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Whirlwind Vol 01 No 02
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An electronic literary magazine striving for the very best in
contemporary fiction, poetry, and essays.
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Editor: Sung J. Woo (sw17@cornell.edu)
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VOLUME I NUMBER 2 MAY 1994
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Table of Contents
The Second Issue........................................................xx
_Fiction_
"The Epistemological Uncle," by Charles Deemer..........................xx
Two stories by Jennifer Viner: "September Summer" and "Baby"............xx
"A Say in the Matter," by Garret F. Grajek..............................xx
"It was a dimly lit..." by David S. Dadekian............................xx
_Poetry_
"Automatic Winter," by Stephanie Kay Buffman............................xx
"Cloud-Perfect," by L. Amos.............................................xx
"Insomniatic Conclusions," by Trista Mentz..............................xx
"Heels," by L. Amos.....................................................xx
"Free Thinker, Free Hearts, and Other Nasty Stuff," by Chris Laskey.....xx
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Whirlwind cannot continue without submissions from established and amateur
writers on the net. If you or anyone you know is looking to publish
contemporary fiction, poetry, or essays, please don't hesistate to get a
copy of the work to us. Mail submissions to: djw5@cornell.edu.
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Whirlwind Vol. 1, No. 2. Whirlwind is published electronically on a
bi-monthly basis. Reproduction of this magazine is permitted as long as
the magazine is not sold and the entire text of the issue remains intact.
Copyright (c) 1994, authors. All further rights to stories belong to the
authors. Whirlwind is produced using Aldus Pagemaker 5.0, T/Maker
WriteNow 2.2, and Applescanner software on Apple Macintosh computers and is
converted into PostScript format for distribution. PostScript is a registered
trademark of Adobe Systems, Inc. For back issue and other information, see our
back page. Please send any questions/comments to djw5@cornell.edu.
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Thank you for reading the second issue of Whirlwind. I
apologize for not making the deadline of May 1. As a graduating senior,
I found many other things (such as my life) to distract me from getting
the magazine out on time.
Because I will be leaving Cornell at the end of this academic
year, there will be a change in my e-mail address. Unfortunately, I
have no idea what that would be. Next year, I will be in South Korea
teaching conversational English, so I have yet to establish an Internet
account. Once I do so, I will let all of you know.
After July 15, please mail all correspondence and submissions to
my Assistant Editor, David J. Witkowski, who can be reached at
<djw5@cornell.edu>.
Because of my transition, the next issue of Whirlwind will be
published on September 1994. As usual, we are looking for submissions
from all of you.
I would like to offer much thanks to Amy Moskovitz, who helped
me proofread, edit, and put this second issue together.
Enjoy the issue -- there is much good stuff here.
Sung J. Woo
Editor
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FICTION
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THE EPISTEMOLOGICAL UNCLE
BY CHARLES DEEMER
In the carefree idyll of my youth, when Appletons twenty strong
gathered at my grandparentsÕ house each Thanksgiving Day, Uncle Buck
always drank too much and never failed to do something that would
embarrass Aunt Betty. He would return from the bathroom with his fly
open, or belch during grace, or tell a very dirty story, or dribble
giblet gravy on the tie he wore only on holidays, before grumbling, ÒI
knew the goddamn thing was good for something. Kept the shirt clean,
didnÕt it?Ó
Aunt Betty, who was my motherÕs sister, would begin the process
of coaxing him home then, and she usually succeeded before the pumpkin
and mincemeat and apple and pecan pies were passed around the table.
A bit later, after grandfather began to fidget prior to
suggesting that the men retire to the basement, where whiskey and cigars
awaited them, the loud backfiring of Uncle BuckÕs ancient pickup could
be heard outside and soon thereafter, the slamming of the pickup door in
the driveway and then the idiosyncratic howling that was my uncleÕs
habit whenever he had too much to drink, which was often:
ÒDo you really knoooooooooow?Ó he howled.
Everyone knew that Uncle Buck was back.
After shooting a stern glance at me and my cousins, daring us to
laugh out loud (though cousin Judy, BuckÕs daughter, always looked close
to tears), grandfather would ask grandmother if there were clean sheets
in the guest room, knowing full well that she never let anyone in the
front door unless there were fresh sheets in all the bedrooms and fresh
towels in all the bathrooms.
As Uncle Buck continued to howl outside, grandfather would make
the habitual suggestion to retire, and so the men would rise in unison
to head for the stairs to the basement, where they would let Uncle Buck
in through the outside entrance.
Before long Uncle Buck wouldnÕt be the only intoxicated relative
in the house, nor the only one howling.
This routine was so attached to Thanksgiving that I looked
forward to it and was disappointed to learn, the holiday of my freshman
year in high school, that Uncle Buck had stopped drinking.
Sober, he proved to be as quiet as a zombie. Although he didnÕt
do anything to embarrass Aunt Betty, he also failed to entertain me and
my cousins, who didnÕt realize how much we enjoyed Uncle BuckÕs antics
until we were deprived of them. As far as we were concerned, he had
been the life of the holiday.
Cousin Judy was the exception to our disappointment: her
fatherÕs new silence seemed to give her a feminine radiance IÕd never
noticed before. She was, I decided, the most beautiful relative I had.
Four years passed before Uncle Buck started howling again. It
was near the end of summer, and I was getting nervous about going off to
college.
One afternoon, cousin Judy phoned and told me, ÒDadÕs drinking
and being crazy again. Can you come over? HeÕs howling in the back
yard right now.Ó
Judy and I were the same age but had ignored one another until
high school. About the time I discovered she was beautiful, we
discovered together that we could be good friends. Soon we were calling
ourselves Mutually Adopted Siblings, since neither of us had one still
at home. We delighted in the fact that most of our classmates didnÕt
know what we were talking about, ÒsiblingÓ being no part of standard
teenage vocabulary in the small farming town of Adam in the Idaho
Palousse.
I told her I was on my way.
Judy was outside waiting for me and quickly led me to the
backyard. In the distance was the barn, which had seen better days, and
acres of grainland stretched around us to every horizon.
Uncle Buck was clearly drunk, staggering around and groping at a
pile of canvas that, in steadier hands, would easily have risen to form
a tent. With every yank, he had a bigger mess and harder task than
ever, which frustrated him into loud swearing at the universe in
general. Empty beer cans were scattered across the lawn, and a pint
whiskey bottle stuck out of the back pocket of his coveralls.
ÒMom said she wouldnÕt stay in the house as long as heÕs
drinking,Ó Judy explained. ÒShe went to spend the night with Aunt
Milly, and Dad came out here. He says if she doesnÕt want him in the
house, heÕll just spend the rest of his life in a tent.Ó
ÒNot by the looks of it,Ó I said. ÒShould we help him?Ó
ÒI donÕt know what to do. He started drinking this morning, Mom
said.Ó
I touched JudyÕs arm and gave her a squeeze, then moved across
the lawn.
ÒYou want some help, Uncle Buck?Ó I called on my way.
He swore without turning around, another obscene remark for the
universe at large.
I reached him as he was pulling the bottle from his pocket.
ÒI wish you wouldnÕt drink any more,Ó I said.
I reached him and stopped. Uncle Buck took a swig without
acknowledging my presence.
ÒWhat are you going to accomplish by drinking?Ó I asked.
When he turned my way, I held out my hand for the bottle. He
glared at me before before saying gruffly, ÒAccomplish! What the hell
do you think youÕre accomplishing by minding other peopleÕs business,
Mr. Wise Ass?Ó
Uncle Buck took a step backward, almost falling over. Then he
cocked his head to the sky and bellowed, ÒDo you really knoooooooooow?Ó
Finally losing his balance from the exertion, he fell flat on his back.
Judy screamed and came racing across the lawn. I was already on
my knees beside him when she arrived.
ÒIs he all right?Ó
ÒHeÕs breathing,Ó I said. ÒI think he passed out.Ó
ÒWe canÕt leave him out here.Ó
Uncle Buck was a big man, and I wasnÕt sure we could handle him
ourselves. Judy had the same notion.
ÒHeÕs too heavy for the two of us,Ó she said. ÒWould your dad
help us?Ó
ÒMaybe itÕd be good for him if he woke up out here,Ó I
suggested.
I spotted a wheel barrow near the fence that defined where lawn
ended and farmland began. Without saying a word, I moved off toward it.
ÒWhy did he have to start drinking again?,Ó Judy asked, catching
up with me.
I hesitated before replying, ÒI donÕt know.Ó IÕd come close to
saying, ÒDo you really knoooooooooow?Ó
It took some effort for the two of us to get Uncle Buck into the
wheelbarrow. He was as heavy as a sack of potatoes and just as awkward
to handle. We wheeled him to the back door before realizing that our
problems were just beginning.
ÒMom would have a cow if we tracked up the carpet,Ó said Judy.
ÒHow about making a bed for him on the patio?Ó
Patio was an exaggeration: a small square of concrete, just big
enough for the gas barbecue set, stood alongside the house like an
ambitious project long abandoned.
ÒI think we should put him in the tent,Ó said Judy. ÒHe was
going to sleep outside anyway.Ó
We left Uncle Buck sprawled awkwardly in and on top of the
wheelbarrow while we set up the tent. Then we wheeled him back across
the lawn, dumping him, as gently as possible, inside before folding down
the canvas door flap.
Moving to return to the house, we both turned into one another,
brushing slightly together, chest to chest. I could smell her perfume
and felt a sudden urge to kiss her, which she must have realized, maybe
even feeling a similar urge herself, because she blushed blood red.
