Volume 37 (2005)

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(1)Gardner-Webb University. Digital Commons @ Gardner-Webb University The Broad River Review. Literary Societies and Publications. 2005. Volume 37 (2005) C. V. Davis Jennifer Menster. Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.gardner-webb.edu/brreview Part of the English Language and Literature Commons, Fiction Commons, Nonfiction Commons, and the Poetry Commons Recommended Citation Davis, C. V. and Menster, Jennifer, "Volume 37 (2005)" (2005). The Broad River Review. 12. https://digitalcommons.gardner-webb.edu/brreview/12. This Book is brought to you for free and open access by the Literary Societies and Publications at Digital Commons @ Gardner-Webb University. It has been accepted for inclusion in The Broad River Review by an authorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Gardner-Webb University. For more information, please contact [email protected]..

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(3) The. Broad River REVIEW Volume 37 Spring 2005. Gardner-Webb University North Carolina. Boiling Springs,.

(4) The. and friends of The Broad River Review would. stall. offer our sincerest appreciation to Dr. Joyce. like to. Compton Brown. for. her years of valued service.. As Faculty been. Editor, contributor,. and trusted advisor. Dr. Brown has. and guiding force. for most of The Broad River Review's existence (formerly known as Reflections). a steady. Her love of. literature. and imaginative writing has been. instrumental to the enduring success of the Department of. English and, especially, our literary magazine.. We. dedicate this issue of The Broad River Review to Dr. Joyce. Compton Brown..

(5) The. Broad River review DESIGN EDITOR. Jennifer Menster. ASSISTANT EDITORS. Alina. Godonoaea. Robin Holley. Aaron Kephart Gabrielle McClure Jess. Snyder. Amanda Wood. FACULTY EDITOR. C.V. Davis. The Broad River Review is published annually by the English Department at Gardner- Webb University in Boiling Springs, North Carolina.. Upon. request this publication can be provided in an alternate. format.. Please. make. a request. by calling (704) 406-4414.. Cover Photograph. ©. Hal Bryant. Printed in Charlotte, North Carolina. by Main Street Rag Publishing Company.. ©. 2005, The Broad River Review.

(6) Contents. SPECIAL AWARDS The Broad River Review Student Poetry Award Slimmer Hess. 6. Effects. The Broad River Review Student Scott Holstein. J.. Calvin Koontz Poetry. 7. Fiction. Award. The Returned. Award. Nicole Hemric. 12. 13. B. i t tersweet Cacophony The Words. POETRY Joyce Compton Brown. 14 Vigil 15. Amanda Wood. Implosion. 16. Parade. 17. Eulogy. 1. Mill-town Sunday. 19. The Finding. 34. Jericho. 35. Homeplace. Virginia Chase Sutton. 36. Yellow Rind Sour Fruit. Lydia Johnson. 38. Home Movie Montage. Abu Ata. 47. Nisreen. Brian Williams. ,. The Sound of a Bullet Im Saleem. 48. My Grandma. 49. Devil. Elliot. 50. Refuge. Stephen Roger Powers. 59. Cleoparton. Robin Holley. 60. For Kristina. 62. Speak. Joanna Wallace. 63. Blue Doors. Audrey Friedman. 64. At. Conner. 65. The Lemming. Frank Newton. 66. Preserver. Meg. Juli. My. Now Easel.

(7) David Wayne Hampton. Passes. 70. Before. 71. Illumination. It. ,. To Everything. Turn Paula Galloway. 72. One Last Word. Hemmy. 73. Sahara. 74. My. Kirsten. In. Grandfather. Tells. Me. a. Story About His Life Jess. Snyder. 75. The Potter. 77. Brandon Coy. 85. Conundrum Poem Town. Cheryl Floyd-Miller. 86. Clearance. Amy U ns worth. 87. Farm. 88. Roughhousing After News of Another Abduction. Field Trip. Betsy Humphreys. 89. Petfect Crime. Summer Hess. 90. Restoration Project. Ay cock. 92. Odes. Jane L. Pease. 94. Sunrise. Donna D. Vitucci Natalie Murphy. 20. Sleepwalker. 40. Russian Roulette. 67. The Clock. G.S.. to. be Written. FICTION. Larry Rogers. CREATIVE NONFICTION Joyce Daniels. 53. Chicken Killing Day. Nicole Hemric. 80. Stephanie Faile. 95. God in the Pines Of Cookies and Rocks.

(8) —. Summer Hess. Effects Your presence is a cradle sways and rocks and leans me back.. that. your argyle sweater and old. soft like. where. I. hints of laughter’s tiny. like the. wisdom of your. eyes,. canyons tease the corners.. focus on the gentle similitude that has knitted our pieces of pieces together.. Never could. a. garment so carefully mis-sized be mass-produced.. This garment, the. hangs on. Here 1. have. The. is. to. a. my. hemming. of our decisions and misperceptions,. pendulum’s thread. greatest fear: that. swallow pieces of myself in order. blood singed red, All shapes of past and present, all. regardless of lime,. all. mean something. 6. to. keep our nearness. calico patch, the sky corduroy blue, the. 1. cannot revise.. amazon green and.

(9) Scott Holstein. The Returned The blue hue of. the lake glistened through the trees as. though the sky were draped down. came. crested the knoll and. “Beautiful,” at. I. hand. The car was. ground. to the. all in.. It. was. our boys were. silent;. still. moment. in front. asleep in the back.. car,. leaving his door. of the old cabin to take in rotting. and the porch leaned as though a good shove would bring. One. down.. ing. glass long since. but legible.. we. to a stop.. shambles. The roof was covered. in. of us as. whispered, trying not to dwell on the topic. Without saying a word, Evan got out of the open, and paused for a. in front. it. it. leaves crash-. windows was broken, the shattered gone. The sign was still hanging, though, grimy of the front. read “Adventure Outfitters” and had a faded paint-. It. ing of a rainbow trout leaping out of. some unnamed. stream.. and across the porch.. The. wooden planks creaked and bent under him. He stepped up. to the. Evan hobbled up door, and. I. shake for a. the steps. could see his shoulders hunker forward and his. moment. as. up, took a deep breath, and. opened the rusty. door open wide and disappeared. Today was that trip. past.. 1. Not. ever.. insisted. on. into the. knew. it. to **o to a. lock.. He. was time. coining, for support. He swung. the. doesn’t talk about to. pay a. visit to his. more than anything.. the Outfitter store together.. take guests to remote places in these Catskills to fish. or hunt or just to hike. Every once. ed. frame. darkness inside.. the 10th anniversary.. But, he. Evan and Sam had owned. They would. tall. he leaned on his cane. Then he straightened. in a. while. when someone want-. hard to reach place or a location outside of NY, Evan. Dan. He was a pilot in the owned his own seaplane. Usually when they called him, their party was heading somewhere in the Canadian Wilderness in search of trophy steelheads or large game. Once a and. Sam would. call in their old friend. Buffalo area and. get together for their high-school. year they would. all. They would go. off into the wilderness. somewhere,. gang outing. far. from any. sign of civilization. 7.

(10) Jake would always make. become such. a tradition. it. back for those. trips.. It. had. over the years that the Geographic knew. not even attempt to give. him an assignment during. the. first. to. two. weeks of April. He was a world-renowned photographer to the where he worked when he wanted to and climbed mountains. point. when he. didn't.. can only imagine what they must have been like togeth-. 1. Dan was always antsy and excitable. He was Jake was short like Dan, but had broader. er in high school.. never calm, or quiet.. He was normally. shoulders.. Sam was. like a Billy goat.. quiet, but. the. had a deep ornery streak,. humorous one of. always wore a smile and constantly had. to. the group.. He. brush his dark hair out. of his radiant eyes.. And. Evan... well Evan was Evan.. been quiet, serious. a. little. kid.. When. The. past ten years he’s. they were together, though, he was like. He had always been. lighthearted, fun loving, up until. is what drew me to him so much when we were dating. 1 always loved to hang out with Evan and Sam at the store and listen to their tall tales of growing up. His laid back personality. that point.. together.. Evan changed on Evan when he came back. ly. that ill-fated trip, though. It. was. as. He wasn’t my. though there was some ungod-. weight on his shoulders that he could not possibly uphold, and. it. was crushing him. He closed the shop and got a desk job in the city. His dreams dimmed, overwhelmed from grief like the sun overwhelms the stars in the sky. I. don’t. that last trip.. know every. We. had. still. in the hospital,. See,. Evan was. to. detail as to. what happened out there on. pry to get anything out of. him while he was. and he would never speak about. the only one to. make. it. back. it. after that.. alive.. After a round of hugs and laughter on the dock the lake, they had. plane.. No man’s. headed towards northern Canada. the crash. the night in a vio-. must have been horrifying,. screaming with excessive RPM's, smoke in their. Dan’s sea. Lightening destroyed the whole right wing.. moments before. at. land.. The plane went down sometime during lent storm.. in. down. Those. the engine. filling the cabin,. burning. lungs as they gasp for breath, gear tumbling across them. over and over as they spiraled. down. to earth like a bird shot out. of. the sky.. They crash-landed 8. The Relumed. at the. top of. some snowy peak. The.

