MP 107642 Brunswick PROOF

Spring 2018
Brunswick Community College

Contributors from the Southport Center

Dolphin Tales: Literature and Arts Magazine Mel Amos Cheryl Serra
Spring 2018 Laura Brown Michelle Sherwood
Brunswick Community College Carol Claussen Nancy Styles
Bolivia, NC Carol Kelly Molly Thompson
Gay Lefebvre Suzanne Walker
All rights reserved. Material herein may not be reproduced Mary Beth Losch Rosemary Weiss
without the permission of the authors. The views and opinions Cheryl Mills Beverly Wilczek
expressed do not necessarily reflect those of Brunswick Commu-
nity College or its staff. Faculty and Staff Contributors:

Apologies to the artists for any imperfections in color produced Kimberly Bandera, Advisor, Writing Guild
by the printing process. Jenny Bellini, Instructor, Stained Glass and Mosaic
Carla Edstrom, Instructor, Pottery
Cover art : Richard Todd, Fog in the Marsh Terry Harrison, Instructor, Painting
Kimberly Smittle-Caroon, Instructor, Pottery
Stacie Walter, Instructor, Photography

Dolphin Tales will begin accepting submissions Creamer, Sugar & Tray (Clay) Rosemary Weiss
for the next issue in the Fall of 2018.
59
Contact the BCC
Academic Center for Excellence for details.

[email protected]

2

Glass Mosaic Molly Thompson Table of Contents:

58 Editor’s Note ..........................................................................5
Enough: My Quest for Writing Six-cess, Rebecca Arjoon .....6
A Wisper in a Dream, Benjamin Stephens ...........................13
Rail Runners, Jessy Fern ......................................................14
Ethereal, Jordyn Cottle..........................................................24
Admire, Wiley “Drew” Andrews ............................................28
When Pigs Dance and La Bamba Booms: I’m off to the
Book Fair, Vanessa Hughes ..................................................31
Alone, Benjamin Stephens.....................................................34
The Package, Jonathan Watts...............................................36
Red, Blue and Hierarchy in “Heathers”, Clara Tyson ..........38
1 in 68: Challenges Facing Pediatric Autism Spectrum
Disorder, Kathleen Little.......................................................41
A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall, Dessie Moore.........................46
Contributors ..........................................................................56

“You can’t use up creativity. The more you
use, the more you have.”

Maya Angelou

3

Jack and John Bryce (Oil) Terry Harrison Jillian Simmons
All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator, for the
4 things I have not seen." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson I find joy,
and beauty in things often unseen. I'm often privileged to
capture these things on film. After all, God is the master
artist. Thanks for selecting my photos to published.

Benjamin Stephens
For the longest time, I have been interested in video
games, animation, manga (Japanese comic books), and oth-
er types of TV shows/movies; all different forms of enter-
tainment. Due to this interest, I have desired a job that
was a part of the process that brings any of these types of
media into the world. Now, I have been writing for several
years, which has led me to return to school for a degree in
creative writing.

Clara Tyson, Editor
As a child, I mistakenly believed that you were either nat-
urally a reader or a writer, never both. As my grandfather
introduced me to some of the greatest creative authors in
history, Chekhov, Nikolai Gogol, and Maxim Gorky, I
longed to have something in common with them to prove
some innate ability. At some point, however, I realized the
impossibility of trapping all authors within the same mold,
and found that writing was not only a tool of artistic li-
cense, but also one to be used to inspire political and social
action.

Jonathan Watts
I love to write, I have written about forty short stories so
far. I feel that writing can help people with stress. I believe
that should write because writing can set you free! I think
that people should be able to write about anything they
want to.

Other Contributors:

Wiley “Drew” Andrews, Kevin Cao, Dessie Moore, and Richard Todd

57

Student Contributors: Editor’s Note:

Rebecca Arjoon Writing and storytelling, so far as we are aware, are dis-
From the very first "Once upon a time..." I scribbled into a tinctly human phenomena. These attributes arguably dis-
construction paper storybook, writing has been a gateway tinguish us from every other living species, and provide
to my dreams. Whether it was through my own writing or an answer as to what makes Homo sapiens noteworthy on
the writing of others, each word guided my exploration to a planet of staggering diversity. Despite this significance,
the furthest reaches of my imagination where I discovered writing has not always enjoyed conclusive renown, and at
my aspirations. My hope is that by sharing my work, I can various stages in our long and tangled history, we have
serve as the same inspiration for others. disregarded and even destroyed works whose influences
have uniquely shaped us. During these instances, hu-
Jordyn Cottle mans failed to recognize the true authority of the written
“Ethereal” was published by Christian Faith Publishing. I originally wrote it word; writing is the primary means by which we have
when I was eleven when Twilight was very popular. Throughout these years, constructed civilizations and expressed the very nature of
I’ve been revising, adding to Ethereal’s plot and furthering the character de- the world in which we live. Thus, we must be responsible
velopment. At first I decided to self-publish it when I was 18. The process for the maintenance of this tradition, and I sincerely hope
with Christian Faith Publishing has been fantastic and I am proud to say my that this publication will allow for such contribution.
book is well on its way to print.
Clara Tyson
Jessy Fern
I have been writing for as long as I can remember. Writing 5
offers an escape from reality and allows me to see the
world from other peoples eyes. I hope that my writing can
help others escape their problems and inspire them to see
the world from multiple paradigms.

Vanessa Hughes
I am a returning college student with the goal of transfer-
ring to UNCW to further my education. Books and movies
are a large part of my life. I cannot resist a true story and
the more of an underdog story it is the better. The Literacy
Narrative in this magazine is the first time my writing has
been published, and I am beyond excited!

Kathleen Little
Expressing myself has always been something that I love
to do. I was a young student, theater and the arts were the
most important part of my being. Life responsibilities took
me down a meandering path into a professional direction
that left me unfulfilled. My daughter, Cecilia, gave me my
voice back. I never envisioned that her special needs
would lead me back to college and down the road to writ-
ing. My essay submission is dedicated to her and everyone
that is touched by autism.

