Prose
Fiction
Interlude
Jocelyn MacDonough
After the sun sets, you sit quietly in the front seat of the car as the chill of tranquility seeps deep into your skin. The streets are almost empty, white and red lights sending signals through the abyss of space. Look over at the pink and gold glasses and metallic jacket swimming in the dark sea. Sitting next to her feels much more natural than across from her ever did. You look away before she can blind you.
Burrow deeper in your clothes, resisting the urge to shiver. One more night, you remind yourself. The music thrums through the car and your body, clearing the buzz from your mind. Listening to her sing, you join in even though you never liked the song. But it’s her favorite; she danced to it while making fried rice. You ate all of yours before she could sit down, before the smell of sweet soy sauce reached your nose.
She asked you to eat seafood; you asked her to buy drinks. Carefully lift hers from the cupholder, condensation dampening your fingertips. The bitter aftertaste, left in your mouth from knowing she didn’t want to go, washes away with its sweet strawberry flavor.
For now, listen to her laugh and memorize everything she says. Enjoy sitting in the passenger seat one more time, absolved of responsibility. Being there is enough. When you get home, it will be to a house welcoming you with empty arms. Enjoy one last night before you wake up. Try to prolong the goodbye before she leaves, unable to look her in the eye. The door slams shut behind you.
Jocelyn MacDonough
After the sun sets, you sit quietly in the front seat of the car as the chill of tranquility seeps deep into your skin. The streets are almost empty, white and red lights sending signals through the abyss of space. Look over at the pink and gold glasses and metallic jacket swimming in the dark sea. Sitting next to her feels much more natural than across from her ever did. You look away before she can blind you.
Burrow deeper in your clothes, resisting the urge to shiver. One more night, you remind yourself. The music thrums through the car and your body, clearing the buzz from your mind. Listening to her sing, you join in even though you never liked the song. But it’s her favorite; she danced to it while making fried rice. You ate all of yours before she could sit down, before the smell of sweet soy sauce reached your nose.
She asked you to eat seafood; you asked her to buy drinks. Carefully lift hers from the cupholder, condensation dampening your fingertips. The bitter aftertaste, left in your mouth from knowing she didn’t want to go, washes away with its sweet strawberry flavor.
For now, listen to her laugh and memorize everything she says. Enjoy sitting in the passenger seat one more time, absolved of responsibility. Being there is enough. When you get home, it will be to a house welcoming you with empty arms. Enjoy one last night before you wake up. Try to prolong the goodbye before she leaves, unable to look her in the eye. The door slams shut behind you.
Just Friends
Anonymous
As they lay on the sand, he admires her while listening to all the stories she tells from when they were little kids. She doesn’t realize it until she catches herself doing it too and the tension in their eye contact speaks for itself. They had fallen in love.
Before that, she had wanted to go down to the beach to swim one last time before their vacation came to an end. He agreed, and they raced into the water without a care in the world. As they played in the water they noticed older couples on the pier observing them as if watching a film of their younger selves.
Before that, they were full of ice cream, clams, soda, and candy. He invited her for a walk along the beach and she gladly agreed. While walking and enjoying the beautiful scenery the beach provided and the warmth the sun laid across their skin, she laughed at his jokes and attempted to make better ones herself.
Before that, she got hungry and built up the courage to ask him to join her for lunch. Awkwardly, he agreed and they had an uncomfortable walk to the pier with minimal words exchanged. They decided to go to the clam shack and the food automatically intervened the awkwardness.
Before that, she avoided eye contact with him and he avoided eye contact with her. The tension and feeling of uncomfortableness drove a wedge in between them. It was obvious that she was thinking about it and to her, it was obvious he was thinking about it.
Before that, it was the last night of their vacation. She had planned on leaving the pool a bit earlier than everyone else in order to take a shower before bed. As she walked to her hotel room and began to prepare her shower, she heard a knock on her room door.
Before that, he had planned to leave a couple minutes after her so she wouldn’t notice. He walked up to her door, took a deep breath, and knocked twice. The second she opened the door he took her in his arms and kissed her.
Before that, they were just friends.
Anonymous
As they lay on the sand, he admires her while listening to all the stories she tells from when they were little kids. She doesn’t realize it until she catches herself doing it too and the tension in their eye contact speaks for itself. They had fallen in love.
Before that, she had wanted to go down to the beach to swim one last time before their vacation came to an end. He agreed, and they raced into the water without a care in the world. As they played in the water they noticed older couples on the pier observing them as if watching a film of their younger selves.
Before that, they were full of ice cream, clams, soda, and candy. He invited her for a walk along the beach and she gladly agreed. While walking and enjoying the beautiful scenery the beach provided and the warmth the sun laid across their skin, she laughed at his jokes and attempted to make better ones herself.
Before that, she got hungry and built up the courage to ask him to join her for lunch. Awkwardly, he agreed and they had an uncomfortable walk to the pier with minimal words exchanged. They decided to go to the clam shack and the food automatically intervened the awkwardness.
Before that, she avoided eye contact with him and he avoided eye contact with her. The tension and feeling of uncomfortableness drove a wedge in between them. It was obvious that she was thinking about it and to her, it was obvious he was thinking about it.
Before that, it was the last night of their vacation. She had planned on leaving the pool a bit earlier than everyone else in order to take a shower before bed. As she walked to her hotel room and began to prepare her shower, she heard a knock on her room door.
Before that, he had planned to leave a couple minutes after her so she wouldn’t notice. He walked up to her door, took a deep breath, and knocked twice. The second she opened the door he took her in his arms and kissed her.
Before that, they were just friends.
Lost
Anonymous
The newly married couple had just finished their first dance. Their eyes translated into nothing but utter love. Their tears of happiness were prominent in both the woman and the man’s eyes. This was the most significant day of their lives -- they both wanted to freeze time exactly where it was. Their lives would only move on from here, but from then on they planned for nothing short of an eternity together. The sound of laughter filled the air as the guests began to enjoy themselves. The woman and man finished up the last couple of bites of their cake before they sat still for a couple of minutes, soaking up the moment. No words were exchanged while the two sat with smiles on their faces, observing the scene around them.
For many years the man and woman continued to live in this state of pure bliss. They were still deeply in love and wanted to enjoy every second together. Unfortunately though, life eventually began to get in the way. The man slowly became overworked as he submerged himself in his job. He was a doctor so he worked many long hours at a time, and on the rare occasion that he was home, he was too exhausted to have energy for the woman.
Although the man and the woman never fought, they also never seemed to find time for each other and eventually both sides stopped trying. Instead of being life long soulmates, they turned more into roommates. Neither cheated, lied, or did anything mistrusting. They just coexisted. For many further years things went on like this. No fighting, no yelling, no arguing, just mutually existing in the same household.
Occasionally, when the woman was by herself, she would ponder and imagine the life that they could have had, being happy. But now that seemed like just a far away fantasy. Deep down she knew that she loved the man, but she also questioned why he never prioritized her.
Now, fast forward 34 years exactly from their wedding anniversary, the man, now old, sits alone at the table with tears overflowing his eyes. He sits there, completely filled with sorrow as he stares at the pale white anniversary cake that he had purchased for himself. Two months prior to the current date, the woman had passed away in a car accident that tragically took her life. She had been hit while driving, and she passed away a couple of hours after the incident when the doctors had failed to revive her. Since then, the man had become so consumed with regret that he quit his job. He would have given anything just to turn back the time to their wedding day. Before it all went wrong and he failed her. Now, he felt as though his life no longer had a purpose. Like he was lost.
Anonymous
The newly married couple had just finished their first dance. Their eyes translated into nothing but utter love. Their tears of happiness were prominent in both the woman and the man’s eyes. This was the most significant day of their lives -- they both wanted to freeze time exactly where it was. Their lives would only move on from here, but from then on they planned for nothing short of an eternity together. The sound of laughter filled the air as the guests began to enjoy themselves. The woman and man finished up the last couple of bites of their cake before they sat still for a couple of minutes, soaking up the moment. No words were exchanged while the two sat with smiles on their faces, observing the scene around them.