(11) plane slid a couple hundred yards before coming to a. Sam came pit, his. Jake and. out rather unscathed, except for a few scratches and. Evan had. bruises.. rest.. a. broken. leg.. Dan was slumped over in the cockwas pooling down around his. face red with blood, which. His head had smashed into the dash on impact, killing him.. feet.. If they. had followed proper procedure and filed a flight to survive the cold and wait for a res-. would have just had. log, they. cue party. them. Unfortunately, the. to find. FAA didn’t know. where. they were going, or even that they were going, and the lightening. had. fried all electronic. equipment. in the plane.. They buried Dan in it out. snow by his plane, pained by his loss but thankful for their own survival. They set Evan’s leg with a splint, and then they made a sled for him out of a piece of the wreckage to make it easier to drag Their only option was. to. hoof. the. the snow.. him through. Jake and. Sam. gathered up what gear they. could find and headed out, both taking turns dragging Evan along with them. If. hadn’t been for Jake’s climbing gear they would have. it. never made. had. off that they. bag and. off the mountain.. it. tied a. to repel. to a. rocky drop-. in a. sleeping. makeshift harness around his chest. Then they tied. off between the. him. The slope turned. down. They stuffed Evan. two of them and Jake. started. down. the cliff. first.. Everything was working well a lip. partway down, leaving. all. dropped off over them hanging out from the. until they. three of. rock face as they eased themselves down.. were. all. Suddenly, while they. hanging there, a cam pulled out above them, dropping. cam caught them. Then it started They were hanging there, helpless, unable to reach rock face to cling to. The cam slipped some more before breakOne cam left. Another jolt told free, dropping them again.. them. a. few. feet before the next. slipping, too.. the. ing. them. it. was. slipping, too.. Jake desperately tried. towards the rock face, stretching out. his. arm. to. swing himself. as far as he could.. He. couldn’t reach. “It’s. going!”. only one option. if. Sam had. yelled. down. Jake knew there was to make it off the moun-. any of them were going. There was no need for all three of them to fall to their deaths. He looked up to Evan and Sam. “Keep the sun on your backs, boys!” he yelled with that. tain.. dry grin as he reached above himself and cut the rope. “Nooo!” Evan screamed, closing his eyes tight to block Scot Holstein 9.

(12) Sam. out the image below him.. buried his head. hands and. in his. sobbed.. They were. Somehow Sam had. Both of them were. cliff.. Sam. The cam could hold. sale.. been able. to single. the. two of them.. handedly lower them off the. silent all the. wav down. At. the. *. bottom. buried another one of their friends.. Sam. had to make a stretcher for Evan since they were then snowy peaks, and he dragged Evan through the rugged forest. It must have been hard for Sam because Evan weighed a good 401bs more than him. He struggled and continued on, though, without a complaint, while Evan also silently suffered from the. below. the. pain.. Evan. didn't. know how many days. remembered eating beans over and their. Sam had. packs that. found. over;. left in. They traveled through mountainous vation,. dominated by the coniferous Ill. soon struck again. fate. a. it. He. they had traveled.. was. the only food. from. the plane wreckage.. terrain,. down. forest.. It. was. to the. lower. ele-. a beautiful Hell.. few days into the journey while. Sam was struggling to pull Evan and his stretcher over some fallen timber. Sam stepped backwards over a log and suddenly dropped the stretcher, screaming out in pain.. Sam had. ground.. “Damn!” he. cursed.. Evan looked up. in. him, pale-faced, and began. to. his knee.. “Sam, you’ve got the. venom. will. Evan winced. unwittingly stepped on a. to. He. as he fell to the. rattler.. quickly tied a tourniquet below. amazement as Sam walked over drag him again.. to. keep your blood circulation down, or. reach your heart!” Evan had protested.. Sam. ignored him and kept going, convinced they were near civilization.. Half an hour. later. Sam. collapsed onto his knees, holding his chest. and wheezing.. His leg was dark purple and swollen.. venom stopped. his heart,. and Evan was. left. Evan cried all night after Sam died. His The next day he started crawling, with live.. He. Slowly the. alone.. loss hit. Evan. the hardest.. a sheer determination to. crawled, inch by inch, day and night, his rotting, useless. leg dragging behind him.. The. hikers found. Evan beside. a. trail,. Sam’s body. He was dehydrated and bloody, 71 slipped out of the car. had been gone inside. I. It. 10. long time.. I. and walked up. The Relumed. from. worn raw.. to the cabin.. Evan. creaked across the porch and peaked. my eyes a moment to adjust to He was backed against the wall,. took. saw him.. a. five miles. his fingers. the darkness. sitting. Then. on the dusty.

(13) floor.. He was weeping. onto a photo. not interrupt him, but he noticed face, but didn’t look at. 1. I. life that. had. I. I. hands.. 1. the doorway.. stood. still. He wiped. spared?” he whimpered.. makes. know what. didn’t. counter where. in his. in. their sacrifices. to say so. I. sat years before,. “How. played, each item decorated. He. and. 1. knelt. walked over. to. him, past the. around the worn card. table,. advertisements spouting claims of. to. Evan and held him. down. ered wrinkles. cheeks. dis-. in. eventually stood up, tears streaming in his. can. worthwhile?". and across the empty floor where outdoor equipment was once superiority,. to. his. me.. “Melissa. ..why was possibly live a. me. like the. close.. down. the weath-. mountains’ rivers he used. to. we slowly walked back to the car. out the window at us, his face softlooking our boys saw. tame. Embracing each other,. When. he. ened.. got. in.. “Daddy, what’s the matter?” our youngest son asked as we sat silently for a few moments, staring down at the. Evan. lake.. “Boys,. it’s. time. after,” he said, the blue. I. told. you about the men you are named. hue of the lake reflecting. in his eyes,. warm-. ing their cool grayness.. Scott Holstein. I. 1.

(14) Nicole Hemric. Bittersweet. Cacophony. Sweetness can. rot. your. teeth.. Bitterness lingers longest on the tongue.. Candy coated words are hardest to swallow. Promises made in the dark should be kept in Sour looks. stick to. your face forever.. Memories can sweeten Forbidden. A. today. is. tears, or kill a smile.. tossed out with tomorrow’s garbage.. stroke of luck tarnishes like. An The. 12. fruit. the sight of the sun.. unkempt. innocent kiss can break a heart. in. silver.. two.. strongest will die with the weakest to hold them..

(15) Nicole Hemric. The Words like ghosts of the forgotten. They haunt me,. reach out and touch someone. who. try to. — anyone— never. be silenced. Memories dance across the white ceiling that stares back, down at me as I lie awake watching a sad play. extending the. My. performed by shadows, blurred by a watery curtain cheek. Numb, my hand will find its way to. down my. edge of the mattress and dangle as closely as possible fingers, spindly roots that. claw and clamour. into the dirt, sucking out the earth’s. The play. is. over.. My. fingers retract.. their. to the floor.. way down. marrow and blood. I. think of books I've read,. movies I’ve seen, and all the characters I emulate in my life. I wonder, has anyone has been clever enough to check the programs and see that there is but one actress and many roles. I think of God, and ask the. spirits. standing by the door what. it’s. like to. be dead.. I. watch, as. into I. my. ceiling. becomes. a. creamy white vortex, swirling. an open space where heaven and earth connect over. float just close. enough. to. my tired form.. catch a tiny glimpse of what can only. be described as somewhere, but not anywhere here. illusion. —brought on by reading too long nights by. and pounding keys. to. make worlds appear on. a. An. ocular. a too. dim bulb. glowing white. square,. framed. in the. blackness of the words.. *. 13.

(16) Joyce Compton Brown. Vigil. She sings her mother’s song of sorrow. With. the pain of her. own. life. added. for. edge. Lifting her voice in translucent innocence.. Keening. for the. wayworn. traveler,. For the way worn travelers of yesterday and tomorrow That deliverance will come. Child of. God. awaiting palms of victory. Daughter of hope wringing out despair Descendent of dreamers singing That voice must have wept. eternity.. at the. Tomb.. (. 14. 1977 ).

(17) Joyce Compton Brown. Implosion Junaluska,. Honorary. citizen of. Battered old. man. your native land.. with obsidian eyes,. black eyes blaring the. last. and. against the loss of. silent cry. life. the loss of will. against c. When. the pal id photographer retreated. under his black hood, did he tremble. As. I. now. at the truth. he saw?. sicken from the refracted. of a bundled old. power. man. on a straightback chair in front. of a cabin. provided by the State. which cut. a red. and. streak across your. and now provides. a. muddy. Snowbirds. plaque. grave marking c the c. of the. last great. Cherokee warrior.. (. 1978. ).