56

Enough: My Quest for Writing Six-cess Retired Beverly Wilczek

Rebecca Arjoon 55

ENG111 Essay Contest Winner

Holly Lynn, Instructor

A cacophony of metal scraping against gray-streaked
tiles fills the air, the only sound audible in Ms. Martin’s 8th
grade classroom. There is a static emitting from the rigid bod-
ies filling the seats, electric sparks of anxiety and anticipation
colliding in the air. In the last seat of the last row, my right leg
trembles beneath my desk, kneecap drumming the underside
of its wooden surface. My eyes chase the ticking black hands
along the stark white face of the clock. My ears strain to listen
for any trace of Ms. Martin’s heels softly click, click, clicking
down the hallway, returning with the scores we are all too ea-
ger to get within our grasps. Throughout the past year, we
have all worked ceaselessly, the creative factories in our heads
swamped with constant demands for product, all in prepara-
tion for one final hurdle: the Florida Comprehensive Assess-
ment Test (FCAT) Writing Exam. This test was the last battle
we had to conquer before journeying on to high school. It deter-
mined whether we would spend our freshman year in remedial
writing classes, or join the rest of our classmates in proper
English classes. As such, these scores bore a substantial
weight on our scholarly careers.

“How do you think you di-,” my best friend’s whispered
inquiry is cut off as Ms. Martin unlocks the broad oak door to
our class, a stack of ivory papers in her hands. I take a gulp,
feeling it scrape along my dry throat. We all trace her move-
ments silently with wide eyes as she moves to the front of the
classroom. In every student’s gaze is a predatory glint, each of
us ready to pounce at what we knew were the FCAT results.
She begins to read off a list of names, asking those called to
stand. “Rebecca,” Ms. Martin calls, the first of the names slic-
ing through the silence. My palms are sweaty and my fingers
are trembling. “What is this for? Did I do THAT bad?”

These questions, and many more, swirl around my

6

Stained Glass Carol Claussen head, forming a twister of terror, when Ms. Martin’s voice cuts
through my thoughts once again, “If all of you could please fol-
Stained Glass Carol Kelly low me to the library.” I join a group of three other students,
following Ms. Martin into the hall. The furrowed brows of my
54 fellow classmates mirror my own, and I know that we are shar-
ing the same racing thoughts. We shuffle into the library, tak-
ing our seats amongst a group of ten students, their faces fa-
miliar from other classes within the 8th grade. With the sliding
of the last chair, pin-drop silence falls once again, all eyes
locked on Ms. Martin. “Congratulations, you have all made a
perfect six!” she announces, a bright smile shattering her seri-
ous expression. The room erupts with squeals and exclama-
tions. “Oh my God, Rebecca!” exclaims my best friend, grabbing
my arm in a tight grip, shaking it with excitement. The library
is alive with relieved bursts of laughter and the sounds of high-
fives, but I’m frozen. The chaos in my brain clears, leaving my
mind blank with the exception of one thought being processed:
“How???”

In the months leading to the exam, I had struggled im-
mensely with the writing tasks of my English class. The main
sources of my strife were Ms. Martin’s persistent daily creative
journals. Every morning, we would be assigned an off-the-wall
topic, which we would then have to develop a piece of writing
for within a 15-minute period. Our creation could be whatever
sprouted from the inspiration of that topic, just as long as it
was rooted within its main idea. I had not developed much of
an interest in writing by this point, but this assignment ap-
peared simple enough, right? I could not have been more
wrong. Composing the journal was only the tip of the iceberg;
my true nightmare was hidden just beneath the surface. We
would then have to share our journals with the class for peer
review. The idea that each of my 30 classmates would have to
bear witness to my work sank what little rafts of confidence I
had in my writing.

“Is it good enough?” This question would ring in my
head, resonating down my arm, shaking the grip I had on my
pencil as I forced myself to complete each journal. When time
was called, within the sea of sky-stretched hands rippling with
enthusiasm to recite their work for the class, I would be the
hump, slumped low and deep in my seat, wishing for the floor

7

to swallow me whole. Despite having formed close friendships have been.” The article highlights Dylan’s understanding of
with each of my classmates, some extending beyond three the gospel of Jesus Christ evident in his music even prior to
years, I was terrified of the idea of sharing something I had his conversion to Christianity, which happened in the late
crafted with them. After sitting through the colorful, imagina- 1970s. Dylan viewed the true condition of mankind apart from
tive pieces they had sown together, mine felt beyond subpar. Christ. Thompson claims that Dylan’s music “delves deeply
“How could you compete with that?” I would ask myself. As a into the shadows. But then, so does the gospel” (np).
result, only a few weeks into my 8th grade year, I had devel-
oped a bitter dislike for Ms. Martin’s class. In The Importance of the Folk Singer in the American
Sixties, A Case Study of Bob Dylan, John Dean emphasizes,
Auburn autumn shifted to woeful winter and our first “Dylan made lyrical, political, mystical, social, and cultural
semester came to a close. With January came the new semes- statements that people remembered, that were etched into
ter and the buzz of the approaching FCAT exams, the writing Americans’ hearts and minds” (340). The reason is because
portion at the peak of everyone’s concerns. Preparation led eve- Dylan’s music not only directly negotiates the climate of the
ry teacher’s list of priorities, since FCAT testing was now a turbulent 60s; it reflects the heart of humanity from ages past
mere four months away. Ms. Martin began assigning weekly to these present days– in both depraved, and redemptive,
writing assignments, in order to get us acclimated to the writ- ways.
ing style required for the FCAT Writing Exam. Once more, she
required peer review, and just like with the journals, I could Works Cited
not bring myself to share my essays. It would take me hours,
or even days, to scrap together an essay I barely even liked. Dean, John. “The Importance of the Folk Singer in the Ameri-
Whether in class or at home, a mountain of snowball-shaped can Sixties: A Case Study of Bob Dylan.” Etudes An-
papers would form in the corner of my desk because I could not glaises Jul-Sept (2011): 339-356. ProQuest. Web. 6
decide on an idea that I thought would be enough, an idea that April 2017.
would be creative, engaging, interesting, fun, and enjoyable to
read, an idea that would be worthy of standing amongst those Dunlap, James. “Through the Eyes of Tom Joad: Patterns of
of my peers. In the end, I would have a piece I saw only as sat- American Idealism, Bob Dylan,And the Folk Protest
isfactory, my self-doubt cementing my lips shut, completely Movement.” Popular Music and Society. Dec. (2006):
unwilling to share a single word. The further I slumped in my np. ProQuest. Web. 4 April 2017.
seat, the further my English grade descended, suffering due to
my lack of participation. Like pebbles, these writing assign- Dylan, Bob. A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall. 1962. New York
ments piled higher and higher, burying my confidence in my City: Columbia Records Studio A, 1963. Web.
writing deeper and deeper. The lifeless winter scenery from
our classroom window mirrored my bleak outlook. With it came Dylan, Bob. “Nobel Banquet Speech.” Nobel Media. Stockholm
an icy panic that would crawl up my spine at the beginning of
every class. My mind would scream, “How can I become a better City Hall, Stockholm. 10 Dec. 2016. Web.
writer in such little time? There’s barely any left!”
The Holy Bible, English Standard Version (ESV). Wheaton:
“Rebecca, can you see me after class for a few minutes?” Good News Publishers, 2011. Print.
Ms. Martin requested one late February morning. A rumble of
“ooohs” arose from my classmates, throwing fuel on my burn- Thompson, John. “The Dark Side of Dylan.” Christianity To-
ing anxiety. “This is it,” I thought, “I have failed beyond re- day. Christianity Today International, 11 Sept. 2012.
pair.” The bell ending the first class period tolled, the flow of Web. 4 April 2017.