For many years the man and woman continued to live in this state of pure bliss. They were still deeply in love and wanted to enjoy every second together. Unfortunately though, life eventually began to get in the way. The man slowly became overworked as he submerged himself in his job. He was a doctor so he worked many long hours at a time, and on the rare occasion that he was home, he was too exhausted to have energy for the woman.
Although the man and the woman never fought, they also never seemed to find time for each other and eventually both sides stopped trying. Instead of being life long soulmates, they turned more into roommates. Neither cheated, lied, or did anything mistrusting. They just coexisted. For many further years things went on like this. No fighting, no yelling, no arguing, just mutually existing in the same household.
Occasionally, when the woman was by herself, she would ponder and imagine the life that they could have had, being happy. But now that seemed like just a far away fantasy. Deep down she knew that she loved the man, but she also questioned why he never prioritized her.
Now, fast forward 34 years exactly from their wedding anniversary, the man, now old, sits alone at the table with tears overflowing his eyes. He sits there, completely filled with sorrow as he stares at the pale white anniversary cake that he had purchased for himself. Two months prior to the current date, the woman had passed away in a car accident that tragically took her life. She had been hit while driving, and she passed away a couple of hours after the incident when the doctors had failed to revive her. Since then, the man had become so consumed with regret that he quit his job. He would have given anything just to turn back the time to their wedding day. Before it all went wrong and he failed her. Now, he felt as though his life no longer had a purpose. Like he was lost.
When The World Was Silenced
Anonymous
The tight straps of the gas mask which allowed me to breathe freely dug into the back of my head, distracting me on my way to work in this new, bleak world. Inside, a horde of people greeted me, everyone looked identical, wearing muted colors of thick garments that protected their skin from the toxins in the air and gas masks that covered their faces. I was one of the many, smothered in the itchy, constricting clothing that contained no individual aspects. My once bright eyes had turned dark and lifeless behind the mask.
I had begun to recognize people from the way they walked or the way they looped their shoelaces. I couldn’t welcome my desk partner anymore, my friend since Elementary School. In the beginning, I tried to grin at him in greeting, but it was pointless because nobody could see what was behind the mask.
A few years ago, there was a nuclear explosion that rattled the world. People died, their flesh burnt from their bones, animals shriveled, plants blackened and crumbled until all that was left was ashes. The destruction spread to nearby towns, until no one was safe. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission or the NRC tried to contain it and failed because it was combined with the very air we breathed in. They issued masks and protective clothing to everyone and quickly passed them out to families and residents until the deaths stopped.
It had been four continuous years of silence, no animals survived, plants were grown in greenhouses with artificial sunlight and oxygen. Every few months the government claimed to have new discoveries or breakthroughs. They were never successful and left people feeling more desperate.
Occasionally, someone ripped their mask off, convinced there weren't any toxins left in the air, only to die moments later. Others didn’t want to live in a world of silence and isolation.
A hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me back to reality. A gloved finger pointed to the screen at the front of the office. It showed a man on the news beaming with excitement as he skipping around outside without any protective gear. The black, scorched dirt contrasted to his bright orange shirt. The brightest color I had seen in years. The man was involved in a study with the NRC that was testing how clean the air was.
I watched him breath in the fresh air as I inhaled the stale oxygen from my mask with jealousy. A scientist appeared next, explaining that the world was safe again. My friend, whose face I haven’t seen in four years, pulled off his mask.
“It’s over,” he said as he wept, his voice raspy from being unheard for so long.
Anonymous
The tight straps of the gas mask which allowed me to breathe freely dug into the back of my head, distracting me on my way to work in this new, bleak world. Inside, a horde of people greeted me, everyone looked identical, wearing muted colors of thick garments that protected their skin from the toxins in the air and gas masks that covered their faces. I was one of the many, smothered in the itchy, constricting clothing that contained no individual aspects. My once bright eyes had turned dark and lifeless behind the mask.
I had begun to recognize people from the way they walked or the way they looped their shoelaces. I couldn’t welcome my desk partner anymore, my friend since Elementary School. In the beginning, I tried to grin at him in greeting, but it was pointless because nobody could see what was behind the mask.
A few years ago, there was a nuclear explosion that rattled the world. People died, their flesh burnt from their bones, animals shriveled, plants blackened and crumbled until all that was left was ashes. The destruction spread to nearby towns, until no one was safe. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission or the NRC tried to contain it and failed because it was combined with the very air we breathed in. They issued masks and protective clothing to everyone and quickly passed them out to families and residents until the deaths stopped.
It had been four continuous years of silence, no animals survived, plants were grown in greenhouses with artificial sunlight and oxygen. Every few months the government claimed to have new discoveries or breakthroughs. They were never successful and left people feeling more desperate.
Occasionally, someone ripped their mask off, convinced there weren't any toxins left in the air, only to die moments later. Others didn’t want to live in a world of silence and isolation.
A hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me back to reality. A gloved finger pointed to the screen at the front of the office. It showed a man on the news beaming with excitement as he skipping around outside without any protective gear. The black, scorched dirt contrasted to his bright orange shirt. The brightest color I had seen in years. The man was involved in a study with the NRC that was testing how clean the air was.
I watched him breath in the fresh air as I inhaled the stale oxygen from my mask with jealousy. A scientist appeared next, explaining that the world was safe again. My friend, whose face I haven’t seen in four years, pulled off his mask.
“It’s over,” he said as he wept, his voice raspy from being unheard for so long.
Before That Day
Isabel Moreno
Everything is drowned out. The pain oozing from my arm disappears, the cacophony of screams and chaos vanish, and time seems to slow to a stop. With both arms grasping tight to my brother, I hold him, and promise to never abandon him again.
Before that, silence erupted into disarray as I stood amidst a swarm of frantic people. Women cried, men shoved their way through the crowd, yelling and searching for their loved ones. I stood alone. The overwhelming noises echoed through my ears and I just wanted to close my eyes, cover my ears, and scream, but I couldn’t. I rubbed my eyes, but everything was tainted red from the blood that was trickling down my forehead.
Before that, an explosion sent everything and everyone flying through the air. It all happened in an instant- a burst of light, so bright it would blind thousands, followed by an earthquaking boom and roar. I could feel my hair stand straight up as the jarring rumble of the earth penetrated deep through my bones. A thick layer of dust coated the air and breathing became nearly impossible. Debris flew about, buildings came crashing down, not a voice was heard.
Before that, I strolled through the center of town. Tourists huddled in groups to watch live performances, musicians played their instruments and sang lovely tunes, dancers leaped and twirled through the streets, and people flooded in and out of the shops. Laughter and joy filled the air.
Before that, I hurled my backpack over my shoulder and kicked open the front door. My younger brother sat in the front yard, reading one of my favorite books. He looked up, concerned, eyes glistening with tears. As I stormed passed, he clung to my leg and pleaded with me to stay. I forced myself to look away as tears began to spill down his cheeks. I shook him off my leg and walked away, never looking back.
Before that day, I didn’t know that my life would be changed for the worse. I didn’t know that my home and the entire town I grew up in would be obliterated. Worst of all, I didn’t know that I would never see my family again. All that remained was the agonizing guilt that consumed my soul as I clung to my lifeless brother.
Isabel Moreno
Everything is drowned out. The pain oozing from my arm disappears, the cacophony of screams and chaos vanish, and time seems to slow to a stop. With both arms grasping tight to my brother, I hold him, and promise to never abandon him again.
Before that, silence erupted into disarray as I stood amidst a swarm of frantic people. Women cried, men shoved their way through the crowd, yelling and searching for their loved ones. I stood alone. The overwhelming noises echoed through my ears and I just wanted to close my eyes, cover my ears, and scream, but I couldn’t. I rubbed my eyes, but everything was tainted red from the blood that was trickling down my forehead.
Before that, an explosion sent everything and everyone flying through the air. It all happened in an instant- a burst of light, so bright it would blind thousands, followed by an earthquaking boom and roar. I could feel my hair stand straight up as the jarring rumble of the earth penetrated deep through my bones. A thick layer of dust coated the air and breathing became nearly impossible. Debris flew about, buildings came crashing down, not a voice was heard.