(18) Joyce Compton Brown. Parade. A diesel. truck. moves. through the street in. Bearing on. low-geared solemnity. its. flat-bed stage a. Christmas vision from. Rita’s School of. Dance:. Joseph and Mary cringe within the creche before the electric thud and crash. of rock and. A. roll.. stereophonic Star croones, “Beat to fiberglass. it,”. baby Jesus. who does not awaken does not obey does not cry out. at flashing feet. above the Lamb.. (. 16. 1984 ).

(19) Joyce Compton Brown. Eulogy He. spat out desperate. little. words. against the l'initude oF. He spoke. of the. human. understanding.. awesome gap between theology and science, between heaven and. He asked. hell.. us to peer into the darkness. of our innermost secret sinful hearts. Where. I. saw. man among cypress knees. a gentle bearded. gliding his canoe. under circling ospreys through. Teaching. a child the. of. lily. still,. polished waters. miracle. pads. of golden club of old man’s beard. and alligator smiles.. (. 1984. ). 17.

(20) Joyce Compton Brown. Mill-town Sunday. We. ride oiled clay roads. Past the rusty combine and Mitch Jordan’s hog pen. blooming with hollyhocks. Past sorrel and chickweed pushing through garden remnants of cotton farms, To our usual graveled space.. Sunday cotton dresses and French heels walk the hot, mud-streaked sidewalk into church,. In our stiff vve. Into cool quiet, into transformation.. Arching windows overpower. reality,. diffusing by the beauty of their light.. The sanctuary glows with. old familiar stories,. with holiness and order and truth beyond time.. We the. The. are surrounded by Moses and Joseph and the Good Samaritan; boy Jesus in the temple, Mary and the empty tomb.. light shines. through Christ. in the. Garden.. His stained glass while and crimson robes. glow with morning sun. His praying face turns toward blue cobalt lead-fringed sky.. Our. faces. Serene. life. in the. toward radiant Jesus, beauty of ceremony.. low building machines with sharp slit-eyed needles threaded and poised. In a long. rows of. steel. wait in the vast dark silence.. Today their drone is deadened by the mighty roar of Bach. Backs and fingers and weary eyes yield to liturgy’s demands. Voices of praise. rise in dignity.. (. 18. 1989 ).

(21) Joyce Compton Brown. The Finding (for Janies Still). I. have come. at last to the. Not the place I. I. listen for the. know. my. place. still.. And. l. from. my. well. throbbing sound of piliated woodpecker tree.. the slippery rocks of algae- wet and the burning rocks of. summer’s. glare.. know. the deer’s. brown eyes and. the sting of cat briers.. see bear-claws clutching sunflower feeders. And 1. know.. shrills.. pounding on hollow. I. I. fear the drought that sucks the water. And 1. place. mother knew by. know why the ant husk hangs by a thread on my clothesline. know when the katydids will sing in the harmony of. pulsing. I. my. the endless patience of. take. my. garbage. wasps. to build. and build again.. to the tree’s feet beside the. deep green gal ax. I. watch brown grasshoppers lunge zig and zag against. the roar of machine.. I. walk. in a. place where dry leaves. harbor the timber I. fall. and dark holes. rattler.. stand beside the yellow pines that cling to the. thin-soiled rock.. There. is. a. room. for. me. in the clear still. waters touched. by water slriders and crayfish In the presence of the patterned glow of the striped water snake.. (. 2002 ). 19.

(22) Donna. D. Vitucci. Sleepwalker Nothing tainted than son for. my mama,. the family.. No. tently,. in the. fault of hers. smoking on. way, as a boy,. I. stood more partner. and Daddy more houseguest than head of nor mine that he'd appear intermit-. the front porch step, or tilted on a kitchen chair,. balancing his edgy, about-to-bolt weight. Barely hello, and he'd be squinting through the Winston’s exhaust, already eyeing the door.. Because. his. me. ed on. absence bent our lives into such shapes,. —. —. small boy, going nowhere. Mama. to define. count-. what was. dependable about her world.. start.. My daddy’s wanderlust shot holes through us from the We knew there was no changing him and so none of us much. tried,. and yet he was the artery from where each family member. branched, letting our blood, and his blood, every road. Granina Bristol and her brother.. my twosome,. and. kept things nailed. Uncle. down. when we had. along the. matched Mama’s. We slammed our managed to hole up. proper.. four weights to the far corners of the house and there. little bit. Joel,. against the river or whatever else rose and. to,. set us to treading water.. Miamitown was nothing more than the river. from Cincinnati. to. Aurora, a. strip. a pull-off following. of gun and bait shops, a. pocket of antique stores and a diner, two gas stations, Mobil and Shell, that undercut each other’s prices in. summers, an auto body. shop, and churches cast a bit further from the main drag, Route 128,. our street address. for. I. know now you. more, but back then. I. couldn’t blame. Daddy. itching. thought the one world that mattered was. lapped by the Great Miami, with ping on. down from our. feet to. its shoals and its whitewater, slipmeet the Ohio in North Bend. And. Gymkhana Club Ann Dowling loved. over the bridge there to Taylor’s Creek and the. where horses showed most weekends.. Sally. She haunted the stalls Saturday summer, pestering the handlers to let. horses; well what girl doesn’t?. morning. to. Sunday night. her brush their animals. attentions, their hair.. I. the place, too. 20. manes. know because. as. in. Any one smooth. she got to shone silky from her. as Sally. Ann’s own straw-colored. Sally Ann’s devotions gave. me. cause to haunt.

(23) On and the. —. the other side of Harrison Pike set the driving range. chili parlor. and. a. neighborhood landmark. still. active today. Lounge. Grandma called Sinclair’s a den of iniquity, proclamation which sent me to the dictionary; meaning wickedSinclair’s. Dark and confusing and succu-. ness, sin. the soul’s slippery slope. lent as the densest jungle.. The winter. November and some and then more. set. turned. I. snow began. fourteen,. on the ground for five weeks. froze, got rained. likely in late February.. By. on and ebbed into the time. we. falling. straight.. sat to. a. It. in. melted. dingy while. supper the gray. horizon tinged pink with the sleet that was often driving toward us,. readying another coat of. temperatures sandwiched fog. slick. Fickle. Mama. between sky and shrinking snow, and that’s where one midnight, wandering, but not aware.. me. found. Asleep, I’d pulled on. my. beaten up shoes with no socks, so the loose material scraping. became part of the irritating dream I’d been trapped months, a dream of my daddy going up in smoke. insteps. Mama’s. pointer finger in the small of. to the house, her other. ing the blind, as. smelled the sleep drifted up. I. arm. latched on mine, tableau of blind leadI. from the. Both were a comfort. river.. no memory of. “Where’s your coat?”. We I’d. said,. 1. to. me, walking. in. intent, decision, or process.. said.. “Where’s yours?”. were the sorry pair Daddy. been coasting through. how to be hopefulness how best be mother,. left. off and on, and she and. his absences, teaching. each other. how. to. son, and learning despite ourselves and our to stave off a chill.. “Sleepwalking’s a kind of. “You. me. back urged. woke slowly through the very act of walking. on Mama’s skin and the tang of cold weather that. the shivery outside with. She. my. in for. gift,. Quinn,”. leave not just your bed but your body,. Mama. maybe. to. claimed.. appear. like. Jesus in two places at once.”. foggy. in the. head,. couldn’t see what she was getting at. She was part time church go-er, who turned. to the. Lord. “What’s the good I. mostly out of fear for. down. the chute into. my. in. that?”. dad and. Vietnam. like. said.. I. all. Still. the other buzzheads herded. dumb-shit. cattle. - Daddy’s. first. legitimate reason for not turning up.. Back ed sleet, the. inside the kitchen, the radio on the counter predict-. weatherman’s voice crackling a sign we were out of his Donna. D. Vitucci. 21.

(24) Uncle Joel stood. range.. from. needed warming.. est parts. I. Our hands folded on. ed.. up leftover coffee. at the stove, boiling. my. Following. earlier in the day.. sat. sleepwalking,. Mama. with. our cold-. all. and Granma and wait-. the tabletop that way,. we might. as well. have been praying. ‘‘I’m. Mama. depending on nature. of Daddy's well-being,”. to tell. said.. Granma. averted her eyes and said, “So, Breda, then what’s. mean?” The old woman had. this sleet. a sarcastic streak she. let fly,. particularly at her only daughter.. “Same. as. when Derek was. found. stateside, he. Uncle Joel scraped. staying rooted.”. a. it. difficult. spoon against the bottom of. the saucepan.. “You all keep your eyes open still.” Mama said. They allowed so much because she was their pet.. always. surprise,. Daddy home. Bristol latched onto. our uncertainties. “Urge to roam. What was a voice that. to. at. my. sleepwalking. Quinn’s age. “Preamble of what. urges,” she said.. or fair skies, nei-. His arrival was always. to us.. whim.. his schedule, his. Granma ilish. my own. Storm. had no speculations of. I. ther had ever brought. is. all’s to. dev-. in. come.”. come: tougher skin where whiskers sprouted,. croaked when. I. least. expected or wanted. ‘em and leave ‘em attitude Uncle Joel talked big. my. growing pains needled sleep into staying.. to divert all. grounded. thighs on nights. And when. J. did sleep,. J. 1. of.. it,. the love. Back. then,. had trouble coaxing. dreamt. I. was an orphan. bird in a nest set on by magpies, or that particular night’s absorption. where. fire.. With. 1. was moving way too slowly. the weighted chains locked on. save my daddy from my arms and legs like. to. Marley’s Ghost, Daddy would be a burnt up stick before I’d make it. to. And meanwhile. him.. I. could smell his hair burning, his beard. and his furry forearms.. remembered. 1. the. man. in. to start the. curling up as a small boy beside. nothing but boxers, after. bacon of a Sunday morning. Burrowing. pudgy knees and thighs. in the. warmth behind. breath drawing in and puffing out it. was. I’d. like. n. bedding. exaggerate. front side. Mama’d gone. my. down. at the. daddy,. into. Daddy,. his bent knees,. my my. dark curls low on his back,. with an animal. He’d pretend sleep, and. fake snoring until he (lipped. and we started wrestling.. Sleepwalker. my. into the kitchen. me. over onto his.