I could hear myself breathing heavily and wondered if Judy
could. I knew I had an erection, which made me feel conspicuous and
embarrassed.
ÒI wish we werenÕt cousins,Ó she said softly.
I swallowed and said, ÒSo do I.Ó
The silence was unbearable. Finally she said, ÒYouÕd better go.
I mean, I have some chores to do and everything.Ó
ÒRight. I think heÕll be okay out here.Ó
ÒHe was going to sleep in the tent anyway.Ó
ÒRight. Spend the rest of his life out here.Ó
ÒWhy did he have to start again?Ó she asked.
ÒI donÕt think anybody knows.Ó I grinned and said, ÒDo you
really knoooooooooow?Ó
Her transformation was so sudden, at first I thought she was
playacting: she glared at me and said, ÒI hate it when you do that.Ó
ÒThatÕs the problem,Ó she went on, Òpeople like you always
laughed at him when he was drinking. You just inspired him to keep
acting crazy. You donÕt know what it was really like to be around him.Ó
But before I could find out, Judy was running into the house,
crying. I had no idea what had just transpired, what I had done to
upset her so suddenly and so strongly. I gave up the thought of
following her inside and went home
I only saw Judy one other time before I left for college.
Although I telephoned her that same night, and a few times after that,
Aunt Betty always answered the phone to tell me Judy wasnÕt home, and
she never returned my calls. My aunt also told me that Uncle Buck was
Òin treatment now.Ó
ÒWhat exactly is treatment?Ó I asked Dad at dinner.
He gave the question some thought before saying, ÒIf youÕre
referring to Buck, ask your mother.Ó
ÒIt means heÕs in the hospital to get well,Ó Mom quickly said.
ÒWhatÕs the matter with him?Ó
ÒHe canÕt drink,Ó she said.
I wasnÕt sure what she was getting at. After all, Dad drank and
IÕd heard him howling in the basement on more than one Thanksgiving. I
knew Uncle Buck drank too much but I didnÕt think he was an alcoholic,
like the bums IÕd seen in Lewiston. But I also knew the matter was put
to rest because my parents were staring down at their plates, so I
looked down at mine as well.
One afternoon I came outside to find Judy standing in front of
my house. I couldnÕt be sure, but she appeared to have been crying.
She would look at me, then away, as I walked toward her.
ÒAre you all right?Ó I asked.
ÒI came by to see if you want to come with me to visit Dad. I
guess you already were going someplace.Ó
ÒJust to the store. WhereÕs he at?Ó
ÒSerenity Villa. He checked in the day after we put him in the
tent.Ó
ÒItÕs a long walk,Ó I said. She hadnÕt brought the family car.
ÒI was hoping you could get the car.Ó
ÒI can.Ó I reached into a pocket and brought out my own set of
keys to MomÕs Toyota, dangling them proudly. ÒYou want to go right
now?Ó
ÒSure.Ó
We were awkwardly silent during the drive to Serenity Villa,
which was near the hospital some thirty miles away. Neither of us
mentioned that it had been almost a month since weÕd talked, which was a
very long silence for us. I didnÕt know how to broach the subject of
our falling out since I still wasnÕt sure what had happened. I vaguely
hoped she would apologize for being unreasonable, and everything could
go back to the way it had been between us, cousins, good friends and
Mutually Adopted Siblings. But we remained silent during the drive
through golden fields almost ready to harvest, which made the ride
intolerably long. By the time we were there, I was sorry I had come.
Although IÕd seen television ads for Serenity Villa, I knew
nothing about it. It looked more like a resort than a hospital, and its
sprawling size surprised me. I didnÕt know there were that many
alcoholics in Idaho, but the full parking lot gave the impression that
they were doing a thriving business.
Judy led the way and knew where she was going. I followed her in
the front entrance, down a long hallway, and out onto a patio graced
with shade trees and flower beds. From out of one of the trees came
recorded Òeasy listeningÓ music.
Uncle Buck sat at a picnic table, waiting for us. After he and
Judy embraced, he offered his hand to me, grinning broadly. He looked
good, amazingly good, maybe ten or fifteen pounds lighter than I
remembered him. But the eyes were the real difference, they looked at
me with such clarity, in such attentive focus, that it made me wonder if
Uncle Buck had ever really looked at me before.
ÒHow you doing, Bobby boy?Ó he said. ÒAbout ready to head out
on the great adventure, arenÕt you?Ó
ÒI leave next week.Ó
ÒGlad I got to see you before you go.Ó
ÒMe, too.Ó
There were other families on the large patio, all speaking in
hushed voices, trying to maintain a sense of privacy. Although Uncle
Buck was in pajamas and a robe, he was in the minority, and at most of
the picnic tables across the large patio it was impossible to tell the
patients from the visitors. No one looked like an alcoholic to me Ñ not
even Uncle Buck. Alcoholics looked like bums living on skid row.
Only when Judy excused herself to use the bathroom did Uncle
Buck reveal a bit of his old self: suddenly he grabbled my arm, leaned
over the table and said, softly but ominously, ÒDo you really
knoooooooooow?Ó
He was grinning and staring at me so intensely I had to look
away.
ÒYou know the best thing about this place?Ó he asked out of
nowhere. I shook my head. ÒI learned I can be crazy and sober at the
same time.Ó
Then again: ÒDo you really knoooooooooow?Ó
He slapped the wooden table and said, ÒSo maybe I donÕt know,
huh? But I think I do. I feel like I do. But you can never be too
sure about these things, huh? What do you know that you know, Bobby
boy?Ó
I laughed, more out of nervousness than anything else. I felt
like I was being tricked into going along with some kind of practical
joke in which I would prove to be the butt.
ÒLife is very, very, very short,Ó Uncle Buck said. Again, the
remark seemed to come out of nowhere. ÒI know itÕs hard to tell that to
a young hotshot like yourself. I think I know that. Pretty sure,
anyway. YouÕre going to do what youÕre going to do. But I hope you
keep away from the booze, Bobby boy, though I know youÕll have your
keggers or whatever the hell it is you call them today. I had a year of
college myself, you know. Bet you didnÕt know that, did you?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I said, my voice involuntarily cracking. One of the
family stories repeated ad nauseum was how Uncle Buck became a
successful farmer despite having only a sixth grade education. I
noticed the story was always forgotten when one of my cousins wanted to
drop out of school.
ÒDidnÕt think so,Ó said Uncle Buck.
I coughed and smiled, trying to hide how on edge I felt, still
wondering where all this was heading.
ÒDrank my way through one of the best freshman curriculums in
the country. Make that curricula. The University in Moscow. WasnÕt
always a farmer, no siree. Actually fancied myself an engineer way back
in the Middle Ages. But I liked my toddy, and that cost money, and to a
youngster, working always looks better than an education. YouÕre
different, I suspect. You got a good head on your shoulders. Probably
become a teacher or something. Know what you want to be, Bobby boy?Ó
ÒIÕve been thinking of teaching,Ó I admitted.
ÒHonorable career. Just keep your options open. Now tell me
about Judy.Ó
The last remark landed like a grenade from left field.
ÒWhat about her?Ó I asked.
ÒI see how you two look at each other. Too bad youÕre first
cousins, right? Or does it matter any more? I mean, weÕre in the Age
of Condoms, you get them right there in the high school nurseÕs office,
donÕt you?Ó
I could feel myself blushing.
ÒI think I said the wrong thing,Ó said Uncle Buck. ÒI talk too
much, donÕt I? The thing is, I never realized I could talk sober
before. Been a very long time since I did that. So I sort of indulge
myself. The point I was trying to make is, donÕt let life pass you by,
Bobby boy. YouÕve got to make your own mistakes, I realize that, but
maybe when you look at an old codger like me, drinking most of his life
away, probably end up with more drunk days than sober days even if I
live to be eighty, which I doubt Ñ look at yourself in the mirror real
hard, boy, and always try to do what you really want, whatÕs really in
your gut. And if that means pretending Judy isnÕt your cousin Ñ well,
talk to a doctor, I donÕt know all that much about it, maybe they got
pills to take now so you donÕt end up with mongoloid kids or whatever
happens, IÕm not sure what the exact problem is with cousins marrying,
IÕve just heard the kids donÕt come out right, but I also know itÕs real
important to find the right kind of better half in this life, the right
kind of partner of the opposite sex, and you and Judy sure do seem to
get along good. I think I know that. Of course, one can never be sure.
Do you really knoooooooooow?Ó
And then he suddenly asked, ÒBobby boy, are you still a virgin?Ó
I stood up quickly, as if IÕd just sat on a pin. I saw Judy
heading back from the bathroom and, mumbling my departure, I headed her
way.
ÒHeÕs acting really weird,Ó I said. ÒCan we go soon?Ó
ÒWeird how?Ó
ÒIÕll explain later.Ó
I continued on to the bathroom.
Judy was alone at the patio table when I returned.
ÒWhat happened?Ó she said right off.
ÒWhere is he?Ó
ÒHe said it was time for his nap. He seemed upset about
something. What happened between you two?Ó
ÒHe did all the talking.Ó
ÒWhat did he say?Ó
ÒNothing that made much sense. You ready to go?Ó
She stood up.
ÒI want to know what happened.Ó
I tried to tell her indirectly, both on the drive back and then
in her kitchen, where she made us iced tea. A note on the refrigerator
announced that Aunt Betty was away until dinner time, giving us a couple
hours alone. But no matter how closely I circumvented the truth, Judy
didnÕt catch my meaning. Finally, out of frustration from her
persistence, I spat out, ÒHe wanted to know if we were sleeping
together.Ó
As soon as I saw the look on her face, I regretted saying it.