8 53

Missionaries, humanitarian workers, and everyday folks are Reaching for Grey Richard Todd
going “where the people are many and their hands are all emp-
ty…where hunger is ugly and souls are forgotten.” Needs aren’t 9
being met, we need to help meet them. “Where pellets of poison
are flooding their waters.” People are being suffocated on lies,
most of them told by the media, or by other people who seek to
control their lives. We go out to tell them the Truth. “And I’ll
tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it/ and reflect it
from the mountain so all souls can see it/ then I’ll stand on the
ocean until I start sinkin’/ but I’ll know my song well before I
start singing.” He is taking this personally; he is owning it and
has a personal stake in spreading the truth of humanity, but
deep down he knows this will eventually consume him.

An interesting pattern in Dylan’s lyrics is the amount of
times the number 10,000 is mentioned. It is referenced three
times throughout the song and in each one, Dylan references
the mouth, tongue, or talking. This is one of the most signifi-
cant ways we hurt each other. “I’ve been ten thousand miles in
the mouth of a graveyard…I saw ten thousand talkers whose
tongues were all broken…I heard ten thousand whisperin’ and
nobody listenin’.” The refrain ends each stanza with, “And it’s a
hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
rain’s a-gonna fall.” This “hard rain” is the most significant and
difficult thing that the world faces. It’s not going to get better
on its own; it needs unequivocal assistance from people like the
Son in this song.

Dunlap’s article correlates Hard Rain to The Grapes of
Wrath by John Steinbeck, which is one of Dylan’s favorite nov-
els. He believes that there is heavy influence from it in the
song. He compares Dylan to the protagonist Tom Joad, as well
as Reverend Casey, a former preacher who seems to have lost
his faith. They all know that there is much wrong in the world,
and they all want to do something about it (np).

American history has no shortage of these miseries,
even from before Dylan’s music. In the article, The Dark Side of
Dylan, author John J. Thompson writes, “though Dylan cer-
tainly did not invent laments, murder ballads, depression
songs, or apocalyptic literature, his greatest contribution to the
collective art experience of the 20th and 21st centuries may be
how commercially accessible his explorations of the shadows

52

my classmates following it out the door, leaving only me, with al or not. “I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’.”
my clammy grip on my backpack straps, in its wake. Pale- At that time, the images of lynched Black men hanging from
faced, I waited for Ms. Martin to speak. “I’m concerned for your trees, or gunned down were plentiful. Today, in large inner cit-
grade, Rebecca. Why haven’t you been participating?” she ies across the U.S., the amount of gang violence and black-on-
asked. My eyes fell to the floor, tracing each of the tiles as I black killings are astronomical. Many times, in the face of des-
spoke, “I don’t think it’s enough, my writing, I mean. I don’t pair, it seems there is no way out. The ladder is covered and
really know if my ideas are worth sharing like everyone else’s.” cannot be accessed. “I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands
I can still feel the warm hand she placed comfortingly on my of young children.” The North Vietnamese used children as a
shoulder when she assured me, “Your writing is very good; we means to their warfare. Today we have child suicide bombers
just have to help YOU see that.” She invited me to join her all over the Middle East.
writing workshop. She explained that the writing workshop
would be held every Saturday leading up to the FCAT Writing The thundering sound of war machines raging across
Exam in order to fortify the writing skills of those students the landscape were predominant both then and now. “I heard
who chose to participate and possibly equip them with new the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world.” The
strategies as well. Ms. Martin thought it would be the ideal third stanza tells of what he heard on his quest. “I heard one
place to break apart this wall of negativity I had wrapped person starve, I heard many people laughing/ Heard the song
around my writing and let in new positive light. of a poet who died in the gutter/ Heard the sound of a clown
who cried in the alley.” Mankind does not need to be taught to
During writing workshop, we would construct frame- be selfish, cruel, greedy, or apathetic. The lone voice that is
works for multiple essays, and develop strong thesis para- calling out for the world around them to open their eyes and
graphs to anchor them upon. Ms. Martin wanted us to delve see and be moved by the weighty needs of our neighbors is
into our imaginations to forge bright, enchanting, robust intro- scoffed at and ignored.
ductions that would captivate our FCAT Writing Exam scorers,
earning us higher scores. That first Saturday was rough, and But hope, ever so slightly, shows up. In the fourth stan-
the weight of my anxiety was still dragging my shoulders low za, he meets a “young child beside a dead pony”, and “I met one
in my seat, but Ms. Martin was resilient. Each Saturday, she man who was wounded in love/ I met another man who was
called on me to respond to every exercise, gently pulling me out wounded in hatred.” Suddenly one bright spot appears. “I met
of the comfortable hole I had dug. She was determined to help a young girl, she gave me a rainbow.” These things often come
me to unearth the gems hidden in my writing that had been at the most unexpected time and in the most unexpected ways
buried away by my negativity. Despite being so fearful of their - a smile from a stranger, a door held open when your hands
judgement, my peers were more than helpful. They were in- are full, a word of encouragement when you’re going through a
credibly eager to offer a multitude of helping hands to pull me difficult season in your life.
out of my pit of insecurity and point out the strengths of my
work. Finally, I was able to not only share my work but enjoy The parent asking questions has heard the son’s tale of
doing so. Gazing out the same window that once housed my woe and misery, and in the fifth and last stanza, the most im-
dying faith, I saw the first spring blossoms appearing on the portant question is asked; “What’ll you do now?” He’s being
cherry maple outside. Somewhere inside myself, I felt a shift asked a question that makes the listener examine the inner
take place, like a key had just been pushed further within the workings of their conscience: What are you going to do with all
lock tumbles of doubt within me. For once, I felt invigorated to of these horrible things you have witnessed? What are WE go-
write. ing to do to care for the least of these? “I’m a-goin’ back out
‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’.” We aren’t supposed to stay locked
This film reel of memories dissolves, and I am back in up inside our safe spaces and pretend nothing is happening.