(25) Granma. called. from the kitchen, “Quit. that wrasslin’,. Derek. You’ 11 hurt the boy.”. mop. He. won't never," he called out.. “I. of hair to put us nose to. Tenderly he did. nose, so close he drove. and said. this,. my head by my me cross-eyed.. lifted. to. me, “You know. Quinn,. that,. right?”. “Well, then you'll break the bed,”. my. n’t like contradiction, but she did like I. was surrounded on. When Mama. all. Granma. She did-. said.. daddy.. sides by rough-edged affection.. bacon was ready and come eat while. said the. still had sizzle on it, Daddy up and raced me to the finish line which wasn’t breakfast, but Mama. She and Daddy were sloppy in their kissing, oblivious to Granma nudging at them with. the fat prize,. a. wet dish rag as she wiped down the stove, mindless of Uncle Joel. already legs. choicest bacon.. at the crispiest,. down. hugged. I. there at knee level until they shook. took charge of settling. My. me on. mouth watered. my. me. parents’ four. off and. Granma. phone books.. the stacked. of burnt meat.. at that first taste. “Sweet, huh?” Uncle Joel elbowed. made my cup of milk shiver. His cigarette the wood color of our kitchen table.. me and my. plate and. stained fingers. matched. I meant for my sideI nodded, chewing loudly to concur. ways frown to warn him about my shaky milk, but his attention was all bound up in the spectacle of Daddy nuzzling Mama by the per-. colator and wrestling.. Her. Mama. teeth, her lips,. me and Daddy. pretending struggle, just like. She shrieked, “Someone! Save and her laugh shot. ders and ricocheting around that. me. from. this ravishing.”. light to zinging off. room. our shoul-. Gran ripped the window. as. shade up. Her every act was an abrupt punctuation.. memory beside dozens of leaden we prayed Daddy was okay, wondered where he moments where This was one shining. was, and held our breath hoping he'd bust back through our warped kitchen door, rattling the flimsy shade with his stumble, his stubble,. and. his whistle.. Mama. set the. directly after reading. army's. it.. letter to the. Granma, Uncle. the kitchen, too, scrabbling together lunch.. fingers paused. gas flame on the stove. Joel,. and. I. Granma’s. were there. in. never-be-still. between Wonder Bread and Velveeta. Uncle. Joel’s. sandwich was half cut, his knife halted its sawing. I stood with the refrigerator door wide open, and for once no one yelled, “Shut it!” Donna. D. Vitucci 23.

(26) The cold milk. We. my. bottle turned slippery in. could have been shaking because of. grip.. Mama’s hands. closing in on her fingers.. fire. watched her drop the flaming thing. and run the. in the sink. faucet to keep the charred bits from flying around the room.. “Your daddy’s gone missing,” she chatter.. She. it.. She. bit. left. water pounding. her. lip, set. a. fist. words. said, her. all a-. over her mouth, put her teeth into basin and wrapped her arms. in the. about herself.. This missing was different from the kinds we’d attributed to. Daddy up. Before. then.. till. everything had been his. We tled. this. we’d been able. each fastened our eyes on kitchen objects -mine. on the wall thermometer. — so. No one spoke. thought that was good because words would harden the bad. I. news. set-. visions wouldn’t shift up and see. the bland alarm spreading across the others’ faces.. and. blame him,. to. fault.. sliding. floor.. its. sick gelatin over us.. Mama. sat right. down on. the. Four empty chairs made the table look wholeheartedly lone-. iy.. Granma. pulled. pressed her to her hair. was never out. Mama. up from the heap she was. in,. bosom and smoothed her hair, though Mama’s of place. The kitchen smelled like doused camp-. fire.. “They’ll continue searching,” Uncle Joel said.. two. steps,. 1. He walked. thought to shut the water down, but his hand turned the. stream red and then. I. saw how. his. sandwich had been marked with. blood.. “How do you know?” Another. My. fact. I. I. said.. Uncle Joel sounded indignant.. “I’ve served.”. didn’t know.. aching Fingers dropped the bottle and. 1. became. the. center of spilled milk, shattered glass, like one of those spin paint-. make. ings they taught us to. in. grade school. kitchen swirled around me, out from me,. up universe.. Here stood. me. my. instead of. Are you. my. I. art.. was. The world of. the. the fulcrum of a cut. every at-hand relative clucking over. daddy. hurt,. Quinn?. You ignoramus. Watch that glass or you’re slice yourself good. I was there, touchable and ripe for scolding, and Daddy was. not.. For just an. of his need to roam. 24. Sleepwalker. instant, I. was. I. took his place, could even get a whiff. a fussy fourteen year-old with. no idea.

(27) of the world, and damnit, he’d. “Don’t move,”. own. me. left. Mama. said,. to figure. and so. sweat, the backsplash of milk souring. She and Gran and Uncle. I. my own.. on. it. all. over me.. working. Joel took to. and tossing them. sopping the milk up with towels. my. stayed, soaked in. in silence,. right in the. garbage can. There was no saving them with so many glass splinThe way my ters stuck in the weaves and the loops of cotton.. walked back and forth, and Gran, too, from my feet to the trash and back again, it was like they processed. It was holy. Uncle Joel even knelt and wiped, stood and knelt again. His knees, I. mama. could guess with. my new. service than. in the. knowledge, knees. be. all right,. There’d been. his to the floor.. Under her breath. cussing, and then no more. litany: “It’ll. wrecked more. high school glory days of football, they. in his. snapped with each dip of. that he. now.. the refrigerator door shut.. It’ll. be. all. I. that initial. could hear Gran’s. Uncle Joel clicked. right.”. And Mama hummed. churchy tune. a. I. couldn’t place.. That was mid-December, with the house, before the. letter. burned, smelling of outdoors because of the pine boughs I’d. dragged. in. from the woods. that. day. to set atop the fireplace.. always liked the room holiday decorated, said she liked tradition, last. one. minute. milk. that every year. in. smell. charge of cutting a. in. Since I’d turned into a “Butterfingers” with that. tree.. bottle, they. brought. had pul Daddy. Mama. to. wouldn’t. let. me. wield an axe.. The branches. dropped needles by Christmas but we. Grandma draped. left. them. I’d. stay.. on them “to liven up the look of them and. tinsel. inspire hope,” she said.. ship,. Hope was Pastor Evans’s department, and he ran a tight one reason why Uncle Joel wouldn’t bother with church.. Mama. still. morning all,. wanted. in a. glow. to go, especially. that. with spring casting Sunday. nudges awake old expectations. Easter. His rising, the miracle of dead back to. after. When we crossed hold of my arm and. life.. Church of Thou Most Holy Light, she had was glad to give it, happy to be Mama’s companion wherever she needed or wanted to go, whatever way she lit upon to ease her scattered sense, her skip-a-beat heart, swallowed up whole as it was by into. I. Southeast Asia. There was nothing more. Daddy’d come. through okay.. thought. And nothing seemed. Tell to. me. be the. I. wanted. to learn but that. that or tell. way of. Uncle Joel likened our Pastor Evans. me. nothing,. I. it.. strutting in front of. Donna. I).. Vilncci. 25.