Before that, I strolled through the center of town. Tourists huddled in groups to watch live performances, musicians played their instruments and sang lovely tunes, dancers leaped and twirled through the streets, and people flooded in and out of the shops. Laughter and joy filled the air.
Before that, I hurled my backpack over my shoulder and kicked open the front door. My younger brother sat in the front yard, reading one of my favorite books. He looked up, concerned, eyes glistening with tears. As I stormed passed, he clung to my leg and pleaded with me to stay. I forced myself to look away as tears began to spill down his cheeks. I shook him off my leg and walked away, never looking back.
Before that day, I didn’t know that my life would be changed for the worse. I didn’t know that my home and the entire town I grew up in would be obliterated. Worst of all, I didn’t know that I would never see my family again. All that remained was the agonizing guilt that consumed my soul as I clung to my lifeless brother.
False Memories
Jay White
Dear Lioh,
I hope this letter finds you.
Eventually.
Where were you last night?
Don’t you remember?
Our anniversary? Our plans? The coffee shop? The one where we had our first date during senior year of high school. The one where we shared our first kiss on the burgundy stained bench outside of the shop in the bloom of spring. The one where we spent half our time during the summer before college having no care in the world of what came next. The one where you gave me your sweater in the brisk breeze of fall. The one where you showed up in tears after your mother—the catalyst to where we are now—told you she doesn't love you anymore because of who you love.
A week after the incident with your mother, I could smell something foreign on you. I don’t think you realize how long I have been aware of this invisible entity. It lingers and stands out like a dark stain.
At first I disregarded it as nothing but soon enough every tender kiss or intimate moment we shared felt false, like there was somewhere you’d rather be than here with me. As years passed, you no longer smelt like you—coffee and chocolate—rather someone else. I still didn’t want to jump to conclusions since you are quite popular, but then you started to show up late to our dates and I began to wonder.
Did you know that you suck at communicating? When you’re late for too long I always send frantic text messages to you. I can understand that you tend to be tardy at times, but when I’m all alone waiting for a response in visceral fear that something bad happened to you, it feels off putting. Sometimes I have to wait days for you to return. I can’t help but laugh at your superfluous excuses to flake. You always seem to be busied by an invisible force I cannot grasp, something that feeds you with endless audacity. When you try to explain yourself all I can hear is gibberish. Sometimes I think there is something wrong with me, but I have started to realize that maybe you see this relationship as transient. I never told you about it since I would rather be ignorant than have my rose tinted glasses shatter in my face instantly.
Where were you last night?
We have been together for ten years, but I have hated it since the third.
You are no longer the Lioh I have known to love and adore. You are the facade of a perfect world; the centerpiece of my dining room table; a luscious basket of fruit. You appear alluring from afar, but get a little closer and squint, and you’ll notice that your paint is chipping, revealing none other than chalk.
—Ricky
Jay White
Dear Lioh,
I hope this letter finds you.
Eventually.
Where were you last night?
Don’t you remember?
Our anniversary? Our plans? The coffee shop? The one where we had our first date during senior year of high school. The one where we shared our first kiss on the burgundy stained bench outside of the shop in the bloom of spring. The one where we spent half our time during the summer before college having no care in the world of what came next. The one where you gave me your sweater in the brisk breeze of fall. The one where you showed up in tears after your mother—the catalyst to where we are now—told you she doesn't love you anymore because of who you love.
A week after the incident with your mother, I could smell something foreign on you. I don’t think you realize how long I have been aware of this invisible entity. It lingers and stands out like a dark stain.
At first I disregarded it as nothing but soon enough every tender kiss or intimate moment we shared felt false, like there was somewhere you’d rather be than here with me. As years passed, you no longer smelt like you—coffee and chocolate—rather someone else. I still didn’t want to jump to conclusions since you are quite popular, but then you started to show up late to our dates and I began to wonder.
Did you know that you suck at communicating? When you’re late for too long I always send frantic text messages to you. I can understand that you tend to be tardy at times, but when I’m all alone waiting for a response in visceral fear that something bad happened to you, it feels off putting. Sometimes I have to wait days for you to return. I can’t help but laugh at your superfluous excuses to flake. You always seem to be busied by an invisible force I cannot grasp, something that feeds you with endless audacity. When you try to explain yourself all I can hear is gibberish. Sometimes I think there is something wrong with me, but I have started to realize that maybe you see this relationship as transient. I never told you about it since I would rather be ignorant than have my rose tinted glasses shatter in my face instantly.
Where were you last night?
We have been together for ten years, but I have hated it since the third.
You are no longer the Lioh I have known to love and adore. You are the facade of a perfect world; the centerpiece of my dining room table; a luscious basket of fruit. You appear alluring from afar, but get a little closer and squint, and you’ll notice that your paint is chipping, revealing none other than chalk.
—Ricky
Before That
Anonymous
I spent the majority of my night tossing and turning, nightmare after nightmare, trying to comprehend what had happened to me today. The night skies were black just like any night but the tree branches outside my window, falling to the ground from the powerful wind, sent me into an instant sweat. I couldn’t stop shaking all night and for the rest of the next day.
Before that, I got back to my house holding tightly onto my mom’s hand since we had left the school. She helped me get undressed and into the shower then assisted me with putting on some clean clothes as I was too numb to do it myself. She brought me to bed hugging and kissing me until I had fallen asleep. But I didn’t stay asleep for long.
Before that, I was pulled aside by one of the EMTS outside of the school. The fresh air blowing up against my skin helped me catch my breath and slowed my heart rate down a little bit. They just wanted to give me a check up and make sure everything was physically okay with my body before allowing me to go home.
Before that, a police officer found me hovering over a toilet seat in the women’s bathroom. They watched as tears streamed down my face and could see my body shivering with fear.
Before that, I heard a loud bang outside of the bathroom and curled myself up making sure my breaths were very soundless and short.
Before that, I heard the door open to the women’s bathroom. Through the crack of the stall there was this man., I couldn’t see much of him but what I did see was blood all over his left hand and a gun in his right hand. His footsteps kept getting louder and louder as he kept creeping closer to my stall by opening all the stalls along the way. All of a sudden he turned his head towards the door, there were noises coming from outside the bathroom. It sounded like a person was running in the halls so he had darted out of the bathroom.
Before that, an announcement had come over the speaker saying there was a lockdown. I ran had run into the big stall of the bathroom making sure no one would be able to see my feet by positioning them up on the toilet seat.
Before that, I heard forceful bangs and outcries approaching from down the hallway.
Before that, I had gotten dropped off by my mom at school and went to the bathroom to make sure my makeup and hair looked good before I heading was going to head to first period class.
Before that, I was excited for my last day of senior year.
Anonymous
I spent the majority of my night tossing and turning, nightmare after nightmare, trying to comprehend what had happened to me today. The night skies were black just like any night but the tree branches outside my window, falling to the ground from the powerful wind, sent me into an instant sweat. I couldn’t stop shaking all night and for the rest of the next day.
Before that, I got back to my house holding tightly onto my mom’s hand since we had left the school. She helped me get undressed and into the shower then assisted me with putting on some clean clothes as I was too numb to do it myself. She brought me to bed hugging and kissing me until I had fallen asleep. But I didn’t stay asleep for long.
Before that, I was pulled aside by one of the EMTS outside of the school. The fresh air blowing up against my skin helped me catch my breath and slowed my heart rate down a little bit. They just wanted to give me a check up and make sure everything was physically okay with my body before allowing me to go home.
Before that, a police officer found me hovering over a toilet seat in the women’s bathroom. They watched as tears streamed down my face and could see my body shivering with fear.
Before that, I heard a loud bang outside of the bathroom and curled myself up making sure my breaths were very soundless and short.
Before that, I heard the door open to the women’s bathroom. Through the crack of the stall there was this man., I couldn’t see much of him but what I did see was blood all over his left hand and a gun in his right hand. His footsteps kept getting louder and louder as he kept creeping closer to my stall by opening all the stalls along the way. All of a sudden he turned his head towards the door, there were noises coming from outside the bathroom. It sounded like a person was running in the halls so he had darted out of the bathroom.