She looked stunned, as if this was the last thing in the world she
expected to hear.
Finally she said, ÒIn just so many words or what?Ó
ÒNo, more round about.Ó
ÒDamn it, what did he say!Ó She took a deep breath and said,
ÒIÕm sorry. I just want to know what he said. As close as you can
remember.Ó
ÒHe said we made a neat couple.Ó
ÒAbout us sleeping together.Ó
ÒHe asked if I was a virgin.Ó
She gave me an odd look, as if trying to figure out if I was
serious.
She said, ÒYou said he asked if we were sleeping together.Ó
ÒThat was the meaning I got. I mean, he didnÕt ask in so many
words, but he went on and on about how good we were together, and how
important it was for a guy to find the right girl and all, and then he
wanted to know if I was a virgin and if you could get rubbers at school.
It all added up to the same thing. I didnÕt mean to upset you.Ó
Judy took another deep breath and asked, ÒAre you?Ó
ÒWhat?Ó
ÒAre you a virgin?Ó
ÒJesus, Judy, what a thing to ask.Ó
ÒIÕm not,Ó she said.
ÒWhat? I donÕt believe you.Ó
She stood up and at first I thought she was going to refill our
glasses. But she only moved a few steps from the table and stopped.
Her back was to me as she cocked her head up and howled, but softly,
strangely, like a lyric in a dream, ÒDo you really knoooooooooow?Ó
She laughed and howled softly again. I didnÕt know what was
going on. If this was a joke, I didnÕt like it. This was a side of
Judy I had never seen before. She kept up the eerie howling while
turning slowly around to face me.
Her gaze seemed to cut right through to my very core, forcing me
to look away, forcing me to look at the naked breasts that dropped
between the edges of her unbuttoned blouse. Then, as if moving despite
myself, despite fear, despite any sense of what was the right or wrong
thing to do, I rose to my feet and moved to her, and so we were in one
anotherÕs arms, kissing passionately, and then going upstairs, and then
undressing to lay naked together Ñ though within the hour I was being
told IÕd better leave, and then was hearing the click of the front door
behind me as I hurried to my motherÕs car, still scrambling to finish
dressing, all the while wondering what the hell had just happened.
Judy did not come to see me off at the train station. If she
phoned me, she hung up before anyone answered Ñ as I had done numerous
times.
And so Ñ as the train pulled away past the encouraging and
energetic waving of my parents, leaving Judy and the carefree idyll of
my youth somewhere behind in the vast stretch of harvest-ripe golden
grainland, and moved forward into the wind to begin the long journey to
college Ñ I settled into my seat, closed my eyes and for the first time
began to realize how little I knew and how uncertain would be the
knowing yet to come; so that by the time the train announced its
departure from Adam, sounding like the howling of my Uncle Buck, ÒDo you
really knoooooooooow?Ó I knew I didnÕt know what had really happened
between Judy and me, or why Uncle Buck drank, or what was waiting for me
at
college.
I didnÕt know much of anything, though I didnÕt yet know that
this itself was knowing.
____________________________________________
Charles DeemerÕs <cdeemer@teleport.com> short fiction has appeared in
The Literary Review, Prism International, Mississippi Review, The
Colorado Quarterly, Northwest Review and other literary magazines.
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TWO STORIES BY JENNIFER VINER
SEPTEMBER SUMMER
BY JENNIFER VINER
Mom asked my sisters, Sarah and Molly, and me to drive down to
our Aunt MaryÕs house and pick up a few things Aunt Mary would want with
her at the hospital. Aunt Mary had cancer and was going in for surgery.
Mom said she couldnÕt go to the house herself because she needed to stay
available should anything happen with Mary over the weekend, but I think
she just didnÕt want to go. I wasnÕt exactly thrilled about the trip and
I was going to miss play rehearsal Saturday, but since Aunt MaryÕs house
was in Cape May, and the weather was supposed to be nice, I decided it
would be alright. Not that I was exactly thrilled about spending the
weekend with my sisters. Sarah complained about it the most. She had
planned to go to the lake with her boyfriend. SheÕd dragged me with her
to VictoriaÕs Secret to buy something sexy to wear for him. She was so
dumb about that kind of stuff. When we found out about Aunt Mary, Sarah
cried a lot. So did Mom. Molly just went to her room, sat on the window
sill and watched the cars go by on the street below. I guess the whole
thing didnÕt hit me until later on.
My sisters made me sit in the back on the way down to Cape May.
They boasted about seniority. I told them that as long as they played
the radio loud enough to drown out their stupid conversation that the
back was fine with me. I think Molly went through a whole pack of
cigarettes on the way and none of us really talked much. I laid down in
the back and watched the tops of the trees flash past the window. There
were mostly only pine trees on the New Jersey Turnpike. It was dark by
the time we got to the ocean and the trees had turned grey and blended
into the starless sky.
Molly was the first out of the car. ÒOh, God, the air feels so
good here,Ó she called down to us over the porch railing, while Sarah
and I gathered our things from the trunk. ÒLetÕs not go back. LetÕs the
three of us just stay here.Ó
ÒDonÕt be a fool, Molly,Ó Sarah called to her.
ÒOh, I want to be a fool, Sarah. Let me be for just a while.Ó
Aunt MaryÕs house was an old Victorian. Better Homes had shown
it a few years before when Uncle Jack was still around. The living room
and dining room were filled with antiques and upholstered in chintz and
silk. It wasnÕt much like a summer house since she lived there all year
round, but we only knew it in the summer when we came down to spend a
few sunny weeks with her every year.
WeÕd been coming since we were little. It was always the same.
Uncle Jack and Dad would play golf or go fishing while the ladies went
to the beach. At night, the three of us, crammed into a double bed,
would listen to the four of them laughing and getting drunk and telling
old stories. We had heard some good ones. Then, when Aunt Mary was
divorced and alone, the three of us would stay up and listen to her and
Mom talk and cry. Sometimes they were up all night. Dad didnÕt come on
those later trips. He said he didnÕt know how to handle Mary after the
split. She always seemed about the same to me though. She would only cry
to Mom. Now it was strange being in the house without her. It was
strange to be there in September. Everything was all dusty.
Molly found some Cokes in the fridge and we talked Sarah into
going to the store for some Doritos. After she was gone, Molly and I sat
on the porch and she let me smoke one of her cigarettes. Molly giggled
as she lit it for me.
ÒYouÕre okay, Hope.Ó She leaned back on the couch and rested her
feet on my chair. ÒThank God my little sister turned out okay since my
big oneÕs such a tight-ass.Ó She nudged my shoulder with her foot and I
coughed. We sat there, quiet, for a bit.
ÒAre we going to the beach tomorrow?Ó I asked even though I knew
we would.
ÒI guess,Ó she answered and then we were quiet again until Sarah
got back.
Then Molly went inside to call Tom. Sarah told her to call
collect.
ÒWere you smoking with her?Ó Sarah asked.
ÒYeah, so?Ó
ÒDo you think sheÕs alright?Ó
ÒMolly? Sure.Ó I thought so too, but I didnÕt feel like having
that conversation again.
ÒI should have gone away to school this semester,Ó Sarah said.
ÒSo why didnÕt you?Ó
ÒI guess so I could stay with Michael.Ó
I nodded, but I knew she hadnÕt gone because she was scared.
ÒWell, youÕll go in January,Ó I said.
Molly was back out. ÒAre you talking about college?Ó
I shot her a Ôbe carefulÕ look but she ignored it.
ÒFace it SarÕ, youÕre chicken,Ó Molly said.
ÒHey,Ó I broke in, ÒToss me a smoke.Ó
She threw the pack at my face.
ÒHope, honey, please donÕt,Ó Sarah said.
ÒGet off her back, bitch. She can do whatever she wants.Ó Molly
had all the answers.
The night air was soft and in the distance I could hear a
whisper of waves crashing. There were only a few other lights on in the
windows up and down the street. The town was empty except for the three
of us, sitting there, on the porch, wishing we were somewhere else. I
took a long drag on my cigarette.
An old man walked past the house, below, on the sidewalk. He
didnÕt notice us. He walked with his head down in white tennis shoes and
a red slicker. I thought he should at least have a dog to walk. When he
turned the corner at the end of the block I squashed out my cigarette
and flicked it into the bushes. Molly went back inside to try Tom again.
ÒAre you thinking about Aunt Mary, Hope?Ó
ÒI think sheÕll be fine. She has a good chance at recovery.Ó
ÒMomÕs real upset about it,Ó Sarah said.
ÒIs she?Ó I guess it was a stupid question but I hadnÕt really
thought about it.
ÒWell MaryÕs her only sister.Ó
ÒI donÕt think sheÕll die,Ó I said.
ÒI donÕt know what I would do if anything ever happened to
either of you guys.Ó
ÒSheÕll be fine.Ó
Sarah stood up and leaned against the railing. ÒDo you ever
think about dying?Ó she asked.
I laughed. ÒIÕm only fifteen.Ó
ÒI wish I was fifteen again,Ó Sarah said. ÒI liked fifteen. I
didnÕt have anything to worry about then. Life was so simple.Ó
ÒOh, really, Sarah, shut up.Ó
Molly threw open the screen door with a theatrical sweep. ÒTom
invited me to go to the Bahamas with him next weekend,Ó she squealed and
clapped her hands like an idiot.
SheÕd been sleeping with this guy Tom Parker for a couple of
months. He was 25, hot, and drove a Mercedes. Sarah and I thought he
sold drugs. Sarah was convinced that Molly had come home high the other
night because she had heard her cleaning her room and falling down a lot
and the next morning had found her passed out in a pile of socks which
sheÕd been refolding. But Molly never said anything about it.
