Tag: short story
Welcome to the Neighborhood
by The Cowl Editor on October 25, 2019
Portfolio
by Daniel Carrero ’23
I wonder if I walked like you when I was your age. There was an innocent bounce to your step.
You probably thought me and Coz pulled up on you by surprise. You probably thought you walked onto the wrong block on the wrong day and ran into the wrong people.
Your legs were shaking and your voice was cracking, “I don’t want n-n-no problem, yo. I’m just walking home,” you said.
Coz smiled with all his teeth, “Where you from kid?” he asked.
You felt so small to me then, so insignificant. Your trembling was disgusting to me.
“I-I-I I-live–”
My stomach churned at the sound of your voice, “I-I-I what kid?!” I shouted, “You don’t know how to talk or something?!”
The only word you managed to squeak out, “Pine!”
Coz looked at me, “Oh, he’s up on Pine, huh. Wild ’cause I ain’t ever seen you before.”
I never took my eyes off you—I never blinked.
“So who told you you could walk on Maple?” I asked.
The more I stared you down the more I wanted you to make a move—needed you to. Curse at me, scream at me, or hit me, do anything but not run away. If you ran away then things would be worse. Those are the rules. “I asked you a question!”
Say something—anything, I thought.
“N-no one,” you whimpered.
Finally! Coz nodded and stepped back.
Grabbing you by the collar, I let it all out. I felt your teeth cut my knuckles. Another swing and your nose poured; blood smeared onto my hand. I shoved you onto the sidewalk and you begged me to stop. At that moment you made me hate you so much.
What the hell is wrong with you? I thought, Get up, do something! I kicked and I stomped and you did nothing. You cried. You pleaded for me to stop but you refused to make me. How dare you, I thought.
Coz grabbed my shoulder, “You can stop, Nigel.” I looked up at him but I couldn’t see his face. I only heard his voice. “That was good,” he said.
…
We knew where you lived. You stepped out your gate and tried to run when you saw us—you didn’t get far. Your eye was black and your nose swollen and crooked. Something in your eyes was different than before. Even though you knew you didn’t stand a chance, you didn’t stutter when you said, “Leave me alone!”
You stared me down and I remembered being you once. I knew how much you hated me—how much you wanted to bury me. That was good, it’s what we wanted from you.
Coz put his hand on your shoulder. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” he said. “Come with us.”
Trey and Christina: A Modern Retelling of Chaucer’s Epic Poem, Troilus and Criseyde
by The Cowl Editor on October 10, 2019
Portfolio
by Erin Venuti ’20
“Okay, but I’m warning you right now, before I start, I might start crying.”
“Seriously, Jeff, stop being so dramatic.”
“Shut up, would you Alison? I’m trying to tell a story.”
“But you haven’t even started yet!”
“All right. Here goes it — the story of Trey, his first love, and how it all just went downhill from there…”
* * *
Our story starts on the first day of college, when Trey and I moved into our room in St. Joe’s hall. We didn’t talk much before school started, but thankfully, he seemed nice enough when we finally met. I have to admit, too, I was a bit worried he’d be one of those obnoxious Chad-types once I found out that his dad was this big-shot alumni on some board of the school. But he was cool.
Once we were all moved in and our parents had cleared out, we both slumped down on our beds in exhaustion.
“So…” I started, without much idea of where I was going to end.
“What time do we have to meet for orientation?” Trey asked.
“Three.”
“Sweet, so we have some time to kill. Wanna grab a coffee?”
“Yeah, sure.”
As we walked to Dunkin’, I asked Trey about his older brother, who was already a senior here.
“Oh yeah, Hector? He’s a good guy, one of my best friends. Actually, he’s one of the OL’s,” he said, excitedly. “Made some questionable decisions, though.”
“Huh?” Couldn’t have been too questionable, if he managed to get a leadership position.
“Yeah, he met his girlfriend during OL training over the summer. They’re disgusting.”
Still confused, I asked, “What do you mean?”
Trey rolled his eyes. “I just think it’s a waste, the whole college relationship thing. I mean, seriously, college is supposed to be this awesome, freeing thing, but then you just attach yourself to another person? It’s foolish is what it is. Really, truly foolish.”
To be honest, I was a bit shocked. “Well, you…definitely feel passionate about relationships.”
Trey laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those hopeless romantics.”
“Nah. I just think you might feel differently one of these days.” We’d reached Slavin at this point. Opening the door, I turned back and added, “You never know.”