(28) the congregation to Jerry. Lewis mugging and longwinded on. his. Labor Day Telethon.. “The man performs and angles Uncle Joel Instead,. I’ll. said.. stay. for your hallelujahs,. “. “And I ain’t interested in that kind of saving. home and lift my voice in appreciation for your. Granina’s tea ring.”. He was from. their. her brother.. childhood up. him wishes. She. ing. imagined he’d pestered her. I. to this here old age,. sliced off a. chunk of. and. the cake for. she Saran-wrapped the rest for the church’s. Meet and. “You’re a good boy,” Granma said as oozing with cinnamon from where she’d cut front passenger seat of the car, she. I. it.. ed. my. From. knees almost. After she sot. my. in the. yanked her stockings up from. the car's other side. to. him before. Greet.. carried the tea ring,. her ankles, then resettled the skirt of her dress. there in her lap.. along. all. she was grant-. still. 1. I. placed the plate. crawled. in. back, fold-. breastbone, and waited for. Mama. to. drive.. No Mama’s. Evans or his preaching but Sunday news of Daddy nor much comfort.. disrespect to Pastor. services brought us no further. four months of small hope faded and she took to sitting. and smoking Kents. in a. back booth of Sinclair’s, some days as. Her worship gave way. early as four o’clock.. to. wallow.. Our whole backyard, from the flat to where it steeps down to the river, was water-logged. 1 was wallowing, too, lost a shoe in that bog, had to dig it free the next day and then blast the muck off with the garden hose before setting the pair on the front porch for daylight to dry a hard crust into them. In place of the sun that gave. up on April, blooming forsythia turned the world yellow. Even. my. drying-out shoes looked jaundiced.. Then Uncle Trey showed up. at. ing himself, from his time in the jungle.. our door, a. bit. sallow-look-. Uncle Trey was. my. dad’s. younger brother by five years. The two of them both were soldiers, but only Uncle Trey came home. Memories of my MIA dad were thick and. hung up between low lying heaven and the muddy riverlittle more each day. We still felt Daddy on our. bank, evaporating a skin, but the. was. Miami. crested and. the realest thing going.. dried out the yard so ting. I. and come summer Uncle Trey. could push the lawn. mower. without. mired every two or three rows. Uncle Trey pulled. her slide into Sinclair’s. 26. fell. Decoration Day’s sun and heat had. Sleepwalker. it. Mama. get-. from.

(29) Granma had me on my hands and knees yanking weed. For ic. all. grew wild around. the stuff that. there, she. chick-. was. fanat-. about keeping a nice front yard.. want nothing but. “I. stepping. all. way from. the. porch. my. on. soft green grass. this. bare feet in. mailbox down. to that. at the. road," she said.. Which meant flat. rooting out dandelions and crab grass and. runners of weeds and the insidious chickweed. Soon as. my. lowed. diggers. last bite. my palm. in. and. said,. “Get. I’d. at it.". grass ever since, and working against a. way. swal-. been kneeling. cramp. my. in. in the. the. left foot,. squatted and shifted to yank the chickweed free.. I. Uncle Joel rocked slowly. He was going. porch.. Mama. to. fill. in a. webbed. chair on the front. the silence, just a question of. the. in. when.. and Uncle Trey had revved off towards Whitewater. Forest in his Cutlass, no other information offered.. hung. I. of pancake that morning. Gran slapped the rusty. Gravel dust. and breathing some.. interfering with seeing,. air,. I. coughed and yanked another clump of chickweed loose. Uncle Joel said, “That smoker’s cough, Quinn?” “No,. sir.”. “Better not be.. Better not. me. let. catch you sneaking. smokes.". knew. I. it. was wise. to. say nothing.. Once. a nicotine fiend,. Uncle Joel developed emphysema and became the pinnacle of reformation.. He. said,. “Breda's a live wire. all. of a sudden.". With Mama’s departure dust died down, cock. his. eyebrows. much needed “The. Granma.. saw Uncle. Joel. sister not. saying.. Granina said.. at. I. Between brother and. sat. girl can’t. snapping beans on the top porch. mourn and she. can’t. move. on.. step.. She. Leave her. to. smile some. Trey won’t be here but awhile.". But that was a lie and we all three knew it. The plans Uncle Trey had to skip east to a resort on coast promising him work as groundskeeper evaporated into catch-all. changed. mist that lingers along the river on a morning. oil at. the Tresler. Comet on Severence. the the. He. Street over in North. Bend, rented a shoebox apartment above the Butterkist Bakery around the block from there. He was found at our place mostly otherwise,. I. guess because. Mama. gave him reason.. Like Daddy, Uncle Trey had the body hair of Donna. a beast.. A. D. Vitucci. 27.

(30) lumberjack beard could grow. full. nursed. FuManchu. in. no problem, but instead he. trimmed and thinned. it. into the kind. of wispy, black beard you’d find on a billy goat.. Back from. this. Vietnam and. some Asian. it. was. thing,. he’d been transfused. like. blood.. saw. I. medic. in the. tent with. the tinkly meditation bells hanging in his. down from arguing, not that any of us him except Mama. She gave him guff just because. apartment, and he backed. wanted. to fight. she could, about his feet on the cocktail table, about. windows open She. “Your head’s. said,. Uncle Trey. When. him leaving. said,. in the. clouds, Little Brother.”. “Only Derek can. me. call. he hoisted himself from the. that.”. river,. Uncle Trey’s. thick dark leg hair streaked his thighs and shins, water dripped the pelt on his chest, his arms.. mal skin on. forearm. his. the. of rain, about having too romantic a soul.. in sight. from. thought of Jacob strapping an ani-. I. to trick blind. old Isaac into blessing him. with his brother’s birthright.. “He’s nothing but a pipsqueak,” Uncle Trey said of. my mama,. “He’ll. grow. into himself.”. Then under her breath. her say, “Just fourteen,” half as proof that she wasn’t either.. Her eyes shuttered against. was. an act.. all. the afternoon. Uncle Trey, water running. shook himself and showering. his thick dark. rivulets. once warning me.. move. at. him with. down. a lazy smile, said.. 1. caught the. girls’. It. his hairy legs,. I. l. “You dog,” then. rode the bus with. remembered Daddy. sweet sayings, which were not. 1. are your. summer. plans,. every snake knows as well as. woman. Club.. heard. but to each other.. “What to a. I. that old. head of hair out above Mama,. from Roundup Junior High. Feminine wiles,. the. all. and Uncle Trey.. closed herself back up. She flirted like the girls. me. to. her.. She looked. to. me. her laying there on the dock, sunning.. Quinn?” Uncle Trey made own cold blood: cosy up. its. through her kid.. thought of the driving range, so close. “Maybe. I’ll. to the. Gymkhana. take up golf.”. “There’s a sport suits you, whacking the hell out of something small,” Uncle Trey said.. Mama. shot. me. a look that. saying something more but looking so alike, 28. Sleepwalker. 1. 1. quit.. made me want. to hurt her. by. With brothers Trey and Derek. couldn’t help but excuse her. She’d been sleep-.

(31) walking. herself, she said, since. had given up on gaining rest. word came Daddy was missing, and day they put her. until the. her grave.. in. “That doesn’t mean I’m headed home to glory any time soon,” she once said, laughing off our worries over her doing some“Plenty of living. thing desperate.. Uncle Trey was going I. could see that and. And. left to do.. intend to.”. I. be her partner. Young as. to. wasn’t judging, only wondering. I. anyone knew when love was. Daddy had married. summer. the. mer, between grades eight and nine.. after they graduat-. I. I. was. often woke, couldn’t say. my. still. dogging me.. sum-. that. blame Uncle Trey. didn’t. making time with my mama. I thought he'd be around things, guy things, things Daddy maybe would have. I. she or. truly a lost cause.. Mama. ed high school, with Uncle Trey just as old then as. the sleepwalking. was,. I. how. to teach. for. me. where I’d been or where I was, worked to sweep the fog from. I. remembered we were in July, that school’d let out. I at the TC, Uncle Trey’s good word to thank for Everything was set except my loyalty leaked into that mist that. between land and sky, where I came this close to touching the sleeve of my dad’s uniform, could nearly feel his arm taut inside the brain and. got a. summer job. Army-issued. cloth, about ready to spring a. feet. were soothed by the. ing,. smooth. pulled that. front yard’s. combed. as a girl’s. hair in. letters in. my. sleep.. grasped metal and the screech from when. thing open cracked the night in two.. The. moon seemed. me. the only thing helping. TC. he. me. O. He. were the only two. just. wanted. in the. l. was. yanked the empty of the. mid-summer. my way. left off,. back.. calling. me. It. Or Leave. It. sticker.. Mighty Quinn.”. Already surrounded by need another.. 1. from underneath a shiny blue. yelled. a rag there,. cowlicks.. Cold and wet where I. to find. Bonneville that sported an America, Love. “Hey, hand. in. light. Uncle Trey picked up where Daddy. Mighty Quinn. At the. My. mow-. most places, except where. chickweed some spots tufted up. checking the mailbox for I. headlock on me.. wet grass, long, needing. a half. to. say. place, 9:30. dozen. dirty rags,. he didn’t. my name, draw me. in.. We. on a slow summer night and. close to quitting. I. dropped by. his. elbow. the cloth. I. used. to. wipe grimy. handprints from the plate glass door.. The. car hid Uncle Trey, and that’s probably. Donna. how. he. D. Vitucci 29.