Before that, an announcement had come over the speaker saying there was a lockdown. I ran had run into the big stall of the bathroom making sure no one would be able to see my feet by positioning them up on the toilet seat.
Before that, I heard forceful bangs and outcries approaching from down the hallway.
Before that, I had gotten dropped off by my mom at school and went to the bathroom to make sure my makeup and hair looked good before I heading was going to head to first period class.
Before that, I was excited for my last day of senior year.
Waiting for Forever
Anonymous
Where were you last night? The text message lit up my phone the morning after; it was from my best friend. I had left her house without telling her the day before. She was too busy having fun with the rest of our friends anyway. You stood next to your car parked in front of her house, waiting for me to come out. You’ve always joked about going for a ride sometime, just the two of us, but this time you were serious.
We drove for hours with nowhere to go, laughing the whole way. The absence of music was filled with comfortable and intimate conversation. It felt as if I had known you forever. You took my hand and held it loosely, running your thumb over mine. Everything felt so easy with you. We talked until the sun went down and your mother was wondering if you’d be home in time for dinner. You told me that you had to drive me home, but I didn’t want you to. Before you said goodbye you leaned into me as your lips met mine. Nothing could have more beauty than this moment, the feeling of falling for you.
Where were you last night? My phone buzzed with numerous message notifications, but I ignored them all. Not a single text was from you. I lay on my bed wondering why I am no longer enough. Last night I should have been with you, driving around for what felt like forever. I imagined you in the driver’s seat and me in the passenger seat. You would often glance at me sitting next to you, and reach for my hand to hold it tightly as we sang along to each other’s favorite songs. Every time you looked at me you reminded me how beautiful I was, especially my eyes. You described them as a golden, brown color then insisted on playing “Brown Eyed Girl” over and over again. Now, whenever I hear that song, it makes me think of us.
Except there is no “us”. I was no longer with you in the place that I had imagined. Instead, I was dwelling on my thoughts of where our spark had disappeared to. Can you recall the night we talked for hours, the night when you fell for me, and I fell for you? The same night when you told me that you wanted us to last forever. Where has forever gone? I stare at my bedroom ceiling thinking that I would do anything to be in that moment now. Please don’t forget the sound of my voice or the laughs we shared. The moment when I had no idea I would lose you. The moment I want to last forever.
Anonymous
Where were you last night? The text message lit up my phone the morning after; it was from my best friend. I had left her house without telling her the day before. She was too busy having fun with the rest of our friends anyway. You stood next to your car parked in front of her house, waiting for me to come out. You’ve always joked about going for a ride sometime, just the two of us, but this time you were serious.
We drove for hours with nowhere to go, laughing the whole way. The absence of music was filled with comfortable and intimate conversation. It felt as if I had known you forever. You took my hand and held it loosely, running your thumb over mine. Everything felt so easy with you. We talked until the sun went down and your mother was wondering if you’d be home in time for dinner. You told me that you had to drive me home, but I didn’t want you to. Before you said goodbye you leaned into me as your lips met mine. Nothing could have more beauty than this moment, the feeling of falling for you.
Where were you last night? My phone buzzed with numerous message notifications, but I ignored them all. Not a single text was from you. I lay on my bed wondering why I am no longer enough. Last night I should have been with you, driving around for what felt like forever. I imagined you in the driver’s seat and me in the passenger seat. You would often glance at me sitting next to you, and reach for my hand to hold it tightly as we sang along to each other’s favorite songs. Every time you looked at me you reminded me how beautiful I was, especially my eyes. You described them as a golden, brown color then insisted on playing “Brown Eyed Girl” over and over again. Now, whenever I hear that song, it makes me think of us.
Except there is no “us”. I was no longer with you in the place that I had imagined. Instead, I was dwelling on my thoughts of where our spark had disappeared to. Can you recall the night we talked for hours, the night when you fell for me, and I fell for you? The same night when you told me that you wanted us to last forever. Where has forever gone? I stare at my bedroom ceiling thinking that I would do anything to be in that moment now. Please don’t forget the sound of my voice or the laughs we shared. The moment when I had no idea I would lose you. The moment I want to last forever.
Same Words, New Meaning
Anonymous
He only texts me the words ¨I love you." His soft voice used to murmur those sweet words in my ears. He used to call my name out when I left when we were in public. ¨Hannah!¨ he would yell. My face would blush because I knew what he would say next. Those three words would capture the attention of people around us and I always laughed at him. ¨I love you too,¨ I would giggle back through my smile. He used to greet me with a hug and an ¨I love you¨ after every one of my soccer games. He would sing every love song in his car. In between kisses he would pull away and say those words of comfort as he looked me in the eyes. He was never shy. He was proud to love me. Now he only texts me ¨I love you.¨
Ella and I walked to biology the other day. She asked where he was, said she hadn't seen him in ages. Me neither, I thought as I felt a knot form in my throat. It had been weeks of only talking in school, dry phone calls, and depressing texts. I wanted my boy back. I swallowed and told her he was around. Act fine, I'm sure it is all okay. I breathed and willed it to be true.
Last night I called him angry. He wasn't at my soccer game. The only one he had has missed in three years. I asked where he was. He said he forgot. Without realizing it a tear fell from my eye. A streak of black mascara ran down my cheek, and I wiped it away with a single motion. Softly sniffing, I chose to forgive. We chatted for a while, just about our days. He seemed sad. Was he sad about me? I asked him to come over on Friday. I miss him and it's been so long. He coughed and said his mom was calling for him downstairs. He must have forgotten I grew up at his house- his mom works until till eight on Wednesday nights.
I close my eyes. Just breathe. ¨Okay, I love you,¨ my voice laced with anticipation to finally hear those words I crave to hear again. The phone clicked. Silence.
He only texts me he loves me.
The words have no meaning. It's been so long since he's held me in his arms and combed through my hair. So long since he has whispered those words. He can't say the words aloud anymore. He acts as though they could kill him.
He only texts me ¨I love you¨ and that kills me.
Anonymous
He only texts me the words ¨I love you." His soft voice used to murmur those sweet words in my ears. He used to call my name out when I left when we were in public. ¨Hannah!¨ he would yell. My face would blush because I knew what he would say next. Those three words would capture the attention of people around us and I always laughed at him. ¨I love you too,¨ I would giggle back through my smile. He used to greet me with a hug and an ¨I love you¨ after every one of my soccer games. He would sing every love song in his car. In between kisses he would pull away and say those words of comfort as he looked me in the eyes. He was never shy. He was proud to love me. Now he only texts me ¨I love you.¨
Ella and I walked to biology the other day. She asked where he was, said she hadn't seen him in ages. Me neither, I thought as I felt a knot form in my throat. It had been weeks of only talking in school, dry phone calls, and depressing texts. I wanted my boy back. I swallowed and told her he was around. Act fine, I'm sure it is all okay. I breathed and willed it to be true.
Last night I called him angry. He wasn't at my soccer game. The only one he had has missed in three years. I asked where he was. He said he forgot. Without realizing it a tear fell from my eye. A streak of black mascara ran down my cheek, and I wiped it away with a single motion. Softly sniffing, I chose to forgive. We chatted for a while, just about our days. He seemed sad. Was he sad about me? I asked him to come over on Friday. I miss him and it's been so long. He coughed and said his mom was calling for him downstairs. He must have forgotten I grew up at his house- his mom works until till eight on Wednesday nights.
I close my eyes. Just breathe. ¨Okay, I love you,¨ my voice laced with anticipation to finally hear those words I crave to hear again. The phone clicked. Silence.
He only texts me he loves me.
The words have no meaning. It's been so long since he's held me in his arms and combed through my hair. So long since he has whispered those words. He can't say the words aloud anymore. He acts as though they could kill him.
He only texts me ¨I love you¨ and that kills me.
