sheleavesamessage,butdoesn’texpecttogetacallback,soshe’ssurprisedwhenthenextmorningthephoneringsandthere’sawomanwithaSoutherndrawlontheotherend. “Williamwasmyhusband,”shesays,longandslow.“Wemetintherodeo.” Sherememberedherdaddy’swordsaboutthekickinginherbelly.He’srodeo-in’inthere.“Heknewmydaddy,”saysJunior.“MydaddywasChristopherManning.HediedinMay.” Thewomanisquietforamoment.“I’mawfulsorrytohearthat,”shesays.“Italkedtoyourdaddyonce.HecalledmeafterWilliamdied.” Juniorfeltatwingeinherbellythatforoncehadnothingtodowiththebaby.“I…didn’tknow.I’msorry.” “It’sfine.Hehadanaccident;realyoungwhenithappened.” “I-Ijust…”Shetakesadeepbreath.“Iwascleanin’outmydaddy’sthingsandIfoundaboxof postcardsfromWilliam.” There’sanothersilenceontheotherendof thelinethatgoesonsolongthatJuniorwondersif they’vebeendisconnected.She’s

abouttoaskwhenthewomanmakesanoisethatsoundshalfwaybetweenashudderandasigh.“Listen,your-”Shestopsandclearsherthroat.“There’snosenseinwonderin’.Williamislonggoneandyourdaddy’sgone,andyoujustgottoletthemgo.” “But-” “Listen.Yousoundlikearealnicegirl,andIdon’twanttoupsety’allwithtalkaboutthepast.Youloveyourdaddy,don’tyou?” Juniorswallows.“Yeah.” “Thenkeeplovin’himlikehewastoyou.Itdon’tmatterwhathewasbefore,y’hear?”Thewomansoundedalittlerushed.“Justletsleepin’dogslie.” “But-“ “Igottago,”shesays,andthenthere’saclick.Juniorstaresatthephoneforamomentbeforeshehangsitupandsitsdownatthetable.Herfather’surnisstillthere,alongwiththecoffeecupthat’sgotgreenfuzzinthebottomnow. “Daddy,”shewhispers,“whowereyoubeforeme?” Thatafternoon,Juniorpacksupherdaddy’sclothes.Heonlyhadafewthings,oldjeansandshirtsandthesamepairof bootsheworesincebeforehecametostaywiththem.She’stemptedtosavesomeof themforDaniel,butshedoesn’tthinkshewantstoseeherhusbandgoingaroundinherdaddy’soldclothes;somethingaboutthatseemsmorbid,soshepacksthemintoabagtogivetoGood-will,instead.Betterthattheygotoastrangershedoesn’tknowthatbearoundforhertolookatallthetime. Inthecloset,therearemorebootsandshewonderswhyheneverworetheminfrontof heruntilshelooksatthebottoms.They’reworncleanthroughandstinkof crapandbeer.Whyhe’dkeepthem,shedoesn’tknow,butshesetsthemasideanyway.Shepullsoutmoreshirtsandfoldsthemupandpacksthemaway,untilshereachesanend. Shefindsitinthebackof thecloset,tackedtothewallinsteadof hungliketheotheroccupantsof thewardrobe.Whenshelookscloser,shefindsthatitisacowboyhat,agenericleatherone.It’sbloodstainedandalittle

tornaroundtherim,lookingtootackytohavebeenherdaddy’s.Shetakesitdownandturnsitover,andstartstoplaceitatopherheadbutstops.Nexttothehat,onthewall,isayel-lowedpostcard.Whenshepicksatit,thetapeholdingittherefallsapartandturnstodust,andthecornersof thepostcardflakeawayonherfingers.Sheflipsitover,expectingtoseeanothernotefromWilliamMarsh,but,instead,there’snothingthere,justthenameof theplaceonthefront.BledsoeCounty. Shecallshermomma,holdingthehatinonehandandthepostcardintheother,phoneperchedprecariouslyonhershoulder. “Itoldyou,”sayshermomma.“Idon’tknownothin’.”Shehangsuponher,andJunioristemptedtocallherback,but,instead,shefindsherself dialinganothernumber,Ten-nesseeareacode. “BledsoeCounty,”thewoman,it’sWilliam’swife,drawls.Juniorcantellthatshe’snothappytohearfromheragain,butshecanalsotellthatthewoman’snotsurprised,either.“Yeah,Iheardof it.” “Whereisit?”asksJunior.Thewomanhesitates.“Tellme.” Thewomansighs.“Youdon’tlisten,doyou?YoumustbeChristopherManning’sdaughter.If William’stoldmeanythingtrueinhislife,healwayssaidChristopherManningwasonestubbornsonof abitch.Theonlythingheeverreallytoldmeabouthim.”Juniorwaitsformoreinfo. “BledsoeCounty,”saysthewoman,inasoftervoiceJuniorhasn’theardherusebe-fore,“iswhereWilliamisburied,rightbeneaththeoldSycamoretree,afterhedied.Saiditwashisfavoriteplaceonearth.Thenyourdaddytoldmeit’swhereheandWilliamwouldmeetupto‘talk.’Spentweeksouttheretalking,ap-parently,‘bouttherodeo.”Shesnorts.“Doesn’ttakemuchtoputtwoandtwotogether,y’think?” Thewomanpausesthen,toletherwordssinkin.Juniorispantingintothephone,clutchingitsohardthatherfingersstarttoache.Thebabysquirmssomethingterrible,andJuniorwantstohurl.Shecan’ttell,butboththingsmakeherfeelsuddenlysick. “It’sadirtylie,”shewhispers,no