10 51

Hard Rain is styled similarly to Lord Randall, an Anglo- the library, still plastered to my seat with disbelief, Ms. Mar-
Scottish ballad dating back to the 17th Century, which consists tin’s congratulatory announcement replaying like a broken rec-
of dialogue between a mother and her son. The song’s tone is ord in my head. I retrieve my phone from my pocket. With
somber and, at times, heartbreaking. Here, Dylan starts each shaky fingers, staring blankly at the screen, I type out the
verse as a parent asking a son, “Oh, where have you been my news in a text message to my mom. Her reply came back with-
blue-eyed son? Oh, where have you been my darling young one?” in a few seconds, “Of course you did. I told you that you were
Subsequent verses also ask what did you see, hear, who did you good. You always have been.” Reading her words, I’m filled
meet, and what’ll you do now? The son replies in grave tones of with a warmth, but it doesn’t quite reach the surface. The
his experience with death, destruction, and hopelessness. shadow of self-doubt still clung to my shoulders, leaving a chill
behind that made me wonder if my writing was really worth
In his first stanza, Dylan responds, “I’ve walked and I’ve this result. I began to think of my other classmates who were
crawled on six crooked highways.” These lead us to places un- absent from the library. My other classmates who excelled in
known, and unknown places can be scary. “I’ve stepped in the their writing, far beyond what I could ever create, yet didn’t
middle of seven sad forests.” A tree symbolizes being grounded, receive the same score I did. “Did I just get lucky? How could
one having their roots firmly in place. A sad forest has been in everyone see this talent that I was completely blind to?”
existence for a long time and has seen its share of misery.
The following week, our school held an awards ceremo-
When asked what he has seen, the second stanza an- ny for the 8th grade class. It was a formal event honoring the
swers, “I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it.” students’ scholarly achievements. Our auditorium was adorned
The abortion industry has grown into a billion-dollar business with grand silver and gold décor for the ceremony. My class-
since the Sixties. Child trafficking is at an all-time high. In eve- mates and I sparkled, dressed in gorgeous gowns that glim-
ry war, innocent children are always victims whether intention- mered like stars or sleek suits in every tone of midnight. Mid-
way through the celebration, Ms. Martin and the other 8th
Quilt grade English teachers took the stage, announcing an award
Cheryl Mills for those who scored a six on the FCAT Writing Exam. My
name was called first again, and I led our library group in a
50 daze up the steps to the podium. “Congratulations,” Ms. Martin
smiled, placing a golden trophy in my hands and wrapping me
in a warm hug. Taking a step back, I ran my finger along the
trophy’s placard engraved with my name and the words
“Perfect ‘6’ FCAT Writing 2011”. At the start of this year, I did-
n’t think I would be capable of passing my English class, let
alone of earning the highest score on the FCAT. “Not me,” I
thought, “That could never happen.” Before I could even take a
leap and fly, my own negativity had clipped my wings. I had
beaten myself down for so long, yet here I was, awash in the
beaming faces of an audience of my family and friends, their
deafening shower of applause raining down on my ears, pride-
ful of my achievement. Standing on that stage, feeling the cool
surface of the golden trophy beneath my fingertips, the final
tumble clicked in my chest, unlocking my insecurity and set-

11

ting my confidence free to shine just as bright as the glimmer-
ing award in my hands. At last, my mind was filled with one
radiant thought, one paramount to them all: “I am good
enough.”

The Storm (Oil) Mel Amos

Annie (Watercolor) Michelle Sherwood home to raise children. They were taking control, or becoming
out of control, depending on your perspective, over their lives
12 and bodies. Drug use and risky sexual behaviors became ram-
pant, but a lot of headway was made in the idea that women
and men are equal, which has led us to today. Now, women are
treated more equally on average in terms of job positions and
pay, although we still have a long way to go. These movements
were enshrined in the folk and rock and roll music of the day,
and Dylan’s music led the way.

49

erences the work of R. Serge Denisoff, a sociologist, who deter- A Whisper in a Dream (Song Lyrics)
mined that 1930s and 1940s protest music was “magnetic, ex- Benjamin Stephens
pressing collective feelings of unity and ideological power in a
time of general economic depression.” He differentiates the pro- A voice calls out to you
test songs of the 1960s as “rhetorical, expressing individual feel- The words like a whisper in a dream
ing of formless discontent with particular issues” (np).
As they echo in your soul
At that time, America was becoming involved in the Vi- Just out of reach for you to understand
etnam Conflict, and the draft soon became a reason for the
younger generation to protest. When soldiers would come back Sleepless nights, restless days, unknown words
from overseas, many were afflicted with shellshock, or what we Yet somehow unforgettable
know today as PTSD. On top of all the physical and psychologi- They drive you forward
cal trauma they had endured, they came home to major anti- Soaring for your dreams
war protests; and many were traumatized all over again as
some of these protests became violent and out of hand. Verbal Tackling the challenges that come your way
torments such as “Pig!” and “Baby Killer!” were aimed at these
soldiers. On television sets across the U.S., some of the first At times feeling like your falling
close up images of the results of combat could be seen by civil- Just to work your way back up again
ians on a wide scale. Dylan addresses much of this in his music.
And a whisper in a dream
Also on the forefront of the nation was the Cuban Missile Slowly falling further out of reach
Crisis. The Cold War between the U.S. and Russia, concerning
nuclear weapons, made this event a terrifying prospect to Amer- As your life carries on
icans. Images of mushroom clouds, fallout shelters, and acid Almost forgetting what brought you here
rain were a close reality. School children often held drills at
school where they had to crawl under their desks and cover While one day remembering the past
their heads, as if that would ward off any atomic or nuclear fall- Watching the future unfold you come to see
out. There is always something new to look forward to

