by Taylor Maguire '24 on October 6, 2022
Portfolio Staff

---

Creative Non-Fiction

---

I woke up early to the sounds of a stranger’s snores filling the air. You could tell it was early in the morning because the birds weren’t chirping yet. Crumpled paper hearts and record covers were peppered around the walls of the room, blue LED lights lined along the ceiling and a stolen stop sign stood as a trophy by the door. I looked down to discover myself wearing a t-shirt that read “Best Ex-Boyfriend” in big chunky letters and a pair of someone’s highschool basketball sweatpants. I shimmed out of the navy blue duvet I was tucked under, climbed over overlapping limbs, and tiptoed over dreaming bodies until I reached the door. As I descended the staircase, I saw what could only be described at the Island of Misfit Toys sprawled around a fraternity living room. People slept on couches, curled up on the floor with bathroom mats acting as blankets, their arms as makeshift pillows. I noticed a coat rack full of jackets by the front door. I quickly grabbed one of those oversized shearling corduroy jackets and slung it around my shoulders, completing my treasure trove of borrowed clothing, before closing the door silently behind me. At first it’s very still and quiet, the usual weekend visitors that had once crowded the streets have now vanished into their little boxes with windows that shine inauthentic colors of yellow, pink and blue. Quietly and quickly, snow begins to wrap the streets in a blanket of white. You could believe that this specific moment in time mirrors the winter wonderland trapped inside the snow globe you had in your childhood bedroom. I watch as the wind scoops up the flickers of snow with its nurturing hands and drapes them around the sky, making them appear to be a herd of flying insects taking part in a syncranative dance above me. I walk down the six blocks alone before I manage to clamber back inside my own home. The smell of apple cinnamon welcomes me with a warm hug, as I abandon the stranger’s jacket on the little hooks stationed by our door. Ramona’s ex-boyfriend sleeps soundly on our couch, drool dripping onto our couch. I hurry up to my room, letting sleep take me again.

The laughter from my three roommates stirs me awake as they discuss the events from the night before. Ramona’s flipping pancakes when I arrive, her makeup from the night before still smudged along her eyelids.

“Joalie! You’re here. Whose clothes are those?” Eloise asks. Eloise looks like a mermaid. She has blonde wavy hair that hangs along her back like dwindling ivy that cuts off at the small of her back. She’s wearing a chunky sweater that shows a snippet of a scene from Vermont and gray sweatpants she stole from Brandy Melville when she was 15.

“They’re Doonie’s aren’t they?” Natalie asks.

“Yeah they’re Doonie’s,” I nod.

“I knew it,” Ramona calls.

“Hey Ramona, Joshua owes us a new couch. There’s a little drool splotch that still hasn’t dried,” I say.

“Wait, Joshua was here? Ramona, no!” Natalie says with dramatic disappointment.

“What happened with Doonie?” Ramona asks, avoiding the subject.

“Well, we kissed, and then I told him I had to use the bathroom, then I fell asleep in his roommate’s bed.”

“Which one?” Eloise asks. 

“Was it the dumb blonde one with the freckles? He’s cute,” Ramona says. “Oh my god did you sleep with the dumb one? I tried talking to him once but it was like the lights were on and no one was home,” Natalie says.

“God no, Doonie actually was asleep next to me.” 

“In his roommate’s room…” Natalia says with a quizzical look.

“Where’d his roommate sleep?” Ramona asks.

“Oh don’t worry, he was still in his room. He just slept on his floor, with the girl from our philosophy class cuddled up beside him actually,” I say.

“I don’t know why you are avoiding Doonie, he’s perfect for you,” Eloise says, scooting her chair closer to mine.

“He’s got the most beautiful hazel eyes, and that hair, Joalie. You could get lost in those curls,” Ramona says.

“And he loves Phoebe Bridgers. Not ironically either. I think he may even love her more than you do,” Eloise says, elbowing my ribs.

“Fuck off,” I smile.

“I am serious, Joalie. You are totally smitten with him too. Don’t even try and deny it,” Eloise says.

Ramona places a stack of pancakes in the middle of the table before she sits criss-crossed on the chair across from me. I stare past them at the snowstorm camouflaging our home in snow.

“You’re endgame. I know it,” Eloise sighs. “Now eat your pancakes,” 

by The Cowl Editor on October 6, 2022

---

Portfolio

---

Dear Tiff and Earl,

This past weekend, Khalid came to PC and put on a really good show! I want to get more into his music, as I had never really listened to his stuff before the concert. Any songs you’d recommend and why?

Thank you!