forcebehindit.“That’s-“ “Honey,”saysthewoman,“I’vesel-domtoldalieinmylife.YourdaddyandWil-liamtoldenough,andtheydidn’tneednohelpintellingthem.”Shepauses.“Orlivin’them.” Juniorslamsthephonedown.Shedropsthehatandthepostcardtothekitchenfloorandbacksupuntilshefindsthekitchenchairtositin.Shesitsandstares.Theurnstareswithher,butshecan’tlookatit.Shecan’t,becauseshedoesn’tknowwho’sinitanymore. Hergutreactionisdisgust.Hermommausedtosaythingsaboutpeoplelikethat,if theysawanyonthestreets.Folksjustdon’tdothat,notproperfolksanyway.She’sheardstoriesaboutthem,though,aboutallthedeviantsinSanFranciscoandthatdiseaseinthepapersthat’smakingthemallsick,turningthemintolivingskeletons.ThepreacheronSundayswarnsaboutit,saysthatit’snotGod’swaytobelikethat.It’sintheBible.She’sneverexactlyfounditintheBible,butsheknowsit’sthere.They’vealwaystoldheritis. Butit’sherdaddy.Herbig,strong,beautifuldaddywiththelong-gonelooksandthesmilethattouchedhiseyeswithouteverstayingthere.If herdaddywaslikethat,shewouldknow,wouldn’tshe?Herdaddywasn’taqueer.HerdaddywasarodeomanandagoodmanwhocleanedhisplateatsupperandkepthercompanyduringstormswhenDanielhadtowork.Herdaddywalkedherdowntheaisleandplannedtoteachhisgrandchildtorideahorsesomeday. Herdaddywhohadaboxof post-cardsandahatfromanothermanhiddenawayinhisbedroom. Juniorisn’tstupid;sheknowsit’smorethansexwhenyou’vegotsomeone’soldhatstuckuptoyourwallwithapostcardof theplaceyoumetatto…bond.That’sloveandsheshivers,becausethat’soneof thoselovesthat’stoobig,thatdoesn’tgocold,andalovelikethatyoucan’tcarryaroundwhereeveryonecansee.Thereisn’tanysexgoodenoughtobeworthallthetroubleof hidingsomethinglikethatforsolongif therewasn’tanyloveinvolved. Andthepreachersnevermentionthe

42

lovepart. ShethinksaboutWilliamMarsh.Thewomansaidhehadalreadydied.Shewondershowshe’dfeelif Danieldiedtomorrow,andthethoughtmakesherheartache.IsthishowherdaddyfeltafterWilliamdied?Isthishowherdaddyfeltallthetime?Shethoughtabouthislong-gonelooksaftertalkingabouttherodeoandthetimeswhenhe’dshuffleoff outsidetositunderthestars,drinkingbeerandlookingupatthemasif heweretryingtomakethemtellhimsomething,likesomekindof answertoaquestionhe’dneverdaredaskoutloudwheresomebodycouldpinchherandrepeatit. Thetruckpullsupoutside,coughsandstalls,andshehearsDanielcurseatit.Shestandsandpicksupthehatandthepostcardfromthefloor,andtakesthembackintoherdaddy’sroom.Shehangsthembackupinthecloset,andpressesthepostcardbetweenthemiddlepagesof oneof hergrandparents’Bibles. Shehalf-expectsaboltof lightningtoslicethroughtheroof of thehouseandstrikeherdown,butnothinghappensexceptDanielcomingintolookforher,kissinghercheek,andaskingwhat’sfordinner.