ÒYouÕre not going to go, are you?Ó Sarah narrowed her eyes in
disapproval.
ÒSay, bitch, why donÕt you relax,Ó and then she did something
weird. She rolled her head back and closed her eyes. She pressed both
her palms, one on top of the other, to her chest. Maybe it was just
heartburn, but it looked like she was praying. I watched her until she
opened her eyes. She smiled at me before turning back to Sarah.
ÒPete started calling her again,Ó she said, pointing at me.
ÒOh, really, I guess he didnÕt have any luck with whatÕs-her-
name,Ó Sarah said.
ÒBecky,Ó I answered.
ÒIÕll bet he had lots of luck with Becky,Ó Molly put in.
ÒMake him sweat it, little sis, donÕt give in.Ó
I told them I was going to bed.
ÒOh, Hopester, sit down, weÕll shut up.Ó
I didnÕt feel like it anymore though. I was tired, tired from
the drive, the talk and the sea air. I carried my bags upstairs, into
Aunt MaryÕs room. I didnÕt turn on the light because I knew if I did,
the room would feel too unnatural. Instead I drew back the curtains and
opened the window wide. A trickle of light came in with the balmy air
and I could hear my sistersÕ hushed voices floating up. Hearing them
made me feel better. I got into bed and thought about Pete.
Pete could be a real jerk. Being in the play with him was kind
of fun though because he could also be really great. The first time he
met me he told me I had nice legs, which was funny because I was wearing
old sweat pants and he couldnÕt see my legs at all. He was big on the
lacrosse team which was good. He was also a senior which was really
good.
The first time he took me out I was super nervous. Molly had to
do my buttons for me because my hands were too shakey. Then she told me
this story about how Pete threw up on their seventh grade picnic because
the leftovers his mom packed were too old. After that I wasnÕt nervous
anymore. We went downtown and walked around South Street. We saw a girl
with pink hair and joked around about getting tattoos. He bought me a
rose on a street corner. He held my hand on the car ride home.
That was the beginning of the summer. Until August, when we came
to Cape May for vacation and Pete had sex with Becky, we spent all our
time together, taking walks, playing frisbee, going to movies and
parties and dances. Pete was the first boy I kissed, the first to call
me pretty, the first to lie next to me in my back yard, on an itchy wool
blanket and name all the constellations in the summer sky.
I eventually fell asleep thinking about him and how I didnÕt
care what happened between us.
When I woke up the next morning, Sarah and Molly werenÕt
speaking. I went for a walk on the beach. I walked straight down to the
water to get my feet wet. The water was cold and tingly and goosebumps
prickled up my legs. I stood there looking out to where the sky and
ocean met while little waves lapped at my feet and my toes squished into
the sand. The sun was warm on my cheeks and I was alone on the beach
except for a few swooping seagulls. I thought about a passage in The
Awakening, which IÕd read for English, the part right before Edna drowns
herself. She had turned her back on the world, her family. My English
teacher, Miss Bright, had called her a cowardly heroine but I kept
wondering what her kids would do without anyone to take care of them. Or
what if everyone died and I was the only one left. A heroine shouldnÕt
kill herself, I thought.
Sometimes I got the feeling like the world was going on without
me or that I was watching it all happen on a big screen, seeing it but
not feeling it. It was all just nothing. And if IÕd questioned the whole
thing, if IÕd asked myself why I felt darker on sunny days and more at
ease on rainy ones Ñ or why I was just as content to watch the changing
stoplight out my window as I was to count the flowers on my wallpaper Ñ
if I asked I might have realized that it had nothing to do with SarahÕs
perpetual apprehension or MollyÕs recklessness or PeteÕs jerkiness or
Aunt MaryÕs cancer. It was that all those things were mixed up together
inside of me and there wasnÕt anything I could do. But I didnÕt realize
it then.
Molly walked up behind me. I wanted to ignore her but she was
singing, ÒI used to love her but I had to kill her,Ó and changing the
rest of the words to stuff like, Òher butt was too big and her ankles so
fatÓ and adding la-laÕs in the spaces.
ÒWhat do you say Ñ should we lock her in a closet until tomorrow
so we can actually have a good time or should we just ditch her and go
home.Ó
ÒWhat happened?Ó I asked.
ÒWhat happened was she wasnÕt given up for adoption at birth.
SheÕs on her superiority trip, lecturing me like sheÕs the expert on
life. Maybe if she ever did anything other than paint her nails and
dream about marrying Michael. God.Ó
ÒMolly, do you think if I go back with Pete thingsÕll be
better?Ó
ÒAs long as you remember that you can only depend on yourself,
and not to expect much of people, then whatever you do will turn out
okay,Ó Molly said.
I bent down to pick up a thick clam shell. I chucked it as far
as I could. ÒIÕm hungry.Ó We headed towards the street. ÒBefore we lock
Sarah up lets get her to cook us breakfast,Ó I said.
We left after breakfast. I guess we all felt the beach would be
no fun without screaming kids and lifeguards.
I made it back in time for play rehearsal. Pete gave me a ride
home and asked me if I wanted to go see Pet Semetery and since I was in
the mood for a good horror movie I said yes.
The next weekend Sarah was with Michael at the lake and Molly
was in the Bahamas. Pete drove me to the hospital to bring Aunt Mary
flowers. They said the surgery had gone well. When I walked into the
room she was asleep, wheezing a little when she breathed. She was pale
and I realized that IÕd never seen her before without lipstick on. I
stood there watching her for a little while, like I knew my mother had
watched me as a sleeping baby. Then I set down the flowers by the window
and left knowing IÕd be back to see her the next day with my sisters.
Pete and I didnÕt talk on the way home, but he held my hand. I
watched the other cars on the expressway slip by. Some of the trees
along the drive were starting to turn.
* * *
BABY
BY JENNIFER VINER
Tom sort of came out of nowhere. He was tall, dark eyed, and
real slick.
Of course he turned out to be a real asshole.
Karen introduced me to him at one of her parties. IÕd known
Karen for a couple months at that point. She was in my summer art
course, a painting class. During our breaks we always went to the diner
on the corner. SheÕd tell me about whichever guy she was dating that
week, the bartender at the A Joint or the photography professor or some
guy sheÕd met on the train who had a nose ring and wore all black. SheÕd
say, ÒI have to introduce you to so and so, heÕs to die for.Ó ÒTo die
for,Ó she always said that. SheÕd take me out with her, sneak me into
bars, let me borrow her clothes. She had great clothes. She was also
really skinny. I asked her how she did it. So she taught me how to roll
a dollar bill real tight. She giggled and said, ÒI canÕt believe youÕve
never tried it?Ó I was a little nervous the first time, but it turned
out to be easy and pretty soon I fit into her jeans, size four and then
she said, ÒHoney, you look gorgeous, simply to die for.Ó
At that party, the night I met Tom, Karen was in one of her
moods, all giggly and flirtatious with just about every man that walked
by. Tom walked over to her, on the other side of the room. I was
listening to a real bore, well not really listening to him. I noticed
that Karen was waving me over to where she and Tom were talking.
ÒMolly, meet Tom,Ó Karen said, tilting her chin towards him.
I raised an eyebrow and said hi. He looked like he must have
been about thirty. ÒLooks like your glass is empty. Let me do something
about that.Ó
Karen blew a kiss to his back as he walked into the kitchen.
ÒWhat do you think?Ó
ÒHeÕs okay, I guess.Ó
ÒI think heÕs hot. Nice ass.Ó
ÒWhat does he do?Ó
ÒOh, heÕll probably tell you heÕs in sales or something.Ó
ÒDid you tell him how old I am?Ó
ÒDonÕt be a fool. Anyway, he wonÕt ask.Ó
He was coming back and Karen disappeared into the crowd. He
smiled as he came up to me and handed me my drink. ÒDo you want to get
out of here?Ó
ÒYeah, okay.Ó
He took my hand and led me out the door. ÒYou have beautiful
hair,Ó he said and when we got to his car he backed me up against the
door, grabbing the hair at the nape of my neck, and kissed me. Then he
moved his head down and kissed my neck, behind my ear and slid his hand
down the front of my blouse. A kid on a bike rode by and whistled. Tom
stopped and opened the door for me.
I took in a deep breath. ÒI think I should go find Karen,Ó I
said quietly.
ÒShh, Baby. KarenÕs a big girl. She can take care of herself.
Come on. IÕll drive you home.Ó
I remember my heart was beating so fast as we flew down Delaware
Avenue, under the bridge, bouncing over potholes and swerving around
orange cones. He reached over and took my hand. The whole scene struck
me as being like some cheap romance movie, so going with the flow, I
smiled at him out of the corner of my mouth, movie star-like and winked.
ÒDonÕt take me home,Ó I whispered.
Back at his place, while he was rooting around his kitchen for
something to drink, I asked if I could use the phone. I dialed my own
number. Hope picked up.
ÒWere you asleep?Ó
She yawned. ÒItÕs so late. Where are you?Ó
ÒAre Mom and Dad sleeping?Ó
ÒItÕs almost two.Ó
ÒIÕm staying at KarenÕs for the night.Ó
Tom sat down on the couch next to me. ÒItÕs Bourbon. Is that
alright?Ó ÒSure, great.Ó I slid down on the couch so that my head was
leaning against the arm rest. He took off my shoes and began to rub my
feet. I took little sips from my glass. It was good heavy crystal. ÒYou
have a nice place, fireplace too.Ó
He moved up closer to me and started unbuttoning my blouse.