We descended the stairs towards Dunkin’ and once we got lost in the sea of other freshmen attempting to do the same thing as us we forgot all about our conversation.
That is, Trey may have forgotten about it. I remembered it, especially after what happened next.
After our caffeine boost, it was just about time to go to Peterson to start orientation. Don’t worry — I’ll skip all that stuff about icebreakers and info sessions (I’m sure you remember how it was for you). Anyway, at lunch, I ended up sitting across the table in Ray from this girl, Christina, who ended up being my orientation buddy. You know, the person that you sit next to during all the circles and talking with while you’re walking from session to session? That’s who we were.
She was quiet, but when she talked she said a lot. After the session where the dean of students (or maybe it was somebody else…I don’t remember) made a comment that a lot of people at PC meet their husband or wife here, we ended up having the same conversation about relationships that I’d had with Trey earlier that day. Turns out she was going through a break up, after her high school boyfriend cut it off over the summer.
“So, I’m not really looking for a relationship right now. I think I need to focus on myself. Maybe sometime in the future,” Christina added, taking a bite of a chicken nugget. Then we both burst into laughter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to throw out so many cliches…but anyway, what about you? Have anyone back home?”
Oof. Almost as if she knew. “Well, sorta.” So, I told her — but you know all of that, of course.
“Wow,” she said, letting out a breath and collapsing against the back of her chair. “Well, here’s hoping college is at least slightly less dramatic than that.”
“Here’s hoping.”
And in a show of finality and irony, we picked up our plastic cups of pink lemonade and clinked them against each other.
* * *
Back in our room during one of our breaks, Trey told me about this party his brother Hector was throwing at his house later on that night and said I could come.
“Yeah, I’ll come.”
“Nice,” said Trey. “Oh, but I’m going over early to help him set up, so I’ll just text you the address.”
“Um, okay.”
“Nice,” he said again. “Feel free to bring people, too.”
Obviously, my mind went to Christina. “Yeah, sure.”
A few hours later, I found myself walking down Eaton Street with Christina. It was definitely weird, going out for the first time in college, but with a girl. I’d just thrown on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but Christina had clearly tried hard to make herself look a certain way. Clearly, she didn’t want to look like all the other freshmen girls we’d seen pouring out of Meagher, McVinney, and Ray. She was dressed in all black — black jacket, black jeans, and black boots — and her dark, shiny hair was slicked back in the cleanest ponytail I’d ever seen. Like I said, she was quiet, but she stood out.
At Hector’s house, we found ourselves a relatively empty corner to stand and talk. I was surprised no one was offering us drinks, even though neither of us was holding a cup or a bottle. It was almost as if it had something to do with the way Christina was standing, like she’d already ended every conversation with a stranger before it even started.
Christina was in the middle of telling me a story about her dog when I got a text from Trey: You here?
Yeah, I replied. Looks like the living room. Corner by the window.
Nice. I’ll come find you.
“Sorry,” I said, looking up at Christina. “That was my roommate. He’s coming to find us.”
“Okay,” she said, and continued her story about her dog.
About a minute later, I looked up at the room and scanned the crowd to see if I could find Trey. Just then, I saw him walk into the room and do the same. I waved when I thought he saw me, but he didn’t move towards us or wave back. Instead, he just stood there, staring at something to my right. I glanced over and realized he was looking at Christina, who was completely oblivious to what seemed to be going on with my roommate. I looked back at Trey, who looked like his insides were doing a gymnastics routine.
I did tell him he might feel differently someday. Still, even I didn’t think that day would come so soon.
To Be Continued…
Confiscated Dreams
by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019
Portfolio
by Jessica Polanco ’20
Laying down and looking at the stars. This was all they dreamt about. The feeling of the prickly grass on the back of their heads and chatting about their dreams. They created plans that night about how to bring all of their ideas into fruition. They traced the sky with the blueprint of their dreams, how it will begin, and how they dreamt it’ll end. And they smiled and giggled through it all. At one moment they traced each other’s faces, while staring into each other’s eyes. They didn’t want the moment to absorb all of their love so it didn’t last that long. No one could match the frequency felt between their hearts that night, not even the stars above them. They missed each other, terribly. Two and a half years of talking through a glass, begging to be touched by one another. They couldn’t hold on to each other and so they held on to the hope that drew the line in front of them. After two and a half years, they ended up here. In the biggest park in their city, they begged whoever was above them to not confiscate the night because the morning promised pain. The morning hadn’t come yet but it was already dressed like a thief, ready to take him away like he didn’t belong to what God had promised him, which was life.