July’sheatarriveslikethefiresof Hellitself,lickingatJunior’sfacethroughtheopenwindowasthetruckbouncesalongtheroad.Danieldoesn’tthinkthey’regoingtherightway,butJunior’sgotthemap,despiteandarmfullof baby,andshesaystheyarethere. “Thishere,”shesays.“Turnleft!” “Givemethatmap!” “No!”Shelaughs.“Left!Goleft!” Leftisalongandwindingroadthatclimbsthroughthehills,pastaconstructionsitethatlookslikeit’sgoingtobevacationhomessomeday.Juniorfrownsalittleanddistractsherself withthemap.“Goright,nextfork.” Danielmutterstohimself,butgoesright,andsuddenlytheyarethere.It’saridgethatlooksoutoverapasture,andthere’salittlecreeknearby.It’soneof themostbeautifulplacesshe’severseen,andJuniorpassesthe

babytoDanielbeforescramblingoutof thetruck.“Didn’tevenknowthisplaceexisted,”saysDaniel,comingupbehindher.Thebabygurgles.“Mightypretty.” “Daddyusedtocomehere,”saysJunior,“withafriend.”Shegoesbacktothetruckandbringsouttheurn. “Look,Daddy,”shemurmurstoit,notcaringif Danielthinksshe’scrazy.“Look,it’sBledsoe.Ibroughtyoubacktoit,‘causeIknowyoumissit.”Sheswallows,andwhispers,“Iknowyoumisshim,andif you’regonnafindhim,thisisthebestplacetostartlookin’.” Sheopenstheurnandturnsaway,notwillingtoseethewhiteplumesof herdaddyastheycascadedowntotheground,dancingoverthegrassandoff intothewind.Sheshakesituntilshe’ssureit’sempty,andclosesitupagain,leaningtheurnagainstarockwithaview. “There,”shesays.Herthroathurtslikethere’ssomethingbiginsideit,tryingtogetout.Danielcomesupandsqueezeshershoul-der,andshetakesthebabyfromhim.“Okay,”shesays.“That’sokay,isn’tit?” Danielsmiles.“There’ssomegrassoveryonder.Wecouldhaveusalittlepicnicthere.” Juniornods.“Alrighty.” Shedoesn’tlookbacktowhereherfather’sashesare.Thenextrain,sheknows,willwashthemdownandtakethemintothecreekandthey’llfeedthemountainandherdaddywillstretchonformilesandmiles,tryingtoreachthatplacehecouldneverquitegetbackto.Shehopethatshe’shelpedhimfindhisway. Inherarms,hersonwrigglesandsquirms.Hewasbornkickingandscreamingattheendof June,andLillianJuniorhadtakenonelookathimandknewhisnamewasn’tgoingtobeChristopher.Thenamejustdidn’tfitthisone,withhisrodeolegsandspiritthatherdaddycouldseebeforeanybodyelsecould.Hersoncouldn’tbecalledChristopher. SoshenamedhimWilliam,instead.

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WhenyoufindloveDon’tbesurprised

Whenit’snotinaredroseInaParisnightInagetaway

SomewherelikeParaguayWhereyoucanhideaway

andstayNo,it’snotalwaysballroomdancingOrthelove-at-first-glancething

TherearenosparksNofireworks

Nochoirof angelsorgoldenlightsDon’tbesurprised

Whenyoudon’tfinditontherainystreetsOrinthefallingsnowOrthepouringrainOrthebrightdaylightOrthesoftmoonlightIt’snotlikethemovies

Welcometotherealworld—

ButwhenyoufinditWhenyoufindyourloveDon’tbesurprised

Whenit’sthesmellof hisclothesNotthesmellof arose

Whenit’sthesmileonherfaceNotthetimeorplace

Whenit’swhathecan’tseemtosayNotwhatcheesywordshepoursoutWhenit’sthecharmof herlaughter

NotthesexyouwereafterWhenthesilenceisgolden

NotawkwardWhenyoucan’thelpbutsmile

EvenafterawhileIt’sthelittlethingsThatarealwaysSomuchbigger

Sodon’tbesurprised

Jordan DanfordDon’tBeSurprised

Thinkingbutrestraining,I’mabstaining.

Actionsrefrained,Thoughtsnowstraining.

Patiencesustained,Acruciallifelesson.

Nick ChaplowRestraint

-WithLove,TheOculusStaff.44

Special thanks toGwin’s Commercial Printing for twenty years

of help in producing the Oculus.

OculusVolume XX

2012