(32) “. preferred. talking. employed. to. to. make me. me, nothing. eye. the. like. eye. to. Daddy. take notice the limes he traipsed through and. took fatherhood seriously.. Instead,. was Uncle Trey’s voice. it. car-. rying the authority. Like he had any right.. “Mighty Quinn. You. “What. are. living right, living clean?’'. you talking about?”. had. 1. was honing it. “Your mama, she worries. Doesn’t how to talk to you any more.”. my own. edge and. really feel she. I. knows. “And you do?” Uncle Trey I. was. a. slid out. from under the hood of the. “Hey,. car.. boy once.”. “Oh. when was that?” we shipped out.”. yeah,. “Before. That “we” shut us both up. 1 admired the good job I’d done cleaning the glass door. Uncle Trey checked time on the wall clock,. let his. gaze drop. “Make. down. to the. drinking fountain.. some. sure you spray that with. Wheels allowed him. to. Lysol,” he said.. disappear under the Bonneville again,. except for his jean clad legs and his steel toed boots.. He. said,. “Ain’t right Derek’s not here.” Just the beginning of ain’t right,. he. still. —. Uncle Trey rolled. warped. thought.. I. “He knew guys were getting blown apart right and re-upped. Not saying he had a death wish or “He ain’t dead.” in the. “Not. far. enough. free that. 1. that. we know. of,”. could see his face. said.. 1. We. can run through our whole. chasing knowledge. That’s not the way of. life. it.”. He was trotting out his Buddha garbage. “You mean the path of least resistance? Sounds to live to. but. fender of the car he was draining.. “Know, don’t know.. way. left. like a lazy. me.”. “Least resistance, yes,” he said.. ever heard Let the mountain. Too many. come. religions and. to I. “In a way.. Haven’t you. Mohammed?”. wasn’t versed. in. any of them.. Pastor Evans’ hokey pulpit act looked mighty solid compared to the self-examination bull Uncle Trey was laying on me. “Tell. me something. useful,”. He peeked from under the are 30. you asking?” Sleepwalker. I. said.. car and looked up at me.. “What.

(33) had a whole. I. my. list in. head, but the easiest to hang words. on was advice about Sally Ann.. me up. eyes size. so. We. with a rag.. could both be industrious and give each other the. room we needed. to flex. our muscles. “What kind of word’s going. to spark a girl’s interest?. From under “Well,. face. let’s. Comment. I. mean, get her to really look?” where he retreated, he. the Bonneville,. women. it,. love. good way about her. a. in. didn’t have the nerve to see his. I. polished the chrome of the drinking fountain. I. hear about. to. said,. themselves.. hair or her clothes or her long. gorgeous legs.” Obviously, his subject was. know. ly to fit. my. against. uphill, with. me. open palm as she stood. lagging behind.. Tomb,. to Harrison’s. We. Mama. Uncle Trey. of Sally’s beautiful legs, the shape of her calves. let. I. were friends of the. to. pump. couldn’t. made. pure-. her bicycle. When we rode around North Bend my pace for this very reason.. her belter. sort. still. tied to childhood, but. I. wanted. Her daddy was crissThe Outlaws; mine used crowbar him from muddy Miamitown. Given time, we more banter. Both of us wanting what wasn’t around. more, though. I. wasn’t sure what exactly.. crossing the country with his band called the. army. to. could raise. could be our. common. topic to start.. Uncle Trey must have been mulling the matter, but I’d stopped listening. car’s oil pan so. I. When. he spoke again, his words rose into the. couldn’t understand what he said.. Then he rolled from underneath the car like he was about wisdom I should take to heart. 1 wanted to kick him. to. impart some. in. the ribs, he lay so defenseless to. “Most women. aren't. my. suffering standing self.. trying. to. be contrary,” he said.. how much ground They might call War. “They're simply testing your intentions, seeing you’re willing. to give.. of the Sexes, but. it’s. It’s. more. a kind of war.. clock on the wall, which said. it. His gaze locked on that. a skirmish.”. we were way. past quitting time.. “If. you’re lucky, nobody lakes a hurt that’s too everlasting.” In the dark that lays out a red carpet to eavesdroppers,. heard. Mama. on the front porch say. to. I. Uncle Trey, “You’ll never be. Derek.”. He. shot back with,. “And. don't. I. know. it.”. Quickly then, her footsteps followed by another’s, and the decided elick as her door latched into the groove in the doorframe. As a boy, I’d rubbed my fingers in that little gully a hundred times. Donna D,. Vitucci 3.

(34) just. dawdling outside her open door, looking. when. in. she wasn’t. there. I I. could have busted right. was chicken.. me. Just like. in,. blamed. the sleepwalking, but. being unable to muster school bus con-. versation with those chatty girls.. looked for ways. I. which Sally. in. Ann and Mama were the same, and adding it up I realized they had too much in common for me to hold in my head. I mean, I felt I needed. to chart. it. —. on paper. their beauty. and the way they. my faith in them with deeper confusion. When ninth grade began, Sally Ann had reverted to her name. “Call me Sarah,” she told the teachers as they checked. rewarded given. off their class rosters on the. chickweed, she’d pierced her. and learned how. needed like. to get to. was eliminating. J. bleached her blond hair blonder,. to flaunt her collarbones in a peasant blouse.. know. her. bound. trains. home. the bus. 1. over again, work I’d happily tackle,. all. one of those math problems. and distance, two. On. While. day.. first. ears,. was good at about rate and time same destination. was never enough room to sit;. I. for the. there. some of us had to stand. The metal curve of the seat frame dug into my thigh when I leaned down to speak. “You go to the beach in August?”. She shook her head no. “Uh-uh.”. “How’d you do her hair and set. wore. it. hid too. this then, get so. back so. it. much. at. Her eyes were the back of her neck.. made me. It. attached to the rest of her.. I. grasped the back of Sarah’s. thrummed Mama’s plea “You got. happens.”. 1. that. She wore which. in,. prevent. read in. my. notebook and. me from. tugging loose. brilliant hair, to test her.. in the. we. a. tied at. keeps a woman’s head. gripped the edge of. Ravishing.. taller,”. woven. think of the story. is all. seat, to. edge of her. throat years before.. hank of. The way she. and deep brown.. true. with garnet colored beads. the threads at the. lifted a. I. me. “Sun-In. From the drugstore.” a. eighth grade, where a necklace. “It. blond?”. bent on her shoulder.. of her face.. She looked up. macrame choker. it. Jn. my. head. kitchen with Daddy’s lips on her I. wanted. to ravish this girl.. she said.. shrugged, pleased to be. at the. center of. what she was keeping back. Sarah didn’t have Steadying myself leap 32. down. the. Sleepwalker. in the. three. to splash herself. bus. steps. aisle,. I. over. me. all at. once.. fought a tremendous urge to. and run. to. the. riverbank flat-out..

(35) downhill, with no close branches to grab and help slow the ham-. mering. my. in. The bus lurched, braked, coughed.. chest.. standing because this was her stop,. could have been accident, sure. ing, telling. my. me. move. to. it,. head, nothing negative. her receding from. me. It. miracle, really, her voice laugh-. her eyes, and then she shook her. in. before nudging past, the whole of worn blue jeans and limp peasant blouse,. in the act, in. Before the bus driver folded the doors closed,. her hair aglow.. swooped forward and of Sarah’s feet. Sarah,. hip with hers.. her breath so near she fogged words on. Blond hair jagged. neck.. A. bumped my. in. leapt. down. I. the steps, almost landing on one. those clogs of hers.. When she said, “Hey,” I thought on Uncle Trey’s advice regarding women and how they said one thing and often meant the direct opposite. I. My. of the bus. I. I. heard “Hey” as meaning “Walk with me,” and so. step with her.. fell in. The. balls. of. knees took a good. my. feet stung. jolt, too, left. could have been a parachuting grunt,. humid film.. late. If. up against inside. man’s. to. my. in a sleet. my. kind of wavery.. so lightheaded, the bit. God knows. of. me. with. its. she was some-. was Uncle Trey’s words I bumped my dad’s voice, which I had been about forever, was like the radio weatherit. head, and. hear for just. was out of. felt. afternoon of August covering every. Sarah was a jungle flower, and. thing sweet and abloom, then. aching. I. from jumping out. me. storm, crackled faint with a static that told. me. he. range.. Donna. D. Vitucci 33.

(36) Amanda Wood. Jericho You make me to. forget. crouch behind. tall,. my. sandy stone. rough, cold and high. my. wall. the wall. You. transfigure to just our. reflection in a silent. mountain pond tucked beneath wheaten. sugar maple leaves. and steady. fires. of dogwoods. against evergreen depths of cedars. and cypress. trees,. beneath. air. laden with the fragrant balm. of wet, fallen foliage -. grave clothes for seedtime. You make me I. fear hot,. forget. crumbling. dust from stone walls. being open, being not alone. 34.