The next morning, they found each other, at the steps of a dark prison. The building was probably built by innocent souls who had no intentions of swallowing the innocence of a soul. But here they were, kissing each other goodbye. Promising each other it’ll end soon. Ignoring the fact that it was only true in the next life time.
The Circus
by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019
Portfolio
by Sarah Kirchner ’21
The smell of popcorn filled the tent. The entire tent smelt of sweets and peanuts. All sorts of smells spread through the high top, and I stood at the entrance taking it all in. Everything seemed so small underneath the tent, as the walls went up for what seemed like forever.
My mother never let me go to the circus. She said it was for low-lifes who had nothing better to do. It was fake entertainment, she always told me. But I never believed that. It always had a pull on me. Every Friday when the curtains were drawn I wished I was walking through them, but I never could. Until tonight.
“Come on quickly, before the show starts!” Lila tugged at my hand, and I was suddenly thrown through the crowd. I was so engulfed in the magic of it all that I had completely forgotten about Lila. She was the only reason I was able to be here tonight, but the whimsies of it all had me mesmerized.
“Jack. Focus.” Lila called back to me and continued to pull at me. As she pulled, my body bumped into everyone and everything around me. I could see why Lila needed me to pay a little more attention. One man gave me an especially dirty look, and I sucked in my breath. I couldn’t have too many people see my face, or else my parents were bound to find out. But in my small town there was never anything to do, and with the circus here all summer I had to go at least one night. It was worth my parents’ wrath. But still, I was hoping to avoid that.
Lila led the way up the bleachers and down a middle row. She sat down dead center and stared at the open tent.
“Amazing, right?”
“Amazing,” I agreed. I wasn’t even able to describe the joy I felt. The sandy arena in front of me with the crowd filling in around made me gasp. There were so many people, so many different people, all gathering in this one place. I could hear the chatter of people, the talk of everyone’s favorite acts and the costumes they were expecting to see. It was all giving me the jitters.
“I can’t wait to see the acrobats,” Lila squealed next to me. “They’re my favorite. What are you excited to see?” She smiled at me, enthusiasm radiating off of her. I was so happy she agreed to sneak me out tonight.
I had to tell my parents that I wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early. Lila waited outside my window with the tickets and I shimmied down the tree to meet her. My mom was bound to check on me at some point in the night, but it was worth the risk to be here tonight. The circus ended just after eleven, so if Lila and I ran back right at the end I could be back without anyone noticing. But to be completely honest, it wasn’t my biggest concern to get back. I needed to witness the magic that I heard went on in this tent. I needed to see it all for myself.
“So? Which one?” Lila nudged me.
I looked at her and gave a small smile.
“All of it.” The animals. The performers. The costumes.
“It is pretty amazing. I remember when my parents took me here for the first time. We sat front row and my mom bought me cotton candy.”
“I wish my parents took me,” I said, but I didn’t know if I meant that. Neither of them would have had fun, and they would have complained the whole time about every detail of the event. They were too pretentious for this.
“They would ruin the experience. They’re anti-fun, let’s be real,” she joked.
“That’s for sure,” I laughed with her. Lila squeezed my hand while the rows filled in around us. “I’m gonna grab popcorn.” I tried my best to tell her, but the tent was filled with noises and our voices couldn’t really be distinguished.
I think Lila heard me. She only nodded so I quickly scooted down the row towards the aisle. It was nearly nine, and I knew the show was starting soon. I was not certain, but there was something about the feeling in the air. The voices and the cheers and the dancing lights released the feeling of greatness about to happen, and I was ready to finally see it all.
As I ran back to the front of the tent to buy a snack, I lost my footing and hit into someone’s shoulder. I mumbled a curse to myself and turned back to apologize.
“Sorry about –“ I stopped myself mid-sentence. “Nate?” I stared at my brother, shocked to see him. We weren’t allowed at the circus, and my brother seemed to have always understood that rule. He was older than me, so I didn’t think the desire would have been as strong for him to go.
Nate didn’t say anything. He gave me a nod, which said it all. He understood. He wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad. I nodded back. I wouldn’t tell them either.
“Enjoy,” he finally said after we stared for long enough. He gave a crooked smile and turned back, to be swallowed by the crowd. I turned away too, back on my mission for popcorn. I smiled to myself, though. Nate understood. We both felt the magic, and we had to come for ourselves. And suddenly, I was relieved.