ÒKaren tells me youÕre in sales.Ó
ÒIs that what she said?Ó He laughed, grabbed his drink off the
coffee table and tilted back his head taking it all down at once. ÒHow
old are you anyway?Ó
ÒHow old do you think?Ó
ÒAbout sixteen?Ó
ÒWould you bring a sixteen year old back to your apartment like
this?Ó
ÒNo.Ó
ÒHow old are you?Ó I asked.
ÒHow old do you think?Ó
ÒForty, fifty?Ó
He laughed. ÒYouÕre pretty smart for a sixteen year old.Ó He
unhooked my bra and kissed me, kissed me down to my belly button. ÒDoes
youÕre Daddy know where you are?Ó
ÒHe can probably figure it out Ñ heÕs pretty smart himself.Ó
He stood up and looked at me.
ÒWhat?Ó I asked.
ÒCome on.Ó He put his hand out to me and led me into the
bedroom. He lay me down on his bed in the dark and touched my face,
pushing the hair off my forehead. Then he walked out and closed the door
behind him without saying anything else.
I spent all my time with him for the rest of the summer. When
school started he would pick me up after classes and take me back to his
apartment. WeÕd smoke pot in bed and have sex. Sometimes I called my
parents and told them I was spending the night at KarenÕs, other times
he drove me home and weÕd fool around in the driveway until the car had
been running for so long we knew my mother wouldnÕt buy that we were
just talking and IÕd fix my hair and run inside. Sometimes we went away
on the weekends. He took me to the Bahamas once and we stayed in this
tacky hotel with mirrors all over the walls. We stayed up all night
doing lines and slept it off on the beach. I told Mom I was going
camping on a class trip. That weekend Tom told me he loved me, loved to
be with me. I told him I loved his body.
I told myself I didnÕt believe him.
At 10:30 the phone rang.
ÒBabe, sorry IÕm late. You ready?Ó
ÒIÕve been ready for two hours.Ó
ÒI had some business.Ó
Downstairs my parents were sitting in the living room. My mother
was at one end of the sofa, under a floor lamp, making her way through
her stack of medical journals. My father snored in front of the
television. Mom looked up as I came in.
ÒMolly, do you know that in this study women whoÕs caffeine
intake over the last 20 years was under, well thatÕs about a can of
Pepsi, I suppose, anyway their response in this study to radiation
treatment...Ó
ÒMom?Ó
ÒAre you going out now, sweetheart?Ó
ÒYeah, TomÕs picking me up,Ó I said.
ÒYouÕre going to a late show again?Ó
ÒYeah, something like that.Ó
Her eyes swept over me. ÒYou look very nice and very grown-up,
doesnÕt she, honey?Ó The rise in her voice woke my father and he nodded
sleepily, in agreement.
ÒI want you to be in at a decent hour tonight. You havenÕt been
getting enough sleep and donÕt you tell me to mind my own business about
this. You know I have enough to worry about with my sister back in the
hospital. You look awful, those circles under your eyes.Ó She smiled up
at me.
ÒRight, Mom.Ó I smiled back at her.
She looked over to my father. ÒI think I want you to stay in
tonight,Ó he said all of a sudden.
ÒDad, what are you talking about. Anyway heÕs on his way over
now.Ó
ÒHoney, are you having sex with this man?Ó Mom had her eyes back
in her journal.
ÒMom.Ó
ÒWell, I watch the news. I know what is going on out there.
DonÕt think I donÕt.Ó
ÒMom, honestly, what do you think I am. WeÕre just going to see
a movie. You really need to relax.Ó
ÒMolly,Ó Dad spoke up, ÒdonÕt worry your mother.Ó
ÒShe tells me to relax when she could be coming home pregnant?Ó
My father said, ÒPatrice, donÕt be an idiot.Ó
Outside a horn blew. I said good night to my father and ran to
the door. Hope was standing on the landing. She turned her back to me
when I saw her and walked slowly back upstairs.
Like I said, Tom sort of came out of nowhere. He was tall, dark
eyed, and real slick. He drove a Mercedes and called me Baby. Sometimes
I woke up with him in the morning and felt lost. IÕd get up and wander
around his room while he was still asleep and IÕd look through his
drawers, the papers on his desk, the receipts in his wallet. I never
found anything though. When he woke up heÕd say, ÒCÕmere, Baby.Ó IÕd
climb back into his bed to let him kiss me on the forehead and rub his
soft fingertips up and down my arm.
The time I had with him changed me. I canÕt say it was for the
worst, though I could have lived without the whole thing. I think all
girls go through it though. ItÕs the kind of thing that punches all the
naivete out of you and gives you that hard edge. The only really bad
thing about it was that, after he disappeared, I still missed him. I
didnÕt want to, but I missed him in the morning, when I woke up alone,
in my bed with Mom downstairs frying bacon. I missed him when I passed
the playground where heÕd taken me that night or when I listened to Van
Morrison. But mostly I missed him at night.
For a time afterwards I guess I sort of fell apart. No one could
really tell, I donÕt think. I looked the same on the outside. But I
could see it, when I looked at myself in the mirror before I stepped
into the shower. It was there, all over me, inside of me and the soap
and hot water wouldnÕt wash it away. The only thing that helped was
feeling high.
IÕd skip school or come home early saying I was sick. No one was
around at home during the day. Just in case, I would go upstairs to the
bathroom. I locked the door and sat down, cutting lines on the back of
the toilet.
It was my little sister, Hope, who finally caught me, knocking
softly and opening the bathroom door one night when sheÕd come home
early from a date. She didnÕt say anything. She just stood there in the
doorway, staring at me. I wiped my nose and waited until she walked
away.
I found her in her room, lying on her bed, concentrating her
gaze on the ceiling. She wouldnÕt look at me when I came in.
ÒDonÕt tell Mom, okay?Ó
She didnÕt answer.
ÒThereÕs no reason to tell anyone, Hope. ItÕll only get them
worried over nothing and I donÕt want them on my case right now.Ó
She stood up and walked to the window.
I didnÕt know what else to say to her.
ÒHow can you do it, Molly? How can you even come in here?Ó
ÒDonÕt you get all high and mighty with me, Miss Perfect. You
never screw up do you, Hope. No, you can just sit back and tell me what
to do and youÕre always right, arenÕt you? You, donÕt tell me what to
do.Ó
Finally she whispered, ÒI wonÕt tell anyone.Ó She turned around
to face me and her eyes were teary. She said to me with a kind of
hopelessness in her voice, ÒIÕm sorry.Ó
I slammed her door and in the hallway, threw my fist against the
wall. I heard her start to cry. I kicked her door and told her to shut
up.
Then she screamed out to me, ÒYouÕre the one whoÕs supposed to
show me what to do, Molly. And youÕre so stupid. You go out with some
scummy drug dealer, some old man, and I have to watch you and keep my
mouth shut and you come home wasted and I have to cover for you. Your
doing a fucking good job teaching me to be a good liar. Thanks a fucking
lot. If Tom dumped you itÕs your own stupid fault so donÕt you take it
out on me.Ó
I got out of there. I drove over to KarenÕs. IÕd been going over
to her place in the afternoon, while she was still at work. She gave me
a key so I could let myself in. I folded her clean laundry and did her
dishes and stuff. I thought about Tom. I couldnÕt seem to get him out of
my head. I hadnÕt told my parents that he was gone. Going to KarenÕs was
a good way out of that. I couldnÕt be home in the afternoons anymore,
not after IÕd gotten so used to not being there.
So I didnÕt talk to Hope for a while. To be honest I didnÕt want
to have to. I was up in my room, lying on my bed and listening to music
when Hope came in and sat down next to me.
ÒHopester, whatÕs going on?Ó
ÒMomÕs on to you,Ó she said flatly.
ÒAre you happy then?Ó
She went on. ÒAt dinner tonight she asked me if I knew where you
were spending all your time. She knows youÕre never home. She knows that
TomÕs history.Ó
ÒWhat did you tell her?Ó
ÒThat you go over to KarenÕs a lot.Ó
ÒSo?Ó
ÒShe says KarenÕs a floozy.Ó
I laughed. ÒWhat are you trying to tell me, Hope?Ó
ÒAre you still doing that stuff?Ó
I rolled over onto my stomach, turned my head away from her and
told her no.
ÒWill you tell me what happened with Tom?Ó
I didnÕt answer.
ÒPlease, Molly, tell me what happened. I saw...Ó
ÒGet out of my room,Ó I said.
That weekend, Karen and I went to a concert down at the Strand.
She was drunk and kept telling me about some guy sheÕd fallen in love
with. The music was loud and it was hot. People kept bumping into me.
Someone spilled a drink down my back. Karen was high and oblivious,
giggling in her own little world. Then I saw Tom. He was on the other
side of the theater. I thought he saw me. My throat tightened as he put
his arm around the blonde standing next to him, still looking my way. He
kissed her.
ÒKaren,Ó I shouted to her over the guitar and drums, ÒletÕs get
out of here.Ó
ÒOh, come on MolÕ,Ó she yelled back.
ÒItÕs Tom.Ó
ÒTom? Where? I want to say Ôhi.Õ I think he just got some.Ó
ÒKaren.Ó I was starting to really lose it. ÒKaren I have to get
out of here.Ó
ÒSuit yourself, HonÕ.Ó She kept dancing.