This era also saw great strides made in civil rights. Mar- Fighting for the dreams that carry you
tin Luther King, Jr., Medgar Evers, Rosa Parks and other Black Like a whisper in a dream
leaders led peaceful protests seeking to improve the opinion of
Americans toward Blacks. There were other, not so peaceful 13
protests as well, from groups such as The Black Panther Party.
The Civil Rights Movement caused, for the first time, Black
children to be educated in the same classrooms as White chil-
dren. Again, there was much palpable discontent between the
older and younger generations.

The Sexual Revolution, Feminism, and the Gay Rights
Movement were all getting underway during the Sixties, too.
“Make Love, Not War” was their mantra. Women were no long-
er taking after their mothers by getting married and staying

48

Rail Runners To date, Dylan has released over thirty studio albums,
several live albums, and has published a few books. His second
Jessy Fern studio album, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, contains the song
Hard Rain. It was released in May of 1963; this album also
Small Town USA. That's where I spent my entire youth, holds another of his timeless works called Blowin’ in the Wind,
living in in the middle of nowhere, a.k.a. Montana. Here the a more well-known song. Along with most of the songs on this
skies are blue and the grass is green. But I remember the day album, Hard Rain delves into the troubles that were brewing
when that all changed. It was an ordinary day, no crazy festi- in the land and that would continue to develop over the course
vals or insane riots. We didn't get much of those anyhow. It was of that decade.
just a normal Wednesday afternoon.
The 1960s were rife with heavy sociopolitical changes.
When I got bored I would lie in the fields with my eyes Dylan’s generation was moving and shaking the foundations of
glued to the sky and my arms outstretched to the sea. I spent everything the previous generation stood for. James Dunlap, in
most of my free time in my Pap’s fields. For hours, I would his article, Through the Eyes of Tom Joad: Patterns of Ameri-
watch the birds pass overhead. They’d fly away from the coun- can Idealism, Bob Dylan, and the Folk Protest Movement, noted
try toward The Promise Land. That was my silly American the major differences between the post-war generation and the
dream, too. younger generation who spawned the folk music genre. He ref-

“Mason! You out there?” My Pap’s country accent radiat- Leaping to Success Stacie Walter
ed through the fields. His steed’s hooves pounded against the
dirt like gunshots. I opened my crystal eyes, shielding them 47
from the light. The blazing summer sun burned my tan face,
crisp. I pushed myself out of the tall grass then whistled to get
Pap’s attention.

Flapjack, Pap’s horse, was galloping toward me in the
distance with Pap, just a speck, on his back. Pap was an old-
fashioned cowboy. He wore an iconic cowboy hat, a filthy pair of
chaps, and an unbuttoned, grey dress shirt every day. He al-
ways told me that I would make a wonderful mother, with my
child-bearing hips, and all. But I didn't want kids, not really. I
was fine with just a dog or a cat. But I couldn't tell Pap. That
would break his poor, old heart.

I heard a hawk’s caw overhead. I hoped that my little
brother had remembered to put the chickens in their coo, or else
the eagles would get them again.

Pap rode up to me. He offered me his dark, leathery
hand. I took it, gratefully, and clambered onto the back of the
saddle. As we rode off toward the ranch my mind wandered to
the forbidden world of the city. Seattle, the greatest city on the
West Coast. Possibly the greatest city in the word.

Flapjack stopped suddenly, snapping me out of my fanta-
sy! Pap had stopped us at the intersection of an old railroad

14

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall: Fish Bowl (Clay) Gay Lefebvre

A Journey From the Past to the Present Through 15
the Eyes of Bob Dylan

Dessie Moore

ENG111 Essay

Tracey Connette, Instructor

If you could capture a song in a photograph, A Hard
Rain’s A-Gonna Fall, written and performed by Bob Dylan,
would be pictured right beside the definition of timeless. Web-
ster defines the word “timeless” as, “not restricted to a particu-
lar time or date.” I was fifteen years old when I first heard the
song and fell in love with it, although it wasn’t Dylan’s version.
In the late 1980s, Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians did a
version for the soundtrack to Born on the Fourth of July. I
played that song so many times I thought I had worn out the
CD.

Bob Dylan understood that the human condition is not
restricted to place or time. Due to the sinful nature of humani-
ty, depravity is in no shortage in any corner of the world or any-
where in history (Rom.3:10b-18). But, Man was made in the im-
age of God (Gen 1:27) and if we look closely, we will find light
that pierces the darkness and that the image of God is still evi-
dent in mankind, actively seeking to right so many wrongs. A
song that can span generations and retain its meaning is
unique. A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall is the quintessential testi-
mony of the human condition. It is dark, yet hopeful, as it
leaves images that we read about in history books, as well as
watch unfold in our current climate.

Born in 1941 to Jewish parents, Bob Dylan changed his
name from Robert Allen Zimmerman when he was in college.
He was in his early stages of performing by playing in bands.
His idol in those days was a folk singer named Woody Guthrie;
Bob left college and traveled to New York City to meet Guthrie.
There he landed many opportunities to perform, and this is
where he began to obtain some notoriety.