The Raincoat
Riley Howard
There it hung. A pink, polka-dotted raincoat hanging almost lifelessly. It appeared smooth, yet waxy to the touch. The sleeves now gripped my elbows instead of my wrists. As it hung delicately on the brass hook in the back of the hallway closet, a sense of remembrance bubbled through my veins. I pressed my ear against the cold jacket and could still hear the sounds of laughter as cold, fresh water droplets absorbed into my tongue. The mildew scent of wet, dark wood filled my nose. Rain slapping the green spring leaves generated a sense of peace, as the humidity grabbed my skin. A gentle breeze tousled my hair, and freshness filled the air, smelling like new beginnings, and thus decontaminating my body through each breath. My sister’s contagious laugh sang along to the sounds of birds singing, and a dove in the distance began to mourn. As small rodents hid under damp, rotting logs, tiny droplets covered their backs. Cracking sticks echoed with each step into the forest, and trees purposely dripped their tears on my head as I passed underneath. Moss clung to the crying trees, glowing a vibrant green. The forest floor was a pillow as my sister and I kneeled under a large, green plant. Acting as an umbrella, the plant sheltered us from the rain, creating a sense of warmth and safety. My hand effortlessly slipped into my sister’s, exchanging love between our fingertips. As I stared at the raincoat in the dark closet, envying my younger self, a wave of sadness rushed through my body. I then grabbed the bigger, black raincoat hanging beside it.
Riley Howard
There it hung. A pink, polka-dotted raincoat hanging almost lifelessly. It appeared smooth, yet waxy to the touch. The sleeves now gripped my elbows instead of my wrists. As it hung delicately on the brass hook in the back of the hallway closet, a sense of remembrance bubbled through my veins. I pressed my ear against the cold jacket and could still hear the sounds of laughter as cold, fresh water droplets absorbed into my tongue. The mildew scent of wet, dark wood filled my nose. Rain slapping the green spring leaves generated a sense of peace, as the humidity grabbed my skin. A gentle breeze tousled my hair, and freshness filled the air, smelling like new beginnings, and thus decontaminating my body through each breath. My sister’s contagious laugh sang along to the sounds of birds singing, and a dove in the distance began to mourn. As small rodents hid under damp, rotting logs, tiny droplets covered their backs. Cracking sticks echoed with each step into the forest, and trees purposely dripped their tears on my head as I passed underneath. Moss clung to the crying trees, glowing a vibrant green. The forest floor was a pillow as my sister and I kneeled under a large, green plant. Acting as an umbrella, the plant sheltered us from the rain, creating a sense of warmth and safety. My hand effortlessly slipped into my sister’s, exchanging love between our fingertips. As I stared at the raincoat in the dark closet, envying my younger self, a wave of sadness rushed through my body. I then grabbed the bigger, black raincoat hanging beside it.
Alcea Rose
Jewel Dolat
Sunrises become more beautiful the less you get to see them. The only picture of them found in your memory until one day you get to see one with your eyes for the first time in years. Nothing compares to the utter euphoria found waking at the picture perfect time to venture into a scene straight out of a movie.
The sketchbook drops at her feet, right next to the cat sleeping under the rising sun. Attempts to capture warm colors effortlessly bleeding within one another never perfectly fits on paper. Time flies too fast, and once one section is finished the next has dissipated into the typical baby blue. Nothing better to do in times like these than enjoy the sky, binding another memory in the mental collection of the best place to be. With a sigh darkness consumes her, consciousness joining the peaceful feline.
~~~
Waves crash on the shore, salt covering toes and fingers and hearts. A small girl runs through the sand laughing with no cares in the world. She looks adoringly to the sun, rising over the midnight water. Wind pushes her in, dipping the tips of her toes into what feels like ice. As she yelps, a laugh comes from behind her.
A girl her age, maybe a year older, laughs and laughs at her audible reaction to the cold. Rather than embarrassment, she embraces the shame and laughs right back. She chases the girl around the beach with a smile. The sun continues to shine on the duo as the beach floods with more people.
Babies and teens and adults and elders join the pair, yet they never seem to notice their stares. Dawn has barely risen and these kids have taken over. In their minds the beach is theirs, and none of the others are even there.
~~~
They lay in a field with flowers and smiles. Their night of stargazing and storytelling extended farther than planned, leading to a nap above the rising sun. The older girl sleeps at the youngers feet. She stays still with a smile, afraid any slight movement could shock her awake.
Turning her head, happy birthday banners line her back door. Never one for parties, she couldn’t help but run. She told her mom to not have one this year. They are always too loud and bright and never have an ending in sight. She didn’t want to spend her thirteenth birthday with anybody anyways. Anybody but her, that is to say.
She was always the only one who understood the girl. When parents and friends told her she had to be a certain way, she never let those thoughts stay vacant in her mind. When she lost her mind in crowded spaces, she was the first one to grasp her hand and lead her outside. When the mean boy threw away her artwork, calling it a “worthless passion”, she was the one who bought her a new sketchbook tied with a floral ribbon.
~~~
The car halted on the side of the road, the smaller girl jumping out of the passengers seat. After a long trip resulting in a seven hour car ride, one would assume the duo to have tired out. Acting as each others caffeine, they fed one another energy. At least enough to notice a hurt kitten in the middle of the road, illuminated by the slowly rising sun.
She held the frail baby as her friend rushed to her side, the nearest veterinarians office on the line. Little meows and cries came from the kittens mouth, silent tears falling from all three of their eyes.
With no houses for miles, the stranded kitten joined the girls for the final end of their trip. The nearest place that could save the day happened to just so luckily be on the way home. Trying her best not to drive above the speed limit, the older girl rushed to bring the baby cat to proper care. Her friend held the kitten close, whispering “there there miss kitty, it’ll all be okay” into her frail little ear.
As they sat in the waiting room, the younger girl looked over her shoulder to see a custom collar with “Miss Kitty” written on it being purchased from her friends phone.
~~~
The young girl sat on her doorstep holding an Alcea Rosea in her palm. At nineteen years old she never expected the flower meaning remembrance and epiphany to encapsulate her the way it did. After gifts of friendship, happiness, passion, and love, the flower had a hold on her like no other.
The last thing the older girl gifted her was a bouquet of flowers. The dark red she originally assumed to be a deep and passionate love stabbed her in the chest with a pain of none other. No matter how hard she tried she could never forget her friend. She let out the laugh she slowly stole from the older girl, thinking of how stupid of a choice. She had known her like the back of her hand. In no universe would she forget her. A final gift should have been one of grief, as that was all she could feel at the moment.
Sobs escaped her lips as she threw the flower into the walkway. Everything had been perfect, how could it have gone so wrong. She looked up to the warm colors filling the sky, wondering how it could feel the same without her friend by her side.
~~~
When she opens her eyes, the cat had migrated from her feet to her chest, purring loudly in her ear with a comfort only capable in a feline friend. The sun had fully risen while she had been asleep, a sadness washing over her at the realization. With a sigh she grabs the same sketchbook she held dear to her heart since she was gifted it as an antisocial kid.
No matter how full the pages would get, she refused to let the story held within it end. Each corner could fit one more sketch if she used her space wisely. Although, as the day the space inevitably ran out creeps closer, the fear she used to feel became replaced by a calmer wave of peace.
The story of her long gone friend was everywhere around her. Whether the Alcea Rosea withers away or not, the sun will continue to rise every day at around the same time.
Jewel Dolat
Sunrises become more beautiful the less you get to see them. The only picture of them found in your memory until one day you get to see one with your eyes for the first time in years. Nothing compares to the utter euphoria found waking at the picture perfect time to venture into a scene straight out of a movie.
The sketchbook drops at her feet, right next to the cat sleeping under the rising sun. Attempts to capture warm colors effortlessly bleeding within one another never perfectly fits on paper. Time flies too fast, and once one section is finished the next has dissipated into the typical baby blue. Nothing better to do in times like these than enjoy the sky, binding another memory in the mental collection of the best place to be. With a sigh darkness consumes her, consciousness joining the peaceful feline.
~~~
Waves crash on the shore, salt covering toes and fingers and hearts. A small girl runs through the sand laughing with no cares in the world. She looks adoringly to the sun, rising over the midnight water. Wind pushes her in, dipping the tips of her toes into what feels like ice. As she yelps, a laugh comes from behind her.
A girl her age, maybe a year older, laughs and laughs at her audible reaction to the cold. Rather than embarrassment, she embraces the shame and laughs right back. She chases the girl around the beach with a smile. The sun continues to shine on the duo as the beach floods with more people.