I stood there and stared at her. She stopped and put her had on
her hip. ÒLook,Ó she said, Òif youÕre going to play with the big boys,
you canÕt let this shit get to you. YouÕve had enough time to get over
this already.Ó
I told her to fuck off. I had to take a cab home. Of course I
cried the whole way and the cabbie wouldnÕt let me smoke, so after he
dropped me off I sat on the curb and chained three or four. I thought
Karen was right, in a way. Why was I letting him get to me? I wasnÕt the
kind of girl who got hurt. I wasnÕt the kind of girl who cried. Its
funny Ñ the thoughts that come to you in that time, when the tracks of
salt are still burning your cheeks. A peace comes in, like itÕs all up
from here and you start taking some deep breaths and smile to yourself.
I think I read once that crying releases endorphins, that natural high
bullshit. I walked up the flagstones, counting them automatically, still
seventeen. The house was dark and quiet. I locked the front door behind
me and for the first time since I could remember it felt good to be at
home.
I went into the bathroom and washed my face with cold water. And
then, standing in front of the mirror I began to get undressed. I stood
and looked at myself. DidnÕt I know Tom was just handing me a line when
he told me I was beautiful.
As I stood there looking, the bruises, which had been scattered
across my breasts and on my arms where he had held me down at the
playground, on the sliding board, reappeared. They were there, just like
they had been on the last morning I saw him. I sucked in my breath.
There was a little knock at the door and when it opened, Hope
popped her head in.
ÒYou okay?Ó
I was standing red-eyed and naked in the florescent light of the
bathroom at two in the morning. ÒI saw Tom tonight.Ó
She waited.
ÒHe saw me and kissed the slut he was with right in my face.Ó
She came in and put her arms around me, ÒI know he hurt you. I
saw the bruises too.Ó She stood back and looked with me at the mirror.
ÒBut, you see, theyÕre gone now. TheyÕve been gone for a while. HeÕs
gone now too.Ó
I put my T-shirt and shorts back on and sat down on the edge of
the tub. I felt so tired.
ÒAre you going to be alright?Ó
ÒI guess.Ó
____________________________________________
Jennifer Viner is currently an English major concentrating in
contemporary literature. She hopes to go on for an MFA in creative
writing and a teaching certificate.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
A SAY IN THE MATTER
BY GARRET F. GRAJEK
I was stewing my thoughts while discussing a mundane case with
my old friend, Lawrence Hamilton. Lawrence was a likable fellow, though
his appearance was a bit morose. Too tall and lanky to be deemed
handsome, his shirt cuffs had the habit of hanging from his thin wrists
like worn dog collars.
We were seated at the bar in TonyÕs, a downtown jazz club. It
was our law firmÕs regular Friday happy-hour spot. Lawrence had brought
the luscious Ms. Kristie Lowell, our firmÕs new secretary, to the bar.
Kristie had been dating Lawrence for the last few weeks. Milking the
bloke, I should say. Lawrence was the VISA account responsible for
everything Kristie sported this evening, from her snug black mini-dress,
to her oversized Yves St. Laurent purse to the gold necklace she teased
with her painted lips.
But now Kristie was making her moves on our officeÕs ex-football
jock, Mark Thames. And none too discretely Ñ for she was perched upon a
barstool next to myself, merrily running one of her polished nails
across MarkÕs puffed-out chest.
Though he refused to admit it, Kristie had no more need for
Lawrence than my old sailboat needed anti-lock brakes.
My mate was out of his league. He eyed his flirtatious date and
shrugged his shoulders in defeat.
ÒWell, Ned, howÕs Lisa?Ó he finally asked me.
ÒFine, just fine,Ó I sighed. I had enough on my mind without
lecturing Lawrence on women. Besides, I am not exactly the beacon for
male sovereignty. ÒStill in school,Ó I continued.
My wife was studying in England for a summer when I met her a
decade ago. She was still studying now. Silently I reviewed the
regatta of her previous scholastic pursuits: drama, speech therapy,
elementary education, and now interior design.
ÒLisaÕs great,Ó Lawrence said and then added with a whisper,
Òstraightforward, not the manipulative type.Ó
I felt obliged to raise my beer in agreement. Though I thought
to myself, Poor Lawrence, only a few years younger than me and still so
clueless.
ÒMark, you really do have a naughty mind!Ó Kristie said louder
than I think Mark wanted her to. ÒJust like me!Ó
I turned toward the two. KristieÕs firm bottom was practically
in my face. She had twisted her torso on the barstool, stretching the
dickens out of her black knit dress.
Embarrassed by KristieÕs flaunting, Lawrence squeezed between
his contorted date and myself.
ÒKristie, would you care for another chablis?Ó Lawrence asked
feebly.
Maintaining her cat-like pose, she said to Lawrence, ÒI think
IÕm ready for something stronger.Ó She then picked up a peanut and
playfully lobbed it into MarkÕs face.
Mark shrugged at Lawrence with a cheese-eating grin. I surmised
that Mark was not feeling the restraints of his decade-old friendship
with Lawrence.
ÒI think IÕll have a Velvet Hammer, Sweetie,Ó Kristie said,
whipping her radiant black hair across her well-exposed chest as she
turned on the barstool. Once facing Lawrence and me, she tilted her
head and encouraged a dagger of her hair to slide into her cleavage.
I couldnÕt help but stare, as I have been since Kristie joined
our firm last month.
ÒLike what you see?Ó she said to me.
ÒLawrence,Ó I fumbled for my wallet, attempting to look
unflustered, Òcould you get me a St. PaulieÕs while youÕre at it?Ó
ÒNed, weÕre running a tab, remember?Ó Mark and Kristie giggled
in unison. They knew that Kristie had unnerved me once again.
As odd as it sounds, I couldnÕt help but curse Lisa, my wife.
If she werenÕt so busy attending every obscure design class and
coordinating upholstery patterns, she might have some time to worry
about being a bit more sexy. And I wouldnÕt be so easily foiled by
young vixens like Kristie. Is it too much for a bloke to ask his wife
to be appealing, even after seven years of marriage?
To regain my composure, I inquired where Rick Dawson, my old
officemate had gone.
Lawrence replied, ÒDonÕt know. Last I saw him he was by the
phone, talking to that redhead in the black leather skirt.Ó Lawrence
was looking down at the bar, pulling off a long section of his St.
PaulieÕs beer label.
ÒShould never let a good-looking redhead go to waste!Ó Rick said
as he sprouted from behind some tables. In his tweed sportscoat,
pleated khakis and white business shirt, Rick was the epitome of male
confidence without the bravado.
He slapped Lawrence on the back, ÒI see youÕre having a big
night of label shredding.Ó Rick was LawrenceÕs buddy, almost his
mentor, but he certainly was not above some healthy ribbing.
Rick made eye contact with the bartender.
ÒIÕll take a beer.Ó
ÒSt. PaulieÕs?Ó the bartender asked.
ÒNah, make that a Bud and...Ó Rick paused to look at me.
ÒThe same,Ó I responded.
ÒTwo Buds then.Ó
ÒWhat took you so long?Ó I asked. I was hoping Rick would say
something about the redhead Ñ she reminded me of the Irish girl I dated
back in England.
ÒOh...I met a buddy on the way to the washroom and he asked me
to go sailing with him tomorrow. So I called Marie and checked if she
wanted to go.Ó
By the tip that Rick stuffed in the bartenderÕs jar, I figured
Marie had said yes. But of course, when didnÕt they?
ÒYou know Ned,Ó Rick continued, Òthat could be us out on the
lake Ñ on the new Sheffield.Ó
I replied with silence. The new Sheffield. Rick knew how to
get to me.
Rick had been trying to get me to go halves on a sailboat. He
found a J-22, a racing craft designed for small lakes and light winds,
for what I agreed was a excellent price. He wanted to learn to sail,
and knew that I used to own one.
I thought of the argument I had with Lisa yesterday, when I
picked her up at the university. It was about the boat.
Lisa said we couldnÕt afford it Ñ which was not really true.
Sure, the down payment on our four-bedroom house in posh west Austin had
cleaned out our savings. But that was two years ago. With the extra
projects I had been working, my bonuses had replenished our reserves.
Lisa wanted to use the extra cash for a new set of drapes. At
$500 a throw.
ÒYou knew we would have to make sacrifices to build our dream
house,Ó Lisa sighed, stroking my hair as I drove. I said nothing.
Sacrifices. Like the Sheffield, my J-22 racing sailboat that I
had restored from a state of complete neglect. Buying and restoring the
Sheffield was the first thing I did when I came to the States. The
labor kept me from going insane from my trans-Atlantic move and in the
process, I met some good blokes at the marina.
Sold! We sold the Sheffield for a down payment on the
house! The fact that the house was LisaÕs dream and not mine escaped my
wife.
ÒNed, feel this,Ó Kristie said hopping off her barstool and
plunging her right arm into my lap. Though she was talking to me, her
curves and voluptuous chest were pointed toward Rick. Being married, I
guess I was a neutral zone that allowed Kristie to entice her new
victim.
Kristie grabbed my right arm and rolled it across her exposed
bicep. I loathed Lisa. When was the last time I touched such a toned
female muscle?
ÒYou feel that, Ned? IsnÕt it weird?Ó She squeezed my fingers
around what felt like a bunch of matchsticks beneath her skin. ÒItÕs my
implant.Ó
ÒIs that for quitting smoking?Ó Lawrence said gawking over
Kristie with his Abraham Lincoln body.
ÒNo, silly, itÕs for birth control,Ó she smirked.
ÒThank God sheÕs not a guy, Ned,Ó Rick said from behind Kristie.
ÒOtherwise weÕd have to look at her condom collection.Ó
She spun around.