(37) Amanda Wood. Homeplace for. I. Granny. see you standing on hazel stone. porch steps, white sundress and blonde. curls a-flurry in the clean. mountain breeze. stroking Ma’s Seven Sister roses,. crimson petals against the gray channeled bark of the homeplace sugar maple, a Tuskeegee to. girl. on her way. Yellowcreek Baptist Church.. I. see. mountains rising behind you shining. new. leaves and evergreen trees. against the heavy glow of blue sky on June. Sundays when creeks splash echoes of eternal praise over round, smooth river rocks and you step. down. to caress the soft roses. tan fingertips. - sweet and. with your. strong..

(38) Chase Sutton. Virginia. Yellow Rind, Sour Fruit. We. mixed gin and lemonade,. lemons sliced. thin as fingernails,. a yellow pale as the evening’s. We. skinny moon. in the attic. Hot. drank our. air rises,. I. all. from armchairs. it. our cotton underwear. that kept our bodies apart.. Earlier in a all. stew. parents’ house.. told you,. and we moved with to bed,. glittery. bedroom of your. we walked. slow. rain,. town. to. drank beer. afternoon, planned. what we’d remember in twenty years. Headed home. We stopped to watch the river’s impossibly swift water strip bricks I. had come. rocks. at. until a. from a forgotten house. to. you from so. far.. You tossed. vanished windows. man. leaned from the third floor,. Which one of us left expected more that night,. crying out. first?. 1. known. My diamond beads,. the hottest I’ve ever. was dressed. in. damp below my. breasts.. wasn’t any moon.. A. skin. There. light. above the garage burned white into daylight, our. mouths, our. palms. There was. still. to. time for you. 20 downstairs, where. we knew. your mother was already awake.. 36.

(39) It. was nearly. time.. What was your day The peel of cotton. And you? to. become?. against a gauzy morning. forgotten?. was. Where. that night,. the strong light. that slicked translucent,. washed. out, clear as gin?.

(40) Lydia. Johnson. Home Movie Montage sleep.. I. He. gives. The. me. curl of. his. bed and. my human. Presses up against. My. heart. thumping. Groaning with the. Of. We My. old. head. Arms. We. wood. watch a. late. piles. movie. in. messy locks. in his lap,. (this time),. is. tired. goodbyes of. Up. stairs in the. Dodge. gummies. instead. and sleeping on the couch. eyes droop, and. 1. the night as. stumble. darkness and. the imaginary bats. Swooping down from puts his. When we. his. tall tales.. arm around my waist. walk back from the car. We. cast long. On. the slope of his. Where ghosts And dive into. warm under. moon shadows slide. driveway around the basketball hoop. the hedges.. old college flannels,. Grandmother’s hand-worked. He wakes me 38. into.. behave, unlike teenagers, aging into being. My. I. an emptied theatre.. sprawl across and around and. cling to the. He. creaks. supports and mattress springs.. Without touching. I. flesh,. in solitude,. tell-tale. eating popcorn and sour. He. dog.. his parents’. unabashed white fur. in the. quilts. night and.

(41) Wraps. his silky blanket. Whispers of 1. 1. rub. my. am. awake.. his little. eyes. around me.. boy. secrets.. to see clearly..

(42) Natalie Murphy. Russian Roulette The kitchen. cold and. is. my. off-white envelope in. hand.. the table staring at the. still I sit at. turn. I. it. over and over and stare. stamp and the handwritten address on the. the. front.. It. at. makes my. skin crawl. I. look away from the. dow, mindlessly staring yard. little. my. at. and gaze out the kitchen win-. letter. children playing outside in the back-. watch them crouch on hands and knees and then leap. 1. frogs into the piles of crunchy leaves. The array of reds and golds laughing forms and. settle. Glancing back. this. like. morning.. around my children’s mown grass. my hand, slowly read the. scatter aimlessly. on the newly. at the letter in. I. writing across the front. In the center. CHRISTOPHER in name, my address is. raked. I. black block. scrawled. ALICIA JOANNE. says. it. letters, all caps.. Underneath the. hurried pencil.. in. Alicia Joanne Christopher.. my name.. That’s. At. least. it. was before I got married. Now I never wanted to be a Smith,. I’m Alicia Joanne Christopher Smith.. such a boring name. But. to tell the truth. It’s. The card. addressed to Alicia Smith.. isn’t. Christopher and. The. 1. open. can’t. it.. open window.. I. my. watch. into the safety of the garage.. she dashes out of sight. in. hushed tones. they. live. I. wrinkled. How. that. little. envelope. where. from. my. my. in 1. I. still. through the. one of the neighbor boys. younger daughter screaming. What. boy. a beautiful carefree life. own.. hand.. window and look. can just see the. I. at that. little. town. grew up years ago. That god-forsaken. my name. and. I. didn’t. know any. lit-. of. hate that place.. Every day of. home and. filters. can hear her shout IBoy, cooties !i as. can’t overhear.. different. am anymore.. oldest stays outside and talks to the. town where everybody knew. theirs.. 40. I. my. smell the leaves through the. called Aldersville tle. I. My. I. and leaves. girls outside as. saunters into the yard and sends. beside the point.. says Alicia Joanne. It. who. That’s not. crisp smell of grass. that’s. didn't talk to. my. childhood,. I. went. to. anyone who didn’t make. school and. came. a specific effort to.

(43) talk to. me.. my momma go. make the time go home and keep my daddy from killing. fidgeted during school and tried to. I. by faster so that. 1. could go. while he drank.. didn’t take piano lessons or dance or. I. to girl scouts like the other girls did. I. home, went. to. went. school and went. to. my. school and went home, every single day of. child-. hood.. My daddy was a drunk, and a mean one at that. At least what everyone told me. When 1 was in fifth grade, I went to school one day with a big green bruise on my cheek from where I’d that’s. keep Daddy from hitting. tried to. kitchen table.. my. My. Momma’s. teacher took one look. family to child services.. prepared for another house. head on the edge of the shiner and reported. at that. Momma. went home and told. I. to get. call.. Sure enough, the government sent out a social worker visit the. house.. Momma. made me wear my. china every night that week. She. my. dresses and curled. to. cleaned and set the table with our best. Sunday. nicest. red-blond locks into baby soft ringlets each. morning before school. Daddy hid the beer cans and stayed sober the. whole week. That next Monday afternoon, the. worker walked out our door, scratching dering. why. they’d sent him to. Life wasn’t quite as. our. show. little. every so often.. He. too. ly. little. such a happy home.. visit. happy. as. seemed when we put on showed up at our door skunk, and was proud of it it. for the social workers that. My. daddy drank. like a. could hold his alcohol better than most, but. when he. got drunk, he got mean, and. When Daddy. around our house. and,. when. with. my. I. bald social. head and won-. his shiny. tried to stop. it,. got. mean. when he. things got violent. drank, he liked to beat. he liked to beat. me. final-. Momma,. too.. Daddy’s two favorites were cheap beer and vodka mixed little. brother’s favorite cherry Kool-Aid.. Trent was about two years old,. Daddy was. and Kool-Aid out of Trent’s sippy cup. it. on the table about half. she realized what ing the. it. was.. When. he was done, he. left. Momma gave to Trent before remember Momma screaming and forc-. full I. One time, when some vodka. drinking. and. it. some kind of medicine down Trent's throat. He gagged kitchen floor and stained my new white shirt with runny. over. all. red and. orange blotches of the Kool-Aid and cheese slices he’d just eaten. I still have that little white t-shirt, even though I’m more than. fifty. pounds. to. heavy. underwear drawer and. pull. to it. wear. out. it. anymore.. I. keep. when my husband’s. Sometimes, when he’s out of town.. I. sleep with. it. it. in. my. not looking.. next to Natalie. me. in. Murphy. bed. 41.

(44) 1. swear. still. Momma’s hold. He. and. beer,. my. when I Maybe Evan. tangled up in the faded white fabric. all. my. close to. it. won’t notice.. my Daddy’s. can smell the vomit,. I. flowers. nose.. might sleep with. 1. tonight.. it. doesn’t notice much.. The smells. what. are. remember most about home. The. I. smells of beer and vodka mixed with the foul odor of vomit on. Somehow Daddy’s smells merge with of Momma’s lavender perfume and the daisies she. my. memo-. Daddy’s breath.. the. ries. kept on the. kitchen table in a plastic cup. Beer, vomit, lavender, and daisies sitting in. my. cold kitchen. all. alone. —. I. can smell them now,. shadows of. in the. the fading. sunset streaming through the open slats of the kitchen blinds. Those. much stronger with this worn out envelope in my know why, but they always do. momma was a good woman. She tried so hard to raise. smells seem so. hand.. 1. don’t. My us right. that. She took. Daddy would. me. and Trent. the service started and. sit. would. in their. to. would. slip in just after. Sunday. hats and patent. examined. from. our lonely row near the back while. they whispered to one another about. Momma just. We. turn and cut their eyes back and forth. row pews. their pious front. church just about every Sunday. on the back row near the door for a quick. women. escape route. The older leather purses. to. us out of the house.. let. my. daddy’s drinking problem.. worn black shoes until the service ended and she could take us home. She always looked mis-. erable at church.. 1. the tops of her. never really understood. why we even. bothered. to go.. Momma, Daddy. Unlike. church with his presence. he knew. As long. He. never graced the doors of a. said he. was going. straight to hell. and. where you’re going, I guess everything’s alright. To tell the truth, that’s probably where I’m going. I haven’t been to church since Daddy left and Momma it.. as you’re sure about. died.. —. Daddy left us when 1 was seventeen twelve years ago was a senior in high school, looking forward to graduation in the spring and maybe college in the fall. Trent was seven when Daddy left and my baby sister Maria was five. I don’t think Maria remembers much about Daddy. Maybe she blocked out the memotoday.. ries.. n’t. 1. Repression, the psychologist called. know. him. Either way,. Momma the door. 42. March. guess. it’s. a. it.. Or maybe she. good. my. just did-. thing.. shot herself three days after. 28,. Russian Roulette. I. Daddy walked. eighteenth birthday. She. left. me. out. a present.