Newly Converted Khlowns (this is Khalid’s fandom btw)

---

Dear NCK, 

Khalid’s music is great! If you liked the music he played at the concert, I’d definitely recommend his album American Teen! There, you’ll get his classic hits like “8TEEN,” “Location,” and “Young, Dumb, and Broke!” For some slightly less mainstream music, you can check out his recently released song “Satellite,” or peep some of his unreleased music that was leaked on YouTube!

Keep Rocking!

Earl

---

Dear Khlowns,

The only “pop” song I know is “Tequila.” You’ve come to the wrong place.

Cheers!

Tiff

by The Cowl Editor on October 6, 2022

---

Portfolio

---

Things to hide from my parents before they visit

• My extensive stash of alcohol 
• My Urban Outfitters corset 
• My credit card statement
• My unopened textbooks
• My shot glasses
• My “White Lies” T-shirt
• My bowl
• The 100s of opened tabs on my laptop
• My significant other’s sweatshirts (they think I’m single)
• My significant other

by Max Gilman '25 on September 29, 2022
Portfolio Co-Editor

---

Portfolio

---

Blankets of nightly aura roll through clouds like spirits,

Trembling scarecrows, inviting the unwelcome crow,

Bits of city rubble rain descend to chapels like meteors,

Terrible tales be told like spirals,

Bellowing frogs croak oil like stomach acid,

Taunting figures lurk in your mirrors,

Burning grass leads you to a path,

To bodies strewn in sickly rain mud,

But your eyes meet the stars,

Tempting your mind to wonder how many,

How many others have made it up there before you?

How many others died, gazing up at a clear night’s sky?

Just Yet, Death’s Debt

I chauffeured death to the underworld the other night,

it didn’t bother me as I thought it would,

death was gentle and loving,

holding light, fun conversation for me

as we strode deeper under the vibrant living realm,

I told him it reminded me of an old Emily Dickinson poem,

—I told him I didn’t like some of the words she used.

and I chuckled, exclaiming I’d write my own!

Death laughed with me, an arm around my shoulder,

my two hands on the reins amidst,

—is this what she felt like, riding with death?

Death’s hands were cold and long,

they almost frightened me,

but my nose was often cold,

and was always long,

so I embraced his boney hands around my soft skin,

we bore a matching ring,

—one of gold and blue embers

we didn’t go together well, Death and I,

yet here we were laughing as old friends do,

or maybe something more.

This was supposedly the last time I would ride Death home,

he promised to pick me up the next time we strode together.

—though I always trusted myself more,

when Death would stare through my eyes,

I felt a welcoming coldness,

his eyes were voided with darkness of once brilliant light.

I almost felt myself fall for him again.

almost…

finally, we arrived to the abode of death,

he twirled my hair and whispered my favorite words,

through a once xeric tongue,

“My lovely, my darling, when you sing to me, all then once wicked, turns blessed once more.”

A tune we sang in my days of withdrawal,

stop bewitching me, Death,

you beautiful, gentle soul,

don’t tempt me as you do,

with those eyes that beg to see of my passing glance—

—I love you, death, but you won’t be seeing much of me any longer.

“I’m just not ready to be with you, just yet.”

And he smiled and whispered back,

“Then we’ll meet when the time is finally right.”

The dawning of my departure slowly arrived,

as the words I claimed rang renown in my mind cage…

“…to be with you… just yet…”

as I thrusted the ring far from my placid breast,

Death collected his debt and solemnly walked on, to his residence, awaiting my fated arrival, in due time we would again embrace each other as old friends,

or something more…

by The Cowl Editor on September 29, 2022

---

Portfolio

---

Worst Darty Themes 

• Groutfit
• America (during the second week of September)
• Boston Tea Darty 
• Beach 
• Denim 
• Neon 
• Tight ’n Bright 
• Blackout 
• Whiteout 
• Decades

by Toni Rendon '24 on September 29, 2022
Portfolio Staff

---

Portfolio

---

 

Black snow tumbles from the sky, clinging to the clothes on your back as you push against the ocean of people. Running from falling skyscrapers. The combination of screams, car beeps, and glass shattering echoes in your head, drowning out every thought except one.

Her.

Bloody fingers grasp photographs strewn across the floor. Covered by a sea of glass turned crimson from the deep cuts spoiling the white carpet. The symphony of catastrophe poured in through the windows, filling the lonely halls. These perfect fragments frozen in time blurred by blood and tears. Erasing years. Struggling to remember who used to stare back at you during those sleepless nights.

Her.

Is she okay or did she die when the bomb dropped? Did she make it out or is she trapped under debris, struggling to breathe? A bloody fingerprint hard for the scanner to read. Smudges on the screen, making it hard to comprehend. All you know is you have to send this text before the world ends. The words swimming in your head. On the last day, you find yourself with no regrets, just a heart in your chest still beating for someone else.