Layered White Bricks
by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019
Portfolio
by Jessica Polanco ’20
I haven’t spoken to him in years but he called me over the other day. I had the time so I flew in. As I arrive at his house, I realize a piece of his land has been swallowed by a big square that resembles a foundation. “Can you guess what I’m building, chiquita?” I turn around and look at him with my eyes wide open, waiting for him to answer. “A home, I’m building a home.” The foundation that sits on his field of land reflects a strong base, something that could have taken some time to perfect. “How long have you been working on it?” He says three years, just on the foundation. I ask him, “Is it possible to build a home all by yourself?” Jokingly, he says, “Only if his name is Sebastian Manuel De Leon,” pointing to himself and smiling as if it is far from a joke and the person he is pointing to has something to prove.
Ahead of us stands nothing but his dream. Growing up it was all that he talked about. His vision of returning to his homeland, La Republica Dominicana, and building una casa para su familia. I remember seeing his lips curl and his eyes twinkle every time he expressed his desire. I see that same smile today as Papi and I face everything he has worked for. He explains that it will take him only a couple more years to build the rest. El baño, la cocina, la sala, a couple cuartos for all of us. “Like five more years mi niña and it’ll be all built,” he touches my nose, smiles, and says, “And your room is going to be the first room we furnish.” I laugh with hope and ask him, “How about all of las tormentas, los huracánes y los vientos fuertes de la noche. Would it stand to protect us from all of that?” Without turning his body towards me and standing with his arms crossed, he gives me a stare and confesses, “Only time will tell.”
Internal Beauty
by The Cowl Editor on September 16, 2019
Portfolio
by Grace O’Connor ’22
She looked down at the picture longingly as she walked down the beach. Her fingers wiped off the thin layer of dust as they brushed over the creases on the photo. Her smile was big and bright and her eyes had this twinkle of hope. Looking at the photo of when she was in college gave her nostalgia. A smile streched across her face and her eyes slowly filled up with tears as she remembered the day it was taken. She would give up anything to be back in that moment of liberation and pure contentment.
Her three kids were mostly grown up and battling the real world on their own, while her husband seemed to spend more time in the office than paying attention to her. She’s remarkable to say the least but doesn’t see it herself. She’s an incredible mother, and the most gregarious person, but she carries around a burden that weighs her down. Even with her family she sometimes feels all alone. She feels as if the walls are closing in on her, slowly but surely. She does not completely understand the world around her because of its absence of authenticity compared to when she grew up. Growing up, her life was simple and it made sense to her. She had always liked the seemingly insignificant aspects of life, which she approached with her big heart. The man she married was completely different; he was a man who did not prefer a simple life but one that was fast-paced and regular. He had a big personality, and an unforgettable sense of humor. When they got married, they bought a small house in the town he grew up in and had their three children. Having these three children made the woman choose family over her over job so she could raise them.
This decision came to her easily because it would never cross her mind to ask her husband to give up his father’s legacy. Any parent would say raising children is not easy but this woman did it effortlessly, with a smile on her face. Her children all grew up to be determined, hardworking individuals who got to the places they did with many bumps along the way. They became who they are because of her. Through every bump, she was there to alleviate the drop. Through every track meet, math exam, spelling bee, her encouragement was tangible. She made you feel as if you could do anything that you set your mind to no matter the circumstance. Although every mother is special in her own way, this woman put every ounce of energy into putting everyone else’s needs above her own. Her selflessness is palpable and moving.
The warmth of the sun started to sink into her skin as she closed her eyes and wished to stay in that moment on the beach. The moment when she had no worries, did not have to think about the future. She was about to lose an integral part of her identity and she still did not know how to cope with this loss. Her youngest child is headed off to college tomorrow. Her daughter is her rock, her best friend. The woman felt she had lost her worth. She would no longer be a full-time mother, she would not have her children to explain all the things she did not understand, and most importantly, she felt that she would not get the love she needed to keep living everyday anymore.
She watched as the wave in front of her was sucked back into the never-ending water. As much as she wanted to go back to the past, she understood that every day has a purpose. Her unconditional love for the people around her is what keeps her going even if she does not get the same love in return. Her internal beauty illuminates far beyond what her eye can see. She gives her heart to the world with no expectations and no limitations.
The Other World
by The Cowl Editor on September 15, 2019
Portfolio
by Erin Venuti ’20
In the third grade, your world is very small. There’s the house, the grocery store, the dance studio. Most importantly, there’s that brick building with the linoleum floors and the bright fluorescent lights to which you’re transported each morning in your mom’s trusted minivan. This is the elementary school.