46

track. Curiosity pumped through my head. There weren’t any Works Cited
railroads near the ranch. Where were we?
Anonymous. “What is Autism.” Journal of Practical Nursing,
Pap’s head rolled back to glance at me. He looked like Volume 59, Issue 2, Summer 2009, pages 22-24
he was half-smiling and half-grimacing. Like he knew it would
do no good to show me this. The trip arm at the railroad track Baio, John, EdS; Bilder, Deborah, MD; Charles, Jane, MD;
swung down suddenly! The ground started to shake which
made Flapjack scrape his hooves against the dirt. I felt a child- Christensen, Deborah L., PhD; Constantino, John, MD;
ish rush of adrenaline shoot through my veins as the train ap-
proached. The chug of the train was the heartbeat of opportuni- Daniels, Julie, PhD; Durkin, Maureen S., PhD; Fitzger-
ty and the dust that flew from its enormous spokes was the air
of change. ald, Robert T., PhD; Kurzius-Spencer, Margaret,

I watched the gigantic train fly by. First the deep, or- PhD; Lee, Li-Ching, PhD; Pettygrove, Sydney, PhD;
ange steel locomotive, with its two ladders in the very front,
daring me to hop on. Next the countless cars full of black coal Robinson, Cordelia, PhD; Schulz, Eldo, MD; Van
and crude oil. Then the last car whose door was slid open. An
ancient man stood in the car. He had crusty stubble that cov- Naarden Braun, Kim, MD; Wells, Chris, PhD; Win-
ered his chapped lips and his gappy teeth. His clothes were tat-
tered and torn like he had worn them for hundreds of years. gate, Martha S., MD; Yeargin-Allsopp, Marshalyn, MD;
His feet were bare and the colour of a tar pit. I searched his
body until his innocent green eyes met mine for a moment. For Zahorodny, Walter, PhD. ”Prevalence and Character-
a split second, there was an unspoken connection. The train car
raced by so fast I wasn’t sure if the man was real, or if he was a istics of Autism Spectrum Disorders Among Children
figure of my imagination.
Aged 8 Years - Autism and Developmental Disabilities
My father took me home after that. I burned the path
home into my brain. Every rock, every cactus, and every twist Monitoring Network, 11 Sites, United States,
in the road. I knew that path like the back of my hand.
2012.” Surveillance Summaries, Volume 65, Issue 3,
We got back to the ranch right as the sun started to sink
under the horizon. Sue, my stepmom, sat on the rocking chair April 1, 2016, pages 1– 23
on our front porch. She was, like my Pap, very traditional.
Nothing like the city folk. She believed in cleaning, cooking, Ferrarro, Christine. “Newest 'Sesame Street'
and motherhood. And that’s exactly what she did. Muppet Has Autism: Meet Julia” 60

Pap and I hopped off of Flapjack, then our farm hand, Minutes, CBS, 20 March 2017
Henry, took him away. As Henry approached us he smiled at
me with his big, goofy, brown eyes. Pap said Henry would make Grandin, Temple; Panek, Richard, The Autistic
a fine husband but I saw him more as a brother. We marched Brain, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Pub-
up the porch where Sue greeted us with hugs. lishing Company, 2013

“How’re the crops fairin’?” Sue inquired. We moved into Light, Jennie, Text message. Received by Little, Kathleen, 08
the house where dinner was ready. Sue had cooked a delicious November 2017
looking pulled pork casserole with a side of buttered corn and
mashed potatoes. My two brothers and sisters all sat around Sicile-Kira, Chantal, Autism Spectrum Disorder: The Complete
Guide to Understanding Autism, Penguin Random
16 House Company, 2014

Treffort, Darold A. “Savant Syndrome: Realities, Myths and
Misconceptions” Journal of Autism and Developmental

Disorders,Volume 44, Issue 3, March 2014, pages 564-
571

45

In many circumstances, parents of a child with ASD face Glass Mosaic Suzanne Walker
intense domestic, emotional, and financial hardships. Autism
expert and ASD sufferer, Temple Grandin, insists that a rigid 17
and intense structured therapy program be integrated into the
homes of ASD children. She offers, “Mother hired a nanny who
played constant turn-taking games with my sister and me”(The
Autistic Brain 4). For many families, this type of arrangement
to ensure success is a near impossibility, due to financial and
time constraints. Parents who chose to stay at home in order to
facilitate additional home therapies, attempt extra care, or due
to an inability to place their ASD child in a proper after-school
environment, face the financial burden of losing time at work or
even forgoing their occupation entirely. Although many children
qualify for Social Security and disability benefits, the wait time
can approach 1 - 2 years, and the rigorous application process,
required qualifications, and a lack of funding can dissuade ASD
parents from applying, or force them to accept the help of other
social programs like welfare and food stamps. These financial
burdens may place strains on care-giving for other children in
the household, who may be having difficulty dealing with the
lack of attention and emotional impact of having a brother or
sister on the Spectrum. Parents who raise an ASD child may
also be impacted by fatigue, fear, frustration, lack of time for
themselves, and emotional strains on their marriage, with little
psychological support. This stressful environment can ultimate-
ly be detrimental to an ASD child, as well as other members of
the family.

In Spring 2017, television viewers saw a new girl move
onto Sesame Street. The Children's Television Workshop intro-
duced Julia, the first recurring puppet with Autism, in order to
help children with and without ASD. When asked by CBS News
about hopes for Julia's character, writer Christina Ferrarro an-
swered, “I would love her to be not Julia, the kid on “Sesame
Street” who has autism. I would like her to be just Julia.” Help-
ing children with Autism Spectrum Disorder by increasing edu-
cational resources, family support, and social awareness, not
only helps the child be “just” themselves, but also fosters a bet-
ter society that is ready to enjoy their unique gifts.