Babies and teens and adults and elders join the pair, yet they never seem to notice their stares. Dawn has barely risen and these kids have taken over. In their minds the beach is theirs, and none of the others are even there.
~~~
They lay in a field with flowers and smiles. Their night of stargazing and storytelling extended farther than planned, leading to a nap above the rising sun. The older girl sleeps at the youngers feet. She stays still with a smile, afraid any slight movement could shock her awake.
Turning her head, happy birthday banners line her back door. Never one for parties, she couldn’t help but run. She told her mom to not have one this year. They are always too loud and bright and never have an ending in sight. She didn’t want to spend her thirteenth birthday with anybody anyways. Anybody but her, that is to say.
She was always the only one who understood the girl. When parents and friends told her she had to be a certain way, she never let those thoughts stay vacant in her mind. When she lost her mind in crowded spaces, she was the first one to grasp her hand and lead her outside. When the mean boy threw away her artwork, calling it a “worthless passion”, she was the one who bought her a new sketchbook tied with a floral ribbon.
~~~
The car halted on the side of the road, the smaller girl jumping out of the passengers seat. After a long trip resulting in a seven hour car ride, one would assume the duo to have tired out. Acting as each others caffeine, they fed one another energy. At least enough to notice a hurt kitten in the middle of the road, illuminated by the slowly rising sun.
She held the frail baby as her friend rushed to her side, the nearest veterinarians office on the line. Little meows and cries came from the kittens mouth, silent tears falling from all three of their eyes.
With no houses for miles, the stranded kitten joined the girls for the final end of their trip. The nearest place that could save the day happened to just so luckily be on the way home. Trying her best not to drive above the speed limit, the older girl rushed to bring the baby cat to proper care. Her friend held the kitten close, whispering “there there miss kitty, it’ll all be okay” into her frail little ear.
As they sat in the waiting room, the younger girl looked over her shoulder to see a custom collar with “Miss Kitty” written on it being purchased from her friends phone.
~~~
The young girl sat on her doorstep holding an Alcea Rosea in her palm. At nineteen years old she never expected the flower meaning remembrance and epiphany to encapsulate her the way it did. After gifts of friendship, happiness, passion, and love, the flower had a hold on her like no other.
The last thing the older girl gifted her was a bouquet of flowers. The dark red she originally assumed to be a deep and passionate love stabbed her in the chest with a pain of none other. No matter how hard she tried she could never forget her friend. She let out the laugh she slowly stole from the older girl, thinking of how stupid of a choice. She had known her like the back of her hand. In no universe would she forget her. A final gift should have been one of grief, as that was all she could feel at the moment.
Sobs escaped her lips as she threw the flower into the walkway. Everything had been perfect, how could it have gone so wrong. She looked up to the warm colors filling the sky, wondering how it could feel the same without her friend by her side.
~~~
When she opens her eyes, the cat had migrated from her feet to her chest, purring loudly in her ear with a comfort only capable in a feline friend. The sun had fully risen while she had been asleep, a sadness washing over her at the realization. With a sigh she grabs the same sketchbook she held dear to her heart since she was gifted it as an antisocial kid.
No matter how full the pages would get, she refused to let the story held within it end. Each corner could fit one more sketch if she used her space wisely. Although, as the day the space inevitably ran out creeps closer, the fear she used to feel became replaced by a calmer wave of peace.
The story of her long gone friend was everywhere around her. Whether the Alcea Rosea withers away or not, the sun will continue to rise every day at around the same time.
Nonfiction
I Want to Get Married
Jewel Dolat
I want to get married, kindergarteners say to each other on the playground as parents laugh by the fences.
I want to get married, her boyfriend says while on one knee, romantic auras all around them in the place where they first met.
I want to get married, I am forced to scribe on a protest sign in bold rainbow ink as for some reason the idea of me loving another woman offends people.
Human beings love to spread love through one another, but that can only be certified on certain conditions. The idea that banning love and happiness between two people completely appalls me. They act as if feeling joy with another genuinely hurts them and makes them feel unsafe. As if me existing makes them feel unsafe.
All of my life I have felt out of place. In elementary school every girl had a boyfriend or a crush or just some boy-crazy feelings. I never felt that, ever in my life. I felt so distant from others my age I faked a crush on some boy in my class to validate myself as not being weird. I never even told anybody, just kept it to myself to internally feel normal.
I never could relate to the movies. Never could relate to the books. The fairytales, the stories, the memories passed down through photographs and words spoken from my grandmothers lips. But I tried. I tried and tried to force myself to like men. To think they were cute, or something I held slight interest in. Someone I could picture myself falling in love with. But that never happened. It never did and it never will and I either will die alone or with a woman, if the government decides to let me.
We do not sexualize ourselves, but rather are sexualized. For example, how is it okay for Disney to teach borderline sexual assault to children through a non-consentual kiss in “The Sleeping Beauty” as perfect romance, yet two women holding hands has sexual orientation? Disney fairytales exist to entertain people, but a woman walking down the street with another woman does not. If a person becomes uncomfortable or believes I am committing a sexual act for existing then why was I shown fairytales? Taught heterosexual love stories?
I am not attracted to men, and never will be. So if seeing the story of the opposite sexuality is inappropriate, then why was I shown men and women kissing in every single movie I watched growing up?
Billions of people exist on this planet. Absolute peace and agreeance essentially will never occur. But the idea of one person in power believing that their voice outshines millions of others within the country never will sit right with me. People in government speak for everyone in the United States, not just those they agree with. By creating a country for their opinions only, then they would have done nothing but do their job poorly.
I want to get married. I want to get married someday and no conceited, powerful man will stop me. This country will never be fully safe for us, but plane tickets exist and if that is my last resort than so be it. I will get married to a woman, whether it bothers you or not.
Jewel Dolat
I want to get married, kindergarteners say to each other on the playground as parents laugh by the fences.
I want to get married, her boyfriend says while on one knee, romantic auras all around them in the place where they first met.
I want to get married, I am forced to scribe on a protest sign in bold rainbow ink as for some reason the idea of me loving another woman offends people.
Human beings love to spread love through one another, but that can only be certified on certain conditions. The idea that banning love and happiness between two people completely appalls me. They act as if feeling joy with another genuinely hurts them and makes them feel unsafe. As if me existing makes them feel unsafe.
All of my life I have felt out of place. In elementary school every girl had a boyfriend or a crush or just some boy-crazy feelings. I never felt that, ever in my life. I felt so distant from others my age I faked a crush on some boy in my class to validate myself as not being weird. I never even told anybody, just kept it to myself to internally feel normal.
I never could relate to the movies. Never could relate to the books. The fairytales, the stories, the memories passed down through photographs and words spoken from my grandmothers lips. But I tried. I tried and tried to force myself to like men. To think they were cute, or something I held slight interest in. Someone I could picture myself falling in love with. But that never happened. It never did and it never will and I either will die alone or with a woman, if the government decides to let me.
We do not sexualize ourselves, but rather are sexualized. For example, how is it okay for Disney to teach borderline sexual assault to children through a non-consentual kiss in “The Sleeping Beauty” as perfect romance, yet two women holding hands has sexual orientation? Disney fairytales exist to entertain people, but a woman walking down the street with another woman does not. If a person becomes uncomfortable or believes I am committing a sexual act for existing then why was I shown fairytales? Taught heterosexual love stories?
I am not attracted to men, and never will be. So if seeing the story of the opposite sexuality is inappropriate, then why was I shown men and women kissing in every single movie I watched growing up?
Billions of people exist on this planet. Absolute peace and agreeance essentially will never occur. But the idea of one person in power believing that their voice outshines millions of others within the country never will sit right with me. People in government speak for everyone in the United States, not just those they agree with. By creating a country for their opinions only, then they would have done nothing but do their job poorly.
I want to get married. I want to get married someday and no conceited, powerful man will stop me. This country will never be fully safe for us, but plane tickets exist and if that is my last resort than so be it. I will get married to a woman, whether it bothers you or not.