(45) all. wrapped up. pink paper with a card on top and a daisy. in pretty. stuck underneath the ribbon. I. Momma/’. love you.. That’s. The card. No. it.. daisy and threw the present away.. of wish. said, ’’Happy Birthday Alicia.. goodbye.. I. kept the card and the. didn’t even open. I. it. first.. kind. I. had.. I. found her. I. in the. tub with an. hand, a gun on the floor, and a hole. empty. bottle of pills in her. of her head. She. in the side. must have held the gun right up to her skull. That’s what the autopsy said anyway. That bullet took out her ear and most of the side of her face.. was scrubbing. I. ambulance came. when. the blood out of the bathtub. Momma. to take. the. away.. The social workers swarmed the house, asking where my Daddy was and our ages and names and the names of our closest family members. I told them I didn’t know about Daddy, our names weren’t any of their business, and we didn’t have any close family. I. think Trent finally answered their questions since. I. wasn’t being. too helpful.. Apparently they couldn’t find Daddy or he just didn’t. Or maybe Trent. care.. way. it. told. He. didn’t matter.. They shipped us there until a. man. and. I. I. a. mean drunk Daddy was.. off to an aunt. didn’t like and. I. turned twenty and got pregnant with. my. fifteen years. senior.. Either. come.. My. aunt kicked. me. my. first. I. lived. child by. out of the house. married the fool.. Evan. why. probably last. what. didn’t. name. an orthodontist and. is I. liked. him. me. that attracted. makes. a killing.. in the first place.. to the. It. I. guess that’s. certainly wasn’t his. man. Smith. God,. 1. hate that. name.. Evan and. I. have been married for the past nine years.. have three children, a one-acre en retriever puppies. lot. with a swing. the backyard.. in. Our house. We. and two gold-. set, is. still. listed at. $350,000 even though it’s been almost ten years now since we bought it. We have archways in the foyer, marble tiles in the bathrooms, and an antique polished wooden table There’s a garden tub in the bathroom connected shoots out hard. jets of. steamy water when. children each have their stairs in the finished I. go. lo. own room and. for. the. dining area.. my bedroom. a gigantic. that. The playroom down-. back gets. sore.. basement.. the club on. Mondays, have my. Tuesdays, tan by the pool on sunny unteer. my. in the. to. PTA. at. my. nails. done on. summer Wednesdays, and. children’s. vol-. elementary school on Natalie. Murphy. 43.

(46) Thursdays.. belong to a tennis club where. I. while Evan plays golf with the boys.. we have. comforter,. nanny. with our youngest,. to stay. As. a hot tub in the. who. shadows of. in the. playroom with. the. my. My. we. hire a live-in. look out the open designer. my two. backyard.. the nanny.. goose-down. just turned two. I. blinds and watch the silhouettes of. around. play on the weekends. I. sleep under a. back yard, and. the kitchen table,. sit at. I. I. My. husband. oldest children run. baby. is. downstairs. in. am. in. work and. is at. 1. the kitchen alone.. My ner.. husband. yard.. They. Evan. will be. will be. I’m 1. home. late tonight.. still. holding the. haven’t moved.. I. He does. wish he would. I. little. my. run. Maybe. sometimes, works. that. call. back-. in the. inside.. and. me know. in my hand. let. off-white envelope. fingers over. can’t bring myself to break the seal.. my. haven’t started din-. J. hungry when they come back. Sometimes. late, that is.. and. home soon and. will be. can hear the children shouting as they play tag. I. smooth edges, but. its. my. lean back in. I. eyes, and breath deeply. Beer, vomit, lavender, and daisies. smells. fill. my. senses and. I. can’t breathe.. I. keep. my. L. chair, close. —. the. eyes closed and. pray the familiar scents away.. I’m twenty-nine years old and I’m not Alicia Joanne Christopher any more. I’m Alicia Joanne Christopher Smith. Every pleasure this I. it.. I. them. that. name er. has to offer. life. hate every minute of. and. is 1. hate. 1. it. that. hate. children and 1. I. hate the part of. hate the fact that their last. my. just like. moth-. —. left. twelve years ago. scoot. my. polished antique chair back from the polished. I. carry the. home over. little. like. to the. end table by the couch. drawer closest. vacant eyes.. I. bullet.. it. and. Six. it. in. today.. off-white envelope that smells so. to the trashcan. to the top.. touch. 1. One And. my. where. 1. toss. in.. it. 1. pad over. bare feet and socks and open. Evan’s pistol stares back. at. me. with. comforts me.. tries.. the ritual begins. Today marks number. —. three.. yet again.. take the pistol and pad back over to the trashcan where. pull the little white. 44. my. have three children. I. much. block. I. Daddy. antique table and. read the. and. fingertips. hate the fact that I’m thinking this way.. I. the. at. Alicia Joanne Christopher.. Smith.. my. at. it.. window. look out the is. available. is. name. envelope back out.. 1. smooth. its. I. wrinkles and. written above the return address in those familiar. letters, all caps.. Russian Roulette.

(47) JAMES CHRISTOPHER. My father. Daddy.. With the. one hand and the. pistol in. climb the stairs to the. bedroom. letter in the other,. share with Evan, take off. I. I. my. brand new pink blouse and khaki skirt, and toss them by the door. I climb into the empty garden tub, the one that shoots out the hot. my. of steamy water, tossing. jets. bled side.. and. my. I. up. curl. my. head. on. toes are sticking out. From my the backyard.. swing. until. set.. position,. underwear and bra over is. top.. can. I. mar-. its. bottom of the tub. resting on the. hear the children laughing. still. in. can hear the baby and the nanny playing on the. I. The neighbor boy must be gone.. I. can’t hear his voice. anymore.. The bathroom window strands of. my. caress. my. hair across. naked body.. I. my. stare at. I. blow. when. got this scar. bottle.. split. It. Momma. for. my. open. 1. down my arms and. myself as. my. the scar that runs the length of ger.. open. The breeze blows long. is. face and. was. lay in the tub. chest to. and. trace. I. my pinky finme with a beer. side with the tip of. fifteen. side and. I. I. and Daddy. had. and I’m glad for. have. to. At. it.. hit. stitches.. least. I. shows. it. took the. helped. 1. some. I. pick up the gun and hold the cold metal close to. my. The cold sears my skin and I’m paralyzed for the moment. breathe aiGod help met into the stillness just in case he still listens chest.. I. my prayers. me into heaven. to. I. my. close. with. eyes count. Momma. to ten. God. and hope. me. instead of sending. will let. with. to hell. Daddy. I. my. count. to ten, pull the trigger,. world spins behind I. wiggle. my. my. and wait. in the. darkness as. closed eyelids.. toes.. I’m not dead. Shit. I. and place the gun safely inside.. my. hear the garage door open and listen to as his car pulls into driveway.. iDaddy !i. in. my. The game continues.. I. lift. top dresser drawer.. It. just wasn’t. my. girls. scream,. myself from the tub. The. bullet. is still. day.. put my clothes back on and shove the worn, wrinkled letmy pocket as walk down the stairs. straighten my hair and my plastic smile into place as I open the back door. I. ter in fix. I. I. Evan greets me with. a smile. and. a kiss.. He wants Natalie. to. know. Murphy. 45.

(48) when dinner. will be.. what we’re having.. He close. my. daisies.. I. I. tell. tell. him. him. thirty. minutes.. grilled chicken. picks up the baby and leans. My. breath catches in. my. stick. my. hand. in. my. ness of the letter secure against the kitchen to start dinner for. whisper toward the. down. know. for another kiss.. throat. and. l. floor,. pocket and. my my. iOne day. palm.. do. Russian Roulette. at. Evan. He. 1. rough-. smile and walk toward I. it. is. does.. feel the familiar. I. family. I’ll. glance. He never. look. at. my. Daddy.!. One bullet. Six tries. Today marks number One day I’ll do it, Daddy. One day I really will.. 46. to. eyes and smell the wind. Beer, vomit, lavender, and. playing with the girls and doesn’t notice me. I. He wants. and potatoes.. three.. toes. and.

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