44

our miniscule dining table. Now that Pap was home we could happens during occasional professional workshops. A 90 mi-
eat. nute PowerPoint presentation twice a school year is not making
the grade.” says J. Light, an elementary school teacher from
Pap took his seat at the head of the table. I sat in the Baltimore, Maryland. Her sentiments have been echoed by
middle wedged between Ronnie and Joseph. Mary and Gill sat many teachers in North Carolina as well. Both of these states
across from us. Sue spooned out the dinner to us then joined us. have seen some of the sharpest increases in ASD diagnosis in
Pap started up a conversation about the sweet potatoes and the the United States. Without quick intervention and an increase
wheat, but my mind was somewhere else. I didn’t care how the in educational support, it is unknown how many spectrum chil-
crops were doing. All I wanted was to get out. To get out of that dren will be unable to thrive.
traditional house. To get out of Montana.
Social understanding is necessary in order for children
“What do you think Mason?” Sue brought me back to with ASD to integrate into their communities and experience
earth with her plucky, valley voice. personal success. Because one of the key characteristics of Au-
tism is trouble relating and communicating in social situations,
“Ma’am?” I felt my face go red, Sue snickered and point- psychologically typical children and adults may find relating to
ed her fork at my father. ASD children to be overwhelming or difficult. Parents and care-
givers of ASD children often find basic outings and errands
“I told you, Gordan.” My father’s lips curled into a smug daunting, due to the risks of sensory overload, child safety, and
smile. I felt curiosity pull at my brain but I let it go. The rest of social interactions. Many people without loved ones on the
dinner passed in talk of sports and school. Afterward, my sib- Spectrum have no idea how to respond to ASD children or what
lings and I were sent to bed. I shared a room with my two sis- the disorder is. Businesses, organizations, and churches very
ters on the second floor of the ranch house. My brothers were rarely take initiative to create policies or provide education to
right across the hall. And my parents were downstairs. their employees or members, in order to adopt an "Autism
Friendly" environment that is free of judgment. Their impres-
I laid down on my beat up mattress, watching the stars sions of people with Autism are often based solely on media.
in the night sky through the window. A plan was forming in my For years, ASD personalities have been ridiculed in films like
mind. A careless, impulsive plan. I slowly rose from my bed, Tropic Thunder and The Ringer, or have given a lovable, but
making sure not to wake my sisters. I had a backpack at the goofy impression as seen in Forrest Gump or The Other Sister.
end of my bed. I grabbed a few clothes, scattered on the floor, Alternately, more sensitive media tends to portray the “Autistic
and stuffed them in. I crept over to my dresser and took the pic- genius”, like the brilliant young surgeon in ABC's The Good
ture from the frame. It was a pretty picture. It was taken a few Doctor or Dustin Hoffman's film performance in Rainman.
months before, on my sixteenth birthday. My sisters and I stood However, that side of the spectrum encompasses only a very
in the front, our smiles could encompass the globe. My father small fraction of the community. In his article Savant Syn-
and my brothers stood behind us, Pap’s arm stretched around drome: Realities, Myths and Misconceptions, Darold A. Treffort
me and his fist was digging into my hair. We were all happy explains that, statistically, one is not likely to run across the
then. But then Sue came along and ruined it all. type person portrayed in these archetypal roles. He says
“Savant syndrome is a rare but spectacular condition.” With-
Before I could change my mind, I pushed the picture into out more education and accurate representation given to the
my pocket. Then I was gone. I snuck down the stairs. I crept general public about ASD children, it is unlikely that positive
past my sleeping Pap. Then I slipped out the agape door. The interactions and open communication will be able to take place.
night was beautiful. The cool air was saturated with crickets Without the cooperation of society, integrating the the gifts of
playing their melodies and wolves calling to one another. I the Autistic child may not be a possibility.
turned back to the old ranch, giving one last look before I disap-
peared into the darkness. 43

I don’t know how long it took to find the trip arm. When
I finally arrived I was lost, but I was found. I looked as far as I
could left, then right, but I saw nothing. I didn’t know how far

18

Calm Before the Storm Jillian Simmons away the next stop was. It could’ve been a hundred miles! I let
out an exasperated sigh. I plopped down next to the track,
order to see the best outward results of increased intervention. ready to give up. I had no food, no water, no money, and no idea
Some of these therapy techniques boasted a yield of 20 points of where to go. This was futile!
IQ improvement and lateral integration into an appropriate
grade level. While this result is not always realistic, it demon- I arched my back out across the sand, then I stretched
strates that there are steadfast methods of treatment and my arms to the West. I laid there for a few moments, collecting
greater possibilities for integrating ASD children into better my wits. I thought it was funny how much the sky calmed me
educational opportunities. The conclusion that can be made down. When I rose I knew where to go. I walked to the West, to
from this is that while there is ample information and a grow- the city. I knew if I followed the tracks long enough I’d find
ing storage of knowledge on how ASD children can thrive aca- someone to help me.
demically and socially, a lack of resources and paid profession-
als is stifling progress. I was right.
The sun was starting to come up behind me, spilling out
When asked, several teachers asserted that not only are its luscious fuschia and opulent violet lights, when I saw them.
there not enough specialists in their respective school systems Right on the horizon was my hope. A tiny shack in the distance
to keep up with the rising demand for special education, but with a drum full of fire out front. Standing around the drum
also there is not enough attention given to continuing educator were three sticks, which I prayed were people who would help
training so that even primary educators can be more equipped me.
to help ASD students. “Most of our additional ASD training When I saw the building hope flashed through me. I
broke out into a sprint. I ran to catch the unattainable ideal of
42 freedom. I wasn’t running too long until they saw me. One of
the figures pointed to me. Then another figure got up, lazily,
and waved. A stupid smile overcame me. As I got closer they
came into focus.
There were four of them, three battered men and a teen-
age girl. The men were all older, in their fifties and sixties, and
they all looked like seasoned veterans in a train gang. The girl,
on the other hand, was different. She had shorter hair, the col-
our of the sunset, complemented by her sparkling blue eyes. She
wore a grey tank top, far too big for her, a pair of blue jeans,
torn to shreds, and a muddy flannel tied around her waist.
The girl sat on an old, broken lawn chair with her legs
propped up on the drum, the flames licking at her seared boots.
With caution, I approached the group. The men all looked me
over once or twice, trying to judge if I could be trusted. They
locked eyes then looked to the girl, who seemed to be their lead-
er. The girl flashed a grin. She broke the silence.
“What’re you doin’ here little lady? You look lost.”
“No, I’m not lost.” I shook my head.
The girl looked at me suspiciously.
“What’s a young lady like yourself doing around here
then?”