ÒThat was very rude, Rick.Ó
ÒHow do you know my name?Ó Rick asked as he stepped around
Kristie to get a handful of peanuts off the bar. Rick had left the firm
before she was hired. Lawrence had invited Rick to this happy hour.
Sadly, I think Lawrence wanted to impress his buddy with his new date.
ÒDonÕt you remember me? IÕm Kristie. I was at your party,Ó she
said as she languidly caressed her arm.
ÒWhich one?Ó Rick asked.
ÒThe one where you were rude.Ó
ÒThat hardly helps, but I think you mean the party where me and
Lawrence stoked up the yellow fins we caught on our fishing trip.Ó
I recalled that Rick had asked if I wanted to go with them to
Port Aransas. Of course I said yes. Previously I had only gone to the
Texas coast once, and that was not much of a vacation. It was a quick
trip to Galveston for a wedding of one of my wifeÕs sorority sisters.
So I was naturally excited about RickÕs fishing excursion. But
two days before the trip, Lisa came down with one of her many colds.
ÒDonÕt miss your trip on account of me, Honey,Ó Lisa said with
puffy eyes and a puppy dog face.
But I stayed home anyway. It just wasnÕt worth the guilt I
would have had to endure. Besides, the last time I chose to go camping
with Rick instead of staying home to nurse one of LisaÕs flus, it wound
up costing me a monthÕs wages in flowers and chocolates.
ÒWell, you were very rude to me that night,Ó Kristie pouted
before pursing her lips around her cocktail straw. Her back was erect
and she was looking him directly in the eye.
The way Kristie looked at Rick I couldnÕt help but think of a
similar scene in a Sheffield pub called ChilhamÕs, nine years ago. I
was bellying up to the bar to get a round for my mates.
ÒYouÕre in my drama class, arenÕt you?Ó a sweet voice asked, one
of those southern-belle American voices I had heard in the pictures.
I turned to my right and eyed a petite blonde. I had pointed
the girl out to my mates before going up the bar. In her Texas sun
dress, only the queen herself would have stuck out more in that smokey
brown pub.
With a smile, she asked why I was so shy and did not come over
to say hello. ÒDidnÕt you recognize me?Ó
I said that I wanted to say hello but it just wasnÕt the English
way. Which, of course, was a cop-out. I just never had it in me to
approach a girl Ñ certainly not one as attractive as Lisa. Besides,
there was my
redheaded, Irish girlfriend.
But my girlfriend was not with me that night. Nor was she there
when Lisa and I went on our first date. We went sailing in my old
Flying Junior around Humber Bay, just north of Sheffield. And of course
my ex-girlfriend did not see me off when I left with Lisa to live in the
States.
ÒOh, I donÕt remember being rude,Ó Rick replied indifferently.
ÒI think I only said a few words to you.Ó
ÒThatÕs my point,Ó Kristie said.
ÒWhich is?Ó
ÒYou were the host, you shouldÕve conversed with everyone.Ó
ÒWell, Kristie, tell you what,Ó Rick leaned over me and put his
empty Bud on the bar, Òyou can throw a party and get back at me by not
saying a word to me all night.Ó
I felt like cheering for Rick.
He then took a step toward Lawrence.
ÒToo bad your were busy last night, olÕ buddy. I met some old
friends, stewardesses, at RicardoÕs.Ó Rick took a sip of his beer,
ÒTrust me, Larry, you shouldÕve been there.Ó
ÒSorry I missed it,Ó Lawrence said, smirking at his Òdate.Ó
Last night, he had taken Kristie out to dinner instead.
Our young secretary sighed with disgust. She then twirled on
her seat and reached for her Yves St. Laurent purse on the bar. She
could have grabbed it easily had she stood up, but instead she laid
across me, as if perfecting her yoga form. Her youthful odor was
enticing and mocking at the same time.
Finally, after confirming that Rick had seen her sprawled over
me, Kristie said, ÒMark, honey, I just canÕt seem to reach my purse.
Could you hand it to me? I have something I want to show you.Ó
Lawrence had halted his conversation with Rick to observe
Kristie.
I saw Lawrence whisper something to him. Rick laughed and then
said out loud, ÒIt is her better half.Ó
I marveled at RickÕs nonchalance at KristieÕs flirtations. I
toasted him silently as I took a healthy swig of my beer. I even
thought it was beginning to rub off on Lawrence.
But I was quickly disappointed. For it was Lawrence who fetched
KristieÕs purse.
I heard Rick mumble, ÒWhat a gentleman,Ó before taking a drink
from his longneck.
ÒThank you Hon, youÕre so sweet,Ó she gave Lawrence a peck on
the cheek and then snapped in RickÕs direction, Òunlike some people.Ó
ÒWho?Ó Rick asked.
ÒPeople who are bad hosts.Ó
ÒOh, for a while I thought I was going to have to defend my
buddy, Ned. Him being a married guy and all, heÕs forgotten how to
stick up for himself against women.Ó
ÒHe has a point,Ó I said, toasting my beer to Rick. ÒLisa has
made me into a silent booster for the male cause.Ó
ÒDonÕt you care at all what I think of you?Ó Kristie pouted as
she bent down to rummage through her purse. Her new pose was more than
slightly revealing in her low-cut dress.
ÒDo I care what you think of me? Well actually,Ó Rick held a
peanut in his hand as if he was going to toss it down her dress, ÒthatÕs
really a foolish question, donÕt you think?Ó
ÒYou really are as rude as people say.Ó
ÒAnd you have lived up to what IÕve heard about you.Ó
ÒWell to hell with you,Ó Kristie snapped, popping up from her
kneeling position. ÒIÕm not going to let you see my calendar.Ó
Lawrence seemed unnerved by the last statement and touched her
bare shoulder. ÒYou didnÕt bring it, did you?Ó
I wanted to revoke LawrenceÕs license to call himself a man.
ÒYes, I did!Ó she flashed a smile to us guys. ÒIf yÕall didnÕt
know, I had a naked calendar made of myself.Ó
ÒHow exquisite,Ó Rick said as he signaled the barkeep for
another beer. ÒDoes it show your tattoo?Ó
Kristie looked like she was trying to blush.
ÒBut of course.Ó
She let a manicured finger slide down the rear of her left
thigh, as if to indicate placement.
I looked at Rick with a how-did-you-know? look.
ÒLucky guess,Ó Rick shrugged.
Since I was the only one still sitting, she tossed her purse in
my lap.
ÒOf course I want to know what yÕall think of my modeling.
Artistically, that is.Ó
The guys fell silent as Kristie slowly ferreted through her
purse. She kept one eye aimed at Rick. He refused to play along.
Instead, he stepped around her to order another Budweiser. Regardless,
she tried to play up the suspense for all it was worth, even pausing to
pull out a golden tube of lipstick to polish her already well-accented
lips.
Eventually Kristie abandon her search with a heavy sigh.
ÒWell I guess I didnÕt bring it after all. YÕall will just have
to drop by my place sometime to get your own copy. IÕll promise to sign
it.Ó
ÒMakes a great anniversary present for your wife,Ó Rick said
across the bar. He then picked up his beer, walked over to me and
whispered something about Kristie. I knew he intentionally accented her
name to peak her curiosity. Rick then rapped me on the shoulder and
walked off to another table where he was being beckoned.
Kristie continued babbling about her calendar, choosing to feign
indifference to RickÕs departure.
ÒSo what on earth possessed you to make a calendar?Ó Mark asked
pumping back his shoulders for the umpteenth time. With Rick gone he
was ready to reclaim the pole position in the race for KristieÕs
attention.
ÒIt was really a lot of fun.Ó She ran her fingers through her
hair until her arms were spread above her shoulders. She held the pose.
ÒErotica is very natural for me.Ó
As she started to go through her calendar poses, I thought about
what Rick had said before exiting.
Her teeth really were too large for her head. The proportions
just did not work. The highlighted flaw gave me an odd sense of power
over her. I sat there for a moment, oblivious to KristieÕs movements.
Then, in the midst of her poses, I placed her purse on the floor
and walked over to Rick. It was almost time for me to pick up Lisa and
I had just decided something.
ÒHey Rick, I think we should move on the sailboat,Ó I said.
ÒSounds great,Ó Rick said surprised. I had interrupted his
conversation but he wasnÕt annoyed.
ÒWhat changed your mind, old boy?Ó he said, turning in his seat
to face me.
I just shrugged and said something about rechecking my finances.
ÒWell I look forward to learning the ropes from an old hand
like you.Ó
ÒLikewise,Ó I said before departing.
____________________________________________
Garret Grajek <garret@garret.austin.ibm.com> is a 29 year old male, a
self-employed computer contractor and a non-Pez Dispenser collector.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
IT WAS A DIMLY LIT..
BY DAVID S. DADEKIAN
It was a dimly lit, intimate room. John was sitting at a table.
He was relaxed in a pair of jeans and a dark button-down shirt. There
was some silverware on the table next to his hand. Bob entered and sat
down across from John. Bob didnÕt appear very relaxed in his shirt and
tie.
ÒHello, John,Ó Bob began.