Running…
Monty Gomes
I saw a special ed kid, in a blue shirt and jeans, run into the library where I was working on a literary project today. It was a literary analysis, something due on Monday, December 18th. I watched as he was grabbed, hugged, by an older woman wearing red.
“No Thanksies!” I seemed to have heard from her, “No running!”
I saw him get pulled back and struggle with her through the glass of the library doors. I watched with sorrow, it almost brought me to tears. It was maybe one of the principals, clad in a blue dress shirt and a walkie-talkie, who joined in to oversee the commotion in the hallway.
I’ve taken time to reflect now. This was in December 2023, it’s January 2024. I think of myself, I think of my brother. I still remember the moment, vaguely, of seeing that poor kid struggling behind the glass, slowly pulled away from my vision. I think of my brother. He’s an undergraduate in Wachusett Regional High School, the school I’m currently a junior in. He’s a special ed kid too. If that’s how people like him are treated, I can’t imagine that goes on behind closed doors. They remind me of the closed doors I was behind, all those years ago. I think of my brother. My poor brother. I’ve seen him in the halls, I’ve had glimpses of his life in this school. I’ve seen him filling up the empty vending machines with the other special ed kids, under the watch of the teachers. My poor brother, cooped up in the camping trailer, cooped up in that passenger seat, wailing and sobbing. This poor little sister, feeling burdened with the responsibility, trying to care for her older brother. That sister was me. There’s so many instances, so many little stories of times I had to be the bigger sister, and times where I still have to be. I remember so much but so little, everything blank, everything aged between the walls; old, layered wallpapers stuck to the drywall. So far, yet so close. I come running to my memories only to realize that they’re all stories or visages I cannot easily recognize as my own. Some memories are stark, some come running to me to come, yelling, screaming my name. I watch it all, startled to recall it all or embarrassed to know such a thing happened.
Why aren’t we allowed to run? What made that boy run in the first place? What made me run? What pulls at very heartstrings like a harp, what pulls at me so strongly when I witness something I cannot understand, yet deeply empathize with? Such a world as multifaceted as this one is not built for people like him. Never built for people like my brother, never built for anyone like me. It fits us in claustrophobic boxes, into categories, into labels and diagnostics. All into these tight social structures and social constructs built by the generation before us. Restricted; grappled into this compliance. Left to writhe instead of dance. Pulled like puppets, we are left to conform. This speaks for all of us, this is a self-inflicted act. We oppress what we do not understand, generation after generation, and we pick our humanity and history apart. We pick it apart to reveal cruelty and we see a continuity of it. I remember the days, the weeks, the months, the years where I was unaware of my own diagnosis. I was diagnosed with an outdated diagnosis for autism at the age of 2, DDNOS, Developmental Disorder Not Other Specified. I would be in my own world, from what the stories told me. For all the time I had grown up, from elementary school to middle school, I was aware I was different. The bullying that I had gone through throughout that time helped enforce that awareness. I was made fun for my appearance, I was made fun of for my behavior. They picked me apart and called me names. I barely remember it all that well anymore, but I remember the ache, the loneliness, the feeling of being misunderstood. I couldn’t tell if they were being genuine or not. I always took what they said genuinely, I always found myself being the most gullible one.
I wasn’t the only gullible one. I think of my brother. I think of my father. I reminisce of the days when we were all together, those anxious moments, when it was just the three of us. The instances where I would witness my dad appease my brother by always saying yes to his inquiries on going to the movies. Each and every time, I would witness him drive right past the theaters. I remember the blasting music, I recall the way my fathers lips would twitch, the way he would sneer, the way he would tense. I remember how he yelled at my poor brother, wailing and crying at the notion of never going to the movies. I remember the raw screams my brother would make as he dug his fingers into his ears against the jarring music. I remember everything but myself. It was like I wasn’t there in the backseat. I would blankly stare at the moving road ahead; numb to my distressing surroundings. No wonder why I hated long car rides. No wonder why I worried so much. Something always seemed to go wrong those days. I had to be vigilant. I had to be prepared for anything that could come at me, and I had to be compliant. I was introduced to the internet at the age of six. I was introduced to our first shared IPod around the same time as well. I vaguely remember times my brother and I fought for it. I reminisce on those days of mimicry, stubbornness, and mischief. All of it is such a blur to me now. Once again, they were all stories I remember from my father’s or my mother’s mouth. Or are they? It’s hard to tell nowadays. I recall hiding, sneaking, and lying. I did things behind their backs. I’ve always been told it’s because I wanted to do things I just couldn’t do yet, it was to keep me safe. I was supposed to wait. I remember wishing to escape from where I was. As my brother disappeared into the realms of cinema, cartoons, and film, I was left alone. There were times I felt extremely alone, confused, and misunderstood. I wished to escape that loneliness and fear through the embrace of escapism. I escaped in so many different ways. I played pretend, I had imaginary friends. I used to pretend I was an animal instead of a human, simply to escape, simply because I felt better being something else than human. I didn’t feel all that human to begin with. I think of the reasons why and I think of how I was treated.
I think of my father. He could never seem to understand, I don’t think he ever will. I don’t think he’ll comprehend the ways I prance with the world around me. He never even dared to try to understand my brother. I know he loved us, I know he is only human, and I’m aware he endlessly tried. Yet, he never seemed to understand. Too many parents have seen children with Autism as a burden. Something that weighs them, something that stresses them, something that stifles them. I recall that it only angered my father. It created great floodgates of bubbling, broiling frustration that burst into great fits of anger. Organizations only make this vile view of Autism worse. They preach cures, they perpetuate the cycle of fear, that the child they hold in their arms is diseased, is sick, is this strange, hurt, and aching animal in need of remedying. Autism is something that is part of the person. Our very brains are wired differently, there is no cure. There is no cure. Sometimes, I think my father thought of my poor brother as a burden. I watched that man yell and hit a wailing child as a child myself. I was young, too young to even begin to understand. I seeked comfort in my mother’s room from that mistreatment. Yet, no matter how much I hid, I always had to come back to it. I always had to witness this recklessness. This irresponsibility, this perceived carelessness. This impatience was painful to witness, yet I had no choice but to be a bystander. At times, I was the one thrown angry words and names at. Frequently enough for me to be frightened by sandals up the stairs. Frequently enough for me to be a deer in headlights whenever I tried to confront him. In shambles during therapy trying to reconcile with him, and in this perpetual cycle of abuse.
Now, I stand here, fractured, confused and stumbling. I grip at the sides of my broken mirror. Glass has embedded its shards into my palms and feet. Every step I take shall be a reminder to try and pull out those glassy splinters. Was it me who broke this mirror? Or was it something else that did? Half of me is pulled to remember, the other wishes to forget. Ever since the pandemic hit, the isolation deepens, blooming in a way it hasn’t ever done before. It becomes a teal sunflower. I stumbled into a world I didn’t understand. I fell through a door that was once closed to my sight. Dissociation. Feeling as though I was never there. Days where I don’t remember conversations, days where I couldn’t understand my emotions, times where I stood blank and emotionless at yelling and upsetting events until after, until it all came pouring out of me. Inner conflict and multiple little voices. I stand here now, I stand in the present, bewildered. Bewildered at the notion of my lack of memory of my childhood. I stay bewildered by the confusion. The self-doubt of what I experience even when everything comes to me in tenacious ways. I reflect on my blurring days and I recall the lingering loneliness that I’ve dragged with me all these years. I feel adrift on the calm seas. I feel like a ghost of the past in my own home. Trauma works in mysterious ways, and yet I understand it. I’ve lived it and I’m still healing from it. My brother and I have resilience, as all people do. We’ve survived, and we’re finally beginning to live.
Despite everything, I still stand, we still stand. Vague as memory remains atop the drywall, I’m still here. I’ll still run, but not from the world, but towards it. My mirror is broken, but has that mattered? It’s still a mirror. I prance with myself, I dance with defiance. I am still a person, and you should see me and my brother as such. I am graced with my voice and I shall scream my word into the night, for others are not as fortunate as I. I shall answer with anything but silence, I shall take the final sprint until my legs buckle, for all the labels upon my back shall never define me. So, run, kid, run, this dying generation can’t catch us.