This was Fay’s world. But unlike most, Fay wasn’t satisfied with the size of her world. Fay wanted her world to be bigger. So, she discovered the fairies.
Well, she wanted to believe that she discovered the fairies, though she was sure the fairies had been the ones to discover her — fairies had a very distinctive ability to hide.
Their first encounter was during recess, after a particularly grueling math class. While most of her class took off towards the soccer field, Fay made her way towards the playground, claiming one of the metal swings by the edge of the woods.
She began to pump her feet, smiling in satisfaction as she rose, as if by magic. The field in the distance, populated by her screeching peers, zoomed in and out of view. When her feet could reach no higher, Fay let go of the swing and launched herself into flight.
Too soon, her feet connected with the ground. Then her knees and her hands. Dust clouded her vision. When she regained herself, she rolled over, so she was sitting on the ground, and inspected herself for injuries which, thankfully, she seemed to be lacking.
Everything was quiet, as if the playground had been transported to someplace miles away. The only sound, aside from Fay’s steadying heartbeat, was of the whisper of wind drifting lazily towards the woods, towards the opening of the path she hadn’t noticed earlier.
Fay stood, without struggle, and stepped cautiously towards the entrance. She did not hear the sound of the bell, or of her peers stampeding the door, or of the teacher shouting her name, half an hour later, when it was discovered she had not returned to class…
But if she had heard, Fay wouldn’t have cared. Her world was bigger now.
The Last Day on Earth
by The Cowl Editor on August 29, 2019
Portfolio
by Connor Zimmerman ’20
A shooting ray of sunshine runs across the pitch-black void surrounding it. The cold and lifeless void tries to smother the ray, but it continues to travel faster than anyone can comprehend. It races towards our atmosphere, hurling itself through the sky. It sees a lowly, decrepit house and finds its target. Flying towards the window, determined to penetrate past all barriers, it crashes through the window and strikes an elderly man in his face.
The elderly man wakes up in a fright. He looks over at his nightstand and sees that his alarm clock says 6:00 a.m. He slowly begins to hear the smooth jazz playing from it, as the door swings open. A sprightly man hurries in and turns the lights on. The elderly man shields his eyes, but the other one continues on with his routine. He places breakfast on the man’s nightstand, turns the alarm clock off, pulls the curtains open from the windows, and helps the elderly man sit up.
“James, today is the day.”
The sprightly man turns toward him and asks, “Master, what are you talking about? It is too soon.”
“When you have lived a life of over two hundred years, there is no such thing as ‘too soon.’ The universe sent me a message this morning as a favor for all that I have done. One day to enjoy all that I cherish.”
James nods his head and leaves the room. The elderly man eats his breakfast and slowly starts his routine. He gets out of bed, brushes his teeth, showers, and eventually gets dressed. Once he is finished, he walks into his library containing hundreds of shelves of books spiraling all around the room. They have been alive as long as or even longer than he has. He drags his finger across the spine of every book on a shelf near him. Eyes closed, he knows what he is looking for just by connecting with its inner energy. He finds the one he is looking for and picks it up off the shelf. He walks over to his chair and reads the pages and illustrations once again. Smiling, he tucks the book underneath his arm and begins to walk out of the house.
He walks down the street with no destination in mind. His senses pick up on the environment around him. The smell of the fresh-cut grass created after a long morning’s work. The screams of children playing with water guns to cool off on this hot day. The view of a young couple touring houses in the neighborhood hoping to find the one that they can call home. He senses it all and continues to walk down the street, albeit with a smile.
The elderly man continues to walk until he reaches the city. The smells, sounds, and sights all hit him at once. The smell of fresh fruit from the farmer’s market. The rhythmic sounds of an acoustic guitar street performer. The view of the skyscrapers standing proud over the people walking beneath. He notices all these wonders, yet he continues to walk. He finally reaches a park and finds a bench near a fountain under the shade of a tree whose leaves are losing their color. As he sits down, he hears the water cascading down from the top of the fountain. Drop by drop going into the pool beneath. Causing ripples to glide across the water, obscuring the coins beneath. He smiles and he waits.
***
A young girl walks through the park sensing all the wonders around her, and she cannot help but smile. The chirps of squirrels climbing the trees around her. The slow change of leaves from their once vibrant green to rustic orange. The laughter of friends having a picnic on the grass. Walking, she hears the distinct trickle of water that can only come from a fountain. She turns her head and begins to walk towards it. As she walks, she notices something shiny on the ground. She looks down and sees that it is a penny. Smiling, she picks it up and goes up to the fountain. She closes her eyes and whispers a wish. Tossing the coin into the water, she sheds a tear hoping that her wish will come true.