19

“I-uh” My eyes flashed around to the men, they all looked 1 in 68: Challenges Facing Pediatric Autism
amused at my stammering. I puffed my chest out and clenched Spectrum Disorder
my jaw. I refused to back down. “I need to get to Seattle...you
know how?” The girl seemed taken aback by that. She slowly Kathleen Little
turned to the men. They were just as surprised. She took her
feet off the drum, approaching me. As she walked she put her ENG 111 Essay
hands in pockets letting her elbows protrude out, awkwardly.
Curiosity got the better of her as she inquired. Erica Denton, Instructor

“What’s your name, girly?” According to the most recent study conducted by the Au-
I held my head up as I responded, “Who’s asking?” tism and Developmental Disabilities Monitoring Network, or
The girl chuckled; she liked that answer. ADDM, “1 in 68” (“Prevalence and Characteristics”) children in
“I’m Spark, this here is Bill, Chuck, and Winslow...We’re the United States has an Autism Spectrum Disorder, or as it is
the rail runners...we can get you anywhere you need to go.” commonly known, ASD. The “spectrum” encompasses a wide
Spark rose her eyebrow, awaiting my name. variety of characteristics and disabilities, as well as strengths.
“Mason.” The Journal of Practical Nursing states, “Autism is character-
Spark nodded. She walked back over to the drum, peeked ized by impaired social interaction, problems with verbal and
her head over the side of it then spit right into the fire. nonverbal communication, and unusual, repetitive, or severely
“Well, ya see, Mason, there’s a train that runs from here limited activities and interests.” (“What is Autism?”). The med-
to Spokane, Washington. From there you have to hop off and on- ical cause for ASD is unknown, and greatly debated as being
to another train, to Seattle...what are you looking for in Seattle, either genetically or environmentally influenced. An “anti-
anyhow, girly?” I shrugged. VAX” movement of people who share the belief that common
“I dunno...A new life...freedom.” A hoarse noise came childhood vaccinations are the cause of ASD, has created a me-
from Bill. He slapped his knee, then answered in a weak voice. dia stir and has generated many controversial debates. There is
“This righ’ here is the closest thing to freedom you’ll eva also apprehension about different types of experimental thera-
find.” Spark shrugged, falling back down into her chair. She pies and medicinal methods of prescription treatments. Some
beckoned me to sit next to her, so I did. even question if ASD is grossly misdiagnosed. Whatever the
“Runaway, I assume?” I nodded, she continued, “Me controversy surrounding Autism, one idea that doctors, scien-
too...well the next train’ll come in about an hour and a half. tists, and specialists across the board agree with is that the
When the train comes you have to be quick. It’ll be here and best way to treat ASD is with early intervention and concen-
gone in a matter of minutes...and if you miss...it won’t be wait- trated therapy techniques. Unfortunately, in many cases, sim-
ing on you, girly.” I felt regrets and fear start to build in my ple treatment methods are only one part of helping children on
chest, but I quickly pushed them down. This journey was worth the Spectrum. In order for children with Autism Spectrum Dis-
it, I was going to Seattle! orders to thrive, increased emphasis must be placed on educa-
I anxiously waited with my legs pressed against my tional resources, family support, and social understanding.
chest. I wondered if my father was looking for me. I wondered if
he knew my plan. I wondered if he even cared. Without proper training and therapeutic supplies,
The ground started to rumble like an earthquake. This school systems are greatly threatened by an inability to proper-
was it. Spark jumped up, pulling a bag from underneath the ly educate ASD children. In the book Autism Spectrum Disor-
chair. We approached the tracks with earnest. Spark looked der: The Complete Guide to Understanding Autism by Chantal
back to the men, exchanging curt nods. I furrowed my brow at Sicile-Kira, several different types of therapy are outlined t in
her.
41
20

kinder, and collectively inclusive. Thus, the new world order “Are they not coming?!” Her voice was drowned in sad-
begins, signified by Veronica’s affirmation: “Heather my love, ness.
there’s a new sheriff in town,” and her association with the lo-
cal untouchable, Martha Dunnstock. “No...they’ve got their own adventures to think about.”
The train came slowly but surely up the tracks. The locomotive
The final scene of the film seems to convey that no conflict passed swiftly. I swore the conductor smiled at Spark. She
requires resolution through total extermination, reflecting the tapped my arm then we started into a jog next to the train.
settlement of the Cold War, which resulted in a de-escalation of
the Arms Race, as opposed to a world-scale nuclear war. This “Watch me first!” She yelled over the wail of the engine.
moral conclusion is summarized in Jason Dean’s signature line:
“Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling.” Despite the Spark punched my arm then she ran. She kept a steady pace
seemingly carefree ending, however, Veronica’s succession indi- with the train until a ladder approached. With one great leap,
cates the remaining possibility of another corrupt governing she grabbed the side of the ladder and hauled herself up onto
body, where the supposed improvements give way to a dictator- the train.
ship once again. Veronica, the succeeding ruling class, is still
tainted by the influence of the former reigning party, as she “C’mon, girly!” I almost couldn’t hear her over the blood
was not only a part of this previous group, but was also driven roaring in my ears. I vaulted my foot forward, then adrenaline
to rebellion solely on the basis of her own established hatred of pushed me to the ladder. My heart skipped a beat as my hand
the original authority figure. While the threat of the early ty- wrapped around the cold, metal bar. Spark grabbed by arm
rants was indeed tangible, the crisis manufactured by Veronica then hauled me up next to her! I pressed my eyes closed. I was
and Jason was as well, and so is the potential for future oppres- amazed at what I had done.
sion.

Blue Raku & Horsehair Carla Edstrom Glass Mosaic Nancy Styles

40 21

Spark patted my shoulder, proudly. She dropped down Soviets on a global scale. Meanwhile, Veronica, bathed in celes-
onto the floor, swinging her feet out of the car, like a child. I tial blue light, realizes, at Jason’s prompting, that high school
watched her for a moment. She was that bird in the American does not have to be this way, escalating tensions between the
sky, flying to The Promise Land. The rail runners were that figurative world powers. This pressure climaxes when Heather
breeze in boring Montana, flowing to the sea. They were who I Chandler downs a cup of blue cleaning fluid handed to her by
watched for hours in the fields. Jason, dying almost instantaneously in a scenario compounded
by both actual and allegorical involvement.
I joined Spark on the floor. Her silent face looked out
Following the virtual assassination of Heather Chandler,
onto the dead landscape. A burning query probed my brain. who played an excellent Machiavellian Joseph Stalin, the
“Why did you come with me, anyhow, Spark?” She was Heathers regime is headless, requiring the ascension of a sec-
ondary commander- Heather Duke. Duke, whose signature col-
silent. In a thin voice, she answered. or could be effectively described as jealousy green, chooses to
“ ‘Cuz...I’ve been trapped in these damn cornfields too adopt Heather Chandler’s signature red scrunchie, taking for
herself simultaneously both relics of the former administrative
long. I need to escape, I need my freedom, too…