ÒHi, Bob, IÕm glad you could make it,Ó John replied, Òwould you
like to order anything?Ó
ÒNo, thanks,Ó Bob said with a little sarcasm in his voice. ÒYou
look good.Ó
ÒThanks, I should be better soon. How are you? ItÕs been a
while.Ó
ÒYeah, it has been a while since IÕve seen you.Ó
ÒWell, you know you could visit anytime you want. ItÕs not like
IÕm able to get to you much.Ó
ÒYeah, I know I could afford to visit you more, John. ItÕs just
hard without Susan around. I have to take care of Mom and the kids by
myself now.Ó
ÒYeah, well, IÕm sorry about Susan. I wish I could have made it
to the funeral.Ó
A disgusted look crossed BobÕs face, ÒLook, I know you werenÕt
well...letÕs not talk about it. This is going to be my last time seeing
you.Ó
ÒYeah,Ó John laughed, ÒitÕs going to be a long time before I get
to see you again.Ó
A man entered from behind John and unceremoniously placed a
plate of food and a glass of soda in front of John. The man turned and
exited.
ÒHey, see if you get a tip from me,Ó John shouted at the man.
He picked up his fork and started eating. ÒYou sure you donÕt want
anything, Bob? IÕm buying.Ó
Bob shook his head no, ÒIÕm sure, thanks, John.Ó
ÒHey, always the best for my older brother. So, howÕs Mom
doing, havenÕt seen her in a long, long time. Probably not since I last
saw Susan.Ó
ÒJohn, I said I didnÕt want to talk about Susan,Ó Bob paused,
ÒMomÕs doing well, as well as could be expected. She has a hard time
with the crutches, I think IÕm going to get her a wheelchair.Ó
ÒWell, you know IÕll pitch in half.Ó
Bob let out a little laugh, ÒYeah, thanks, John.Ó
There was a long pause while John ate. Bob sat quietly.
ÒCome on big brother,Ó John said, Òtalk to me, you said
yourself, this is it.Ó He took another bite of his steak. ÒSo how are
my two favorite nephews?Ó
ÒWell, little BillyÕs okay. J.J. isnÕt doing too good,Ó Bob
answered.
ÒJ.J.? My namesake is calling himself J.J.?Ó John sounded
stunned.
ÒYeah, well his therapist thought it was a good idea.Ó
ÒTherapist? My godsonÕs going to a shrink? Jesus, Bob, whatÕs
going on?Ó
Bob got slightly angry, ÒYou know whatÕs going on, John, at
least you should.Ó
ÒYeah, well, I guess so. So howÕs he doing in therapy?Ó
ÒOkay, heÕs going to stop when he turns sixteen in a couple of
months.Ó
ÒOh, heÕs turning sixteen?Ó John became sarcastic again. ÒDamn,
I wish I could say heÕd get a card from me, but you know how things
are.Ó
ÒSometimes I wonder how things are with you, John,Ó Bob laughed
sardonically, Òbut, yeah, I understand why he wouldnÕt get a card from
you.Ó
ÒHey, itÕs not like I donÕt care about family, you know I do.Ó
ÒYeah,Ó Bob was angry now, ÒI know how you feel about family.Ó
ÒYou know youÕll miss me, right, Bob?Ó
There was a long pause as John finished eating. He looked up at
Bob and then looked at his bare wrist. ÒWould you look at the
time...IÕve got to get going.Ó
John wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood to go. Bob got up,
too. A guard walked over to the table and stood back a little. John
stuck out his hand to shake with Bob. Bob hesitated, but shook his
brotherÕs hand. The guard approached John.
ÒWell, IÕll be seeing you, Bob,Ó John said smiling. He turned
to exit and the guard turned with him.
ÒExcuse me,Ó Bob said softly to the guard, ÒWhen exactly does my
brother get, uh...Ó
ÒHe goes to the chair at five-thirty in the morning,Ó the guard
replied.
John turned back to Bob, ÒHey, Bob, tell the kids IÕm sorry
about what I did to Susan,Ó he smiled and waved. ÒBye, Bobby.Ó
John and the guard exited. Bob just stood there, fingering his
wedding band.
____________________________________________
David S. Dadekian <dadekiad@vader.egr.uri.edu> is a writer/musician from
Providence, RI.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
POETRY
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
AUTOMATIC WINTER
BY STEPHANIE KAY BUFFMAN
My best friend and I once laughed,
outside a practically empty Clark station, learning how to use the
self-serve pump.
Breath colliding smokey in mid-bitter air, we ignored the indifferent
cashier
ignoring us from underneath the orange-pink glow of convenience store
lights.
Instead we chatted of nothings and
no ones as the forgotten nozzle
reeked life into my Cougar.
Through the spider-webbed back window,
the cackling hoard mouthed hilarities
and threw back oblivious heads.
We leaned to examine the progress and,
concealed momentarily by fogged up windows and a back quarter panel,
hesitated
just long enough to brush indecisive lips before the fragile simplicity
of one
impulsive moment was left to quake
in the leering hi-beams of a sudden Toyota.
____________________________________________
Stephanie Kay Buffman <chiquita@camelot.bradley.edu> is a junior English
major from Bentley, Michigan attending Bradley University in Peoria,
Illinois.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
CLOUD-PERFECT
BY L. AMOS
Today
the weather is cloud-prefect.
It is the recognizable kind of day when
my mother and I stay outside and tell stories.
The best day to smile and sit on the moist happy grass.
Happy grass
with its blades shiny, fresh and tall
never having felt the whirling blades of a mower even once.
The sun
warm and the breeze is cool and in my face.
Today
I could not tell you the real name,
what the scientific name is for these clouds Ñ
whether stratus, cirrus, cumulonimbus or such Ñ
but Mom keeps telling me to remember that they are perfect.
Each one
hangs in the air long enough for us to figure out
what creature or character hides behind the cream whiteness.
She
sees my dragons, all of them
and I see her laughing faces, each creased cheek.
And then,
before you or I can look away
it changes and is deformed by its own breeze
in the upper levels where it lives and which we will never know.
There
are no colors to worry about Ñ
like white chalk on a blue-slate board Ñ
just shapes in this one worldÕs fluffy heights
much more than we could ever draw, except in the sky.
Today is cloud-perfect.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
INSOMNIATIC CONCLUSIONS
BY TRISTA MENTZ
I canÕt find the switch
that will stop whatever
it is
that is
projecting images
on the screen.
dead time
dead grass
dead babies
I canÕt find the
stop analyzing trivial
occurrences button.
possible fires
possible words
possible assignations
I canÕt justify the reasons
why I think that it only
snows while I am asleep.
I will walk through slush in
black penny loafers until they
donÕt make black penny loafers
anymore. Then
I will go barefoot.
____________________________________________
Trista Mentz <mentzt@alleg.EDU> is a freshman at Allegheny College in
Meadville, Pennsylvania.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
HEELS
BY L. AMOS
Inch upon inch,
you add to my height
Squish my feet forward, forming
Elegance, but not quite.
Forced to dance on my toes
and sink in the wet grass
Where can I stand tall
without feeling like an ass?
No matter the style or
color, theyÕre no Keds.
TheyÕll never be comfortable,
so get it through your head.
I canÕt run very fast
with my calves all tight,
but I can take them off
and put up a fight.
Who made these shoes?
IÕd like to ask
If he had to wear them, now
that would be a task.
Make it illegal to
sell even one pair.
Design new ones, you say?
No, you wouldnÕt dare!
____________________________________________
L. Amos has just finished her undergraduate work at Cornell University,
majoring in Education. She will be working for the YMCA for the summer
before entering graduate school in the fall to get her Masters in
Elementary Education.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
FREE THINKERS, FREE HEARTS, AND OTHER NASTY STUFF
BY CHRIS LASKEY
The biggest problem with being a free thinker is that the whole room
looks at you pretty hungrily whenever they light-up their switches.
The biggest problem with being a free heart is that the whole room looks
away when you enter.
The biggest problem with being both
is that you live in a state of grace...
deliciouly, invisible.
____________________________________________
Christopher Alison Laskey <laskey@server.uwindsor.ca>, usually refered
to as Òthat Laskey kidÓ is a 4th year Communications Studies student at
the University of Windsor. The combination of small town Canadian life
and lack of sex has driven him completely insane. This is normall
percieved as some form of handicap, but is totally acceptable, and even
encouraged in his choosen field of specialization ... the mass media.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
OTHER MAGAZINES ON THE NET
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
InterText, a bi-monthly magazine publishing fiction of all types,
edited by Jason Snell. Back issues are available at network.ucsd.edu,
under the /intertext directory.
___
Quanta, a science fiction magazine. Each issue contains fiction by
amateur authors and is published in ASCII and PostScript formats. Back
issues of Quanta are available from export.acs.cmu.edu in the
pub/quanta directory.
___
The Sixth Dragon, an independent literary magazine devoted to publishing
original poetry, short fiction, drama and commentary, in all genres. In
addition to 3,000 paper copies, The Sixth Dragon will publish ASCII and
PostScript editions. For more information, e-mail
martind@student.msu.edu.
___
Unit Circle, an underground paper and electronic 'zine of new music,
radical politics and rage in the 1990's. On the net, it is available in
PostScript only. If you're interested in reading either the paper or
PostScript version of the 'zine, send mail to kmg@esd.sgi.com.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
BACK ISSUES
Back issues are available in several anonymous Gopher/FTP sites:
gopher.cic.net
etext.archive.umich.edu
src.doc.ic.ac.uk
info.anu.edu.au
You can also get them through out address at djw5@cornell.edu, but it is
strongly recommended that you use the FTP sites.
SUBSCRIPTION
If you wish to be on the Whirlwind mailing list, all you need to do is
send a message to djw5@cornell.edu with the subject of the message
"SUBSCRIBE WHIRLWIND" and nothing else in the body of the message.
FURTHER QUESTIONS
If you have any more questions, you can reach us at djw5@cornell.edu.
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That's it! Thank you for reading. The next issue of Whirlwind:
SEPTEMBER 1994