“You know if you say the wish it does not come true.”
Startled, the girl turns around and sees an old man.
“Where did you come from?”
“I have been here for quite a while, waiting for someone to notice me.”
“What do you mean, notice you? This park is always packed on the weekends.”
“It takes a very special person to notice me.” He then extends his hand holding a book towards her. She looks at him, and he nods his head. She takes the book from him and instantly she can sense everything. She can see the water evaporating from the fountain on the hot day. She can feel the sweat forming underneath her own skin. She can hear the beat of the man’s heart in front of her. She drops the book and her senses go numb.
She fumbles for her words, but manages to rapidly ask, “What was that? What happened? What did you do to me?”
“I did nothing, child. You have a great power inside of you. You are connected to the universe like I am. It sent me here to tell you this and start you on your path. That book is only the beginning of a great journey…if you have the courage to take the first step.”
“What do you mean power? I am just a kid. My parents won’t even let me stay up past 10:00 p.m.”
“What did you wish for child?”
“I thought you said…”
“What did you wish for?”
“I wished that I could save my mom from dying…she has cancer.”
“The power that you have is meant to be used to preserve life. To fight for it against that which will harm it.” The elderly man stands up and mutters something under his breath. Suddenly the rustic orange leaves of the tree above him slowly change into their once vibrant green color. The young girl steps back in astonishment, but she feels something wet dripping above her. She turns around and falls backwards as she looks at the water suspended above in the shape of a hand waving at her. “You see child, when you are connected to the universe, it allows you a power that few can challenge. It is your destiny to fight for it like I have.”
She looks towards the old man and stutters, “But how will I know what is right?”
“With time and error. But listen to the universe and you will never stray far from the path.”
The elderly man begins to walk away from the girl. She shouts, “Wait! Please don’t go, I have so many more questions.” The elderly man begins to fade away and the young girl finds herself shouting at nothing but the air. She looks at her side and finds the book by her feet. She picks it up and looks through the pages and illustrations. She tucks the book underneath her arm and begins to head back home. She senses it all and continues to walk with a smile.
***
The elderly man returns to his small decrepit house. As he opens the door, he finds James walking in a nervous pace. James races to hug him and says, “Where have you been? There is not much time left.”
The elderly man smiles and says, “The universe gives us all the time that we need. It allowed me to find its new champion and to enjoy my last day on this planet by sensing all its wonders one last time.”
You Want It, You Got It
by The Cowl Editor on May 2, 2019
Portfolio
by Dawyn Henriquez ’19
She was never the quiet type. Her voice was always the one booming through the jams at parties, the one to say hello as though you were a football field away when you were only a couple feet from her, the one who needed to be told that she was yelling in the middle of class (when she was still enrolled at Parkton High).
That morning was no different. The sun had barely shed the sleep out of its rays to climb over the horizon. But hearing her, one would think it was the middle of the day. The landline was pulled most of the way into the kitchen by its curly cord. She spoke as though each word was being chased by the last and as though her jet engine of a voice couldn’t wake anyone, but it did.
“Angelita mamaguebo, I have to go,” she said into the phone as she finished off the last of the groceries on a sandwich.
“Muchacha gimme 10 minutes. I have a son too, you know?” Angel said from the other side through the muffling sounds of getting a shirt on a sleepy 7 year-old.
“He’s already waiting for me outside, yo no tengo diez minutos.”
She wrapped the sandwich in plastic wrap and scrawled “morenito” with a heart over it and placed the would-be breakfast on the counter.
“Don’t be a b-i-t-c-h…aunque sea dile bye al niño. Just wait for me, I’ll be there soon.”
Click.
She placed the phone back on the wall in the dining/living room and went back towards the bed on the other side of the ratty studio. A packed suitcase sat beside the nightstand. She looked over at him, guilt trying to push itself into her esophagus. He lay there as though lifeless, the black tee he wore to sleep once hers, but now his since the moths took a liking to making holes in it. In the semidarkness she could see him lying there, the blanket still halfway on his small body, resting on his side with his hands tucked under the pillow, his eyes alert as though they’d been open for an hour.