Monty Gomes
I saw a special ed kid, in a blue shirt and jeans, run into the library where I was working on a literary project today. It was a literary analysis, something due on Monday, December 18th. I watched as he was grabbed, hugged, by an older woman wearing red.
“No Thanksies!” I seemed to have heard from her, “No running!”
I saw him get pulled back and struggle with her through the glass of the library doors. I watched with sorrow, it almost brought me to tears. It was maybe one of the principals, clad in a blue dress shirt and a walkie-talkie, who joined in to oversee the commotion in the hallway.
I’ve taken time to reflect now. This was in December 2023, it’s January 2024. I think of myself, I think of my brother. I still remember the moment, vaguely, of seeing that poor kid struggling behind the glass, slowly pulled away from my vision. I think of my brother. He’s an undergraduate in Wachusett Regional High School, the school I’m currently a junior in. He’s a special ed kid too. If that’s how people like him are treated, I can’t imagine that goes on behind closed doors. They remind me of the closed doors I was behind, all those years ago. I think of my brother. My poor brother. I’ve seen him in the halls, I’ve had glimpses of his life in this school. I’ve seen him filling up the empty vending machines with the other special ed kids, under the watch of the teachers. My poor brother, cooped up in the camping trailer, cooped up in that passenger seat, wailing and sobbing. This poor little sister, feeling burdened with the responsibility, trying to care for her older brother. That sister was me. There’s so many instances, so many little stories of times I had to be the bigger sister, and times where I still have to be. I remember so much but so little, everything blank, everything aged between the walls; old, layered wallpapers stuck to the drywall. So far, yet so close. I come running to my memories only to realize that they’re all stories or visages I cannot easily recognize as my own. Some memories are stark, some come running to me to come, yelling, screaming my name. I watch it all, startled to recall it all or embarrassed to know such a thing happened.
Why aren’t we allowed to run? What made that boy run in the first place? What made me run? What pulls at very heartstrings like a harp, what pulls at me so strongly when I witness something I cannot understand, yet deeply empathize with? Such a world as multifaceted as this one is not built for people like him. Never built for people like my brother, never built for anyone like me. It fits us in claustrophobic boxes, into categories, into labels and diagnostics. All into these tight social structures and social constructs built by the generation before us. Restricted; grappled into this compliance. Left to writhe instead of dance. Pulled like puppets, we are left to conform. This speaks for all of us, this is a self-inflicted act. We oppress what we do not understand, generation after generation, and we pick our humanity and history apart. We pick it apart to reveal cruelty and we see a continuity of it. I remember the days, the weeks, the months, the years where I was unaware of my own diagnosis. I was diagnosed with an outdated diagnosis for autism at the age of 2, DDNOS, Developmental Disorder Not Other Specified. I would be in my own world, from what the stories told me. For all the time I had grown up, from elementary school to middle school, I was aware I was different. The bullying that I had gone through throughout that time helped enforce that awareness. I was made fun for my appearance, I was made fun of for my behavior. They picked me apart and called me names. I barely remember it all that well anymore, but I remember the ache, the loneliness, the feeling of being misunderstood. I couldn’t tell if they were being genuine or not. I always took what they said genuinely, I always found myself being the most gullible one.
I wasn’t the only gullible one. I think of my brother. I think of my father. I reminisce of the days when we were all together, those anxious moments, when it was just the three of us. The instances where I would witness my dad appease my brother by always saying yes to his inquiries on going to the movies. Each and every time, I would witness him drive right past the theaters. I remember the blasting music, I recall the way my fathers lips would twitch, the way he would sneer, the way he would tense. I remember how he yelled at my poor brother, wailing and crying at the notion of never going to the movies. I remember the raw screams my brother would make as he dug his fingers into his ears against the jarring music. I remember everything but myself. It was like I wasn’t there in the backseat. I would blankly stare at the moving road ahead; numb to my distressing surroundings. No wonder why I hated long car rides. No wonder why I worried so much. Something always seemed to go wrong those days. I had to be vigilant. I had to be prepared for anything that could come at me, and I had to be compliant. I was introduced to the internet at the age of six. I was introduced to our first shared IPod around the same time as well. I vaguely remember times my brother and I fought for it. I reminisce on those days of mimicry, stubbornness, and mischief. All of it is such a blur to me now. Once again, they were all stories I remember from my father’s or my mother’s mouth. Or are they? It’s hard to tell nowadays. I recall hiding, sneaking, and lying. I did things behind their backs. I’ve always been told it’s because I wanted to do things I just couldn’t do yet, it was to keep me safe. I was supposed to wait. I remember wishing to escape from where I was. As my brother disappeared into the realms of cinema, cartoons, and film, I was left alone. There were times I felt extremely alone, confused, and misunderstood. I wished to escape that loneliness and fear through the embrace of escapism. I escaped in so many different ways. I played pretend, I had imaginary friends. I used to pretend I was an animal instead of a human, simply to escape, simply because I felt better being something else than human. I didn’t feel all that human to begin with. I think of the reasons why and I think of how I was treated.
I think of my father. He could never seem to understand, I don’t think he ever will. I don’t think he’ll comprehend the ways I prance with the world around me. He never even dared to try to understand my brother. I know he loved us, I know he is only human, and I’m aware he endlessly tried. Yet, he never seemed to understand. Too many parents have seen children with Autism as a burden. Something that weighs them, something that stresses them, something that stifles them. I recall that it only angered my father. It created great floodgates of bubbling, broiling frustration that burst into great fits of anger. Organizations only make this vile view of Autism worse. They preach cures, they perpetuate the cycle of fear, that the child they hold in their arms is diseased, is sick, is this strange, hurt, and aching animal in need of remedying. Autism is something that is part of the person. Our very brains are wired differently, there is no cure. There is no cure. Sometimes, I think my father thought of my poor brother as a burden. I watched that man yell and hit a wailing child as a child myself. I was young, too young to even begin to understand. I seeked comfort in my mother’s room from that mistreatment. Yet, no matter how much I hid, I always had to come back to it. I always had to witness this recklessness. This irresponsibility, this perceived carelessness. This impatience was painful to witness, yet I had no choice but to be a bystander. At times, I was the one thrown angry words and names at. Frequently enough for me to be frightened by sandals up the stairs. Frequently enough for me to be a deer in headlights whenever I tried to confront him. In shambles during therapy trying to reconcile with him, and in this perpetual cycle of abuse.
Now, I stand here, fractured, confused and stumbling. I grip at the sides of my broken mirror. Glass has embedded its shards into my palms and feet. Every step I take shall be a reminder to try and pull out those glassy splinters. Was it me who broke this mirror? Or was it something else that did? Half of me is pulled to remember, the other wishes to forget. Ever since the pandemic hit, the isolation deepens, blooming in a way it hasn’t ever done before. It becomes a teal sunflower. I stumbled into a world I didn’t understand. I fell through a door that was once closed to my sight. Dissociation. Feeling as though I was never there. Days where I don’t remember conversations, days where I couldn’t understand my emotions, times where I stood blank and emotionless at yelling and upsetting events until after, until it all came pouring out of me. Inner conflict and multiple little voices. I stand here now, I stand in the present, bewildered. Bewildered at the notion of my lack of memory of my childhood. I stay bewildered by the confusion. The self-doubt of what I experience even when everything comes to me in tenacious ways. I reflect on my blurring days and I recall the lingering loneliness that I’ve dragged with me all these years. I feel adrift on the calm seas. I feel like a ghost of the past in my own home. Trauma works in mysterious ways, and yet I understand it. I’ve lived it and I’m still healing from it. My brother and I have resilience, as all people do. We’ve survived, and we’re finally beginning to live.
Despite everything, I still stand, we still stand. Vague as memory remains atop the drywall, I’m still here. I’ll still run, but not from the world, but towards it. My mirror is broken, but has that mattered? It’s still a mirror. I prance with myself, I dance with defiance. I am still a person, and you should see me and my brother as such. I am graced with my voice and I shall scream my word into the night, for others are not as fortunate as I. I shall answer with anything but silence, I shall take the final sprint until my legs buckle, for all the labels upon my back shall never define me. So, run, kid, run, this dying generation can’t catch us.