HER.

by Caitlin Bartley '24 on September 29, 2022
Portfolio Staff

---

Portfolio

---

The dampness in my jeans makes them look bluer than they really are. The denim feels heavy, bunched up around my thighs, with a novel pressed against my lap, making the paper soggy along the edges. I know the pages will no longer be crisp and straight when they dry, but it’s a rental, so I don’t care. I want to go for a walk. The words in front of my face blur and become fuzzy blobs of black until they look like the scribbled-out garbage that litters my notebooks. I can hear Mom softly laughing from New York because she told me to pack the jacket. It was too large and made me look boxy. The stale flavor of coffee and zero-calorie sugar coats the back of my throat. The taste never leaves. I think I need a new prescription. My skin is clammy where a pair of twin-sized rips expose my knees. If I run my fingers through my hair, will it make the frizz better or worse? When I stand, my shoes make an awkward squeak because they are new and made of patent leather. They are also very wet. To my left, a girl with her laptop open looks up as the silence breaks, giving me a once-over and catching the culprit at the bottom of my feet. Sometimes, I like making noise. There are goosebumps spreading down my legs quicker than a college cold. Just caffeine for lunch again? I guess so. My jeans are still soaked, clinging to me like the coverlet I would grip when I was 5 and the cracks of thunder made the darkness in my room shake. The condensation from the cup leaves a lonely, watery ring on the table. It’s raining hard today.

by Kathryn Libertini '23 on September 29, 2022
Portfolio Staff

---

Portfolio

---

To ghost or be ghosted? Perhaps we have all been in this situation. Regardless, the temperatures are beginning to drop, so read to find out easy ways to avoid the awkward moments of this upcoming cuffing season.

1. Don’t text him.
2. Like actually, don’t.
3. Schedule a girls’ night with your roommates!
4. Treat yourself to getting coffee downtown.
5. Oh, he posted an Instagram story that his football team won? Don’t swipe up.
6. Midterms are coming up; check in with professors and assignments.
7. Pick up a new hobby.
8. Remember! The “Movember” beard is temporary and doesn’t look that good.
9. Try to adjust your routine as the days get shorter.
10. Do not, I repeat, do not send or respond to a “Happy Birthday” or “Happy Holidays” message on any platform.

by Anna Pomeroy '23 on September 29, 2022
Portfolio Staff

---

Portfolio

---

I know it’s been a while,

It seems like we’re playing phone tag.

I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy.

Where we last left off

Your favorite show was Hannah Montana

And you considered chicken fingers and French fries to be the only existing foods.

You tried every sport,

But nothing really stuck.

It never seemed to phase you though,

Because “Your Favorite Hobby?” was always answered with

“Hanging with friends.”

Same people to this day.

They’re doing well at college and 

It’s almost frightening that they sometimes know you

Better than you know yourself.

Still love the fall. 

Always used to be filled with 

Halloween costume magazine orders,

Apple cider donuts and 

Trick or treating. 

I think it’s the beauty of the memories that

Makes me still enjoy it

But now I have to go,

I’ve got things to do.

This goodbye shouldn’t make you cry,

I’ll always have you by my side.

by Meg Brodeur '24 on September 29, 2022
Portfolio Co-Editor

---

Portfolio

---

It’s half past midnight when my best friend and I make our way to the beach and settle next to each other in the sand. To me, stargazing is the antithesis of anxiety. I’ve spent hours rewriting a single sentence. As a little kid, making a birthday card was an environmental hazard. I would remake the card over and over again because of the slightest imperfections. I’d cringe looking at a flower with any wilting petals. And if my ponytail had a single bump, I had to remake it before stepping outside. I tend to overthink and fret about most things, but that anxiety is significantly decreased when I’m taking in the expansiveness of our galaxy. There is no wrong way to stargaze, much like there is no wrong way to act with your best friend. It doesn’t matter whether you chat enthusiastically or share a peaceful silence if it is organic to your relationship. In life, we are often encouraged to engage in shallow pleasantries. But, with our eyes on the heavens and our toes in the sand, there is no need to force conversation. Rather, we can allow the natural flow of topics to come up without ample effort. It doesn’t feel like mourning, talking about the dead. It feels like honoring and expressing love for those we’ve loved who now live amongst the stars. Staring up at the night sky, it’s impossible not to recognize how insignificant our individual lives are. The vast expanse of infinite space cannot be stuffed into a Hallmark card or a Russell Stover commercial. It’s an experience that must be lived. Lying on the sand, I watch the starlight extinguish the dwindling embers of my worries.