He looked just like her, right down to the high cheekbones and the dark skin that made people call her Haitian on the island as though it were an insult (of course that is how she took it). All he got from her were her looks; who he was came out of the ether fully formed and nothing like her. He was quiet, cried for less than five minutes at birth, cried only when he was hungry or needed to be changed (and never for too long), and as he grew older, he cried less. At that point she hadn’t seen him shed a tear for almost a year. His almost black eyes took the world in and let none of it out. His great aunt used to say “él nació críado;” he was born raised.
“Go back to sleep, morenito, I’ll be back soon,” she soothed.
He didn’t say a word, just kept staring into her as though he was the parent and she the child feeding him bullshit they both knew wasn’t true. She knew he wasn’t buying it; she could feel it as she stooped down and got eye level with him.
“Your auntie is gonna be here soon to pick you up and take care of you for a bit,” she said as she knelt.
Silence.
“I love you, morenito. Tu eres mi alma…you’re my soul,” her eyes began to water.
She reached over into her suitcase and pulled out her Discman and the CDs she knew he liked: Ice Cube’s AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted (that she’d just recently bought) and ATCQ’s debut.
“Here, hold these until I get back,” she said.
She placed the black saucer and headphones in his small outstretched hands, leaving the CDs beside him on the bed, and placed one kiss on his forehead before getting up and hurrying out. He listened to her footsteps run down the three flights of stairs and got up once he heard the door slam on the first floor.
In quick succession, he threw on his thong sandals and a pair of shorts that were lying around and ran after her. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He just knew that he didn’t want her to be gone. Didn’t want her to leave him forever. He ran out of the heavy white door of Fort Knox, what the two of them had taken to calling the heavily surveilled building they lived in, and saw her getting into an all-white semi with the slogan “You Want It, You Got It” in a yellow bubble plastered across the length of its haul. Its wheels were as big as him and the engine roared louder than her voice ever could.
“Mom!” He yelled, the loudest he’s ever spoken.
The passenger door to the haul gave an audible thunk in response. The semi growled and hissed as the driver, some white guy in his late thirties from the look of it, put it into drive and started to take off. He ran behind it, yelling for the first time in his life, tearing his vocal chords raw, flexing an inheritance he had not yet learned to control. He could see her face in the side mirror, her angular features making her look mean even when she didn’t mean to be. Her high cheekbones, that made her big eyes small when she laughed, took some of the threat out of her look though. She was radiant. He could see her looking at him in the side mirror. The same blackened brown eyes she had given him, staring at him in the reflection, seeing him run after her, but not saying a single word to stop the truck’s movement.
He couldn’t catch up. His legs much too short and his lungs too empty. He could all but stare as the semi turned out of Saratoga Lane. His voice was shot, his throat stripped and throbbing, and the thong of one sandal torn out. His dark eyes were wet but stayed focused on the slogan “You Want It, You Got It” emblazoning the black script and yellow circle into his memory. Before long, tears streaked down his cheeks.
Tincture
by The Cowl Editor on May 2, 2019
Portfolio
by Julia Zygiel ’19
My head is buried in my folded arms as my heart hammers in my chest. My nose presses uncomfortably into the desk, but this is the only tried and true method for hiding the cloud of piss yellow panic that’s trying to suffocate me. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up, praying simultaneously that it’s able to contain the whole thing and that my professor will drone on past his allotted lecture time per usual so I can get myself under control. But the art of coming down from an attack is sometimes in moving on and forgetting about it, and right now all I can do is think about people wincing at the cloud that now surrounds my head, thinking I’m some freak because not everything I feel is picture perfect. Even worse, I imagine them full of pity and trying to help. Asking what’s wrong.
As the end of the class approaches I can feel the cloud condensed in the small space of my hoodie, pressing uncomfortably against the back of my neck and wrapping around, its misty tendrils wriggling into my ears, making everything sound muted. I raise my head ever so slightly, trying to focus on the professor’s lips and the faraway sound of his voice so that I can tell if he dismisses class. Instead the cloud comes to hang over my eyes, making everything appear jaundiced. It begins to expand into the air in front of my face, leaking out of the small crevice I have created for it, and panic propels my face back down against the desk with lightning speed.
By the time that the cloud must be staining my hoodie, hair, and skin bright yellow, everyone starts packing their bags and leaving the class while I’m stuck hunkered over my desk. I could try to listen to music, but the movement of getting my earphones out of my backpack could draw the attention of the class. Plus, if I move my arms the cloud will escape into the air, which will definitely draw the attention of the class. On top of this, I’m sure that the thought train of my worrying has only made the yellow even more saturated and noticeable. I can feel a hiccup of fear caught in my throat, threatening to choke me, when a cool palm on my shoulder interrupts the storm of my emotion.
“Hey.” Alexandra’s voice matches the sensation of her palm, cool and disembodied. Her voice washes over and blanks me out and wrests me from my emotions, a welcome change after the past half hour of class. The blankness struggles with my panic for a moment, and then I feel the grip on my heart loosen and dissolve. Gently, she pulls me up from my position on the desk.
“How was class?” Her tone is teasing. Neither of us can count the amount of times she’s had to save me from my own embarrassing emotion in public places, and she does not often let me forget it. But the familiar crease in her brow is there. She’s worried about me. This has happened too many times this week.
“It was fine.” I want to bristle at the teasing, but I can’t. Alexandra neutralizes me, she saves me from panic attacks, but she brings me down from euphoria as well. I don’t mind the light pink of joy or the warm red of excitement. It makes me feel like the people I envy on the streets, who live in their color of emotion without shame. Who feel normal and proudly display it. Alexandra, who creates beautiful color no matter her mood, cannot understand my envy.
“I’m sorry,” she sighs, sounding forlorn. Being that I don’t display much emotion when she’s around, she’s become surprisingly adept at reading my mind. Around her head and shoulders, a cloud of midnight blue forms, gaining a few sideways glances.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, and I mean it. Though I know I’ll be upset about it tonight and maybe tomorrow, she eliminates emotion from the equation for the time being. It isn’t logical to be upset; it will only result in stress and heart ache, so I’m not. Slowly we walk to our dorms and slowly the midnight blue grows lighter and lighter and disappears from her headspace. Briefly, I wonder if I could do something to neutralize some of her emotions in turn, but I’m not sure I should wish that upon her.
***
“I want to feel more.”
We are sitting outside of the library, on the marble ledge that looks out onto the gardens. When I say this, Alexandra pulls a face, her brow creasing once more in worry and confusion.
“Feel more?” she laughs. “I thought you felt too much.”
I swing my foot back and forth out of lack of preoccupation, considering my words.
“I don’t like feeling numb, being neutral.”
She scowls for a minute, then her expression clears. “I thought I was helping you.” Her tone is measured, the way it gets when she’s trying to stop a cloud from forming. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
“Then listen. Please.”
Her lips work to protest, but she produces no sound. She shifts a hand, as if she wants to reach for the reassuring hand on the shoulder but is too afraid. Instead, she begins to sway, touching her shoulder to mine periodically.
“Okay. Tell me.”
For the first time in a long time I feel complete in a color of emotion, with her allowing me to slowly glean the hues of my feeling as she rhythmically sets me to swaying.
“I don’t want you to help me anymore,” I burst out, a bloom of dark purple clouding around me. It stains her shoulder when she bumps against me, but she doesn’t quell it. I don’t feel the blank washing over. She doesn’t say anything, and I can feel from the way she is gripping the marble ledge that this is as far as her active listening skills have stretched in a long time.
“I want to feel everything I feel, and I want to revel in it, and wallow in it, and I don’t want to forget what it feels like to feel good, but I don’t want to forget what it feels like to feel bad either. I want to feel like a human again, with all the highs and lows. I need help, but not a cure-all. You get better by going through, not around.”
“But you asked me to. I thought you wanted this to begin with.” Her grip on the ledge tightens, trying to resist her instincts in this situation, but I can feel the familiar tug of her hand at the backdoor of my mind anyhow.
“I did.” I say it quietly, tears pricking at my eyes. “But I didn’t mean it all the time.” My resistance is enough to banish her presence from my mind. The purple stain of my aura, created by the dirty blue of betrayal and the painful bright red of passionate fury, takes up all corners of my vision.
“I’m sorry,” she says finally, after a silence that feels like an eon. “I didn’t want to make you incomplete. Just better.”
Despite myself, I reach for her hand and squeeze, letting the purple that has run down my arms stain both of our hands like ink spilled over parchment. The crease has anchored itself once more on her forehead, her face registers only confusion. Apprehension lurks just beneath her tongue.
I smile for her. “It’s okay,” I say, knowing it might not be, but knowing that’s what I want. “Thank you for apologizing.”
She holds up our now purple-as-night arms, her lips part in a smile, the apprehension dispersing in the air.
“I love you,” she says to me, “and I want to make it right.”
Deep down in my stomach I believe her, and the deep purple cloud that surrounds us turns bright, then lilac, then is gone, and we are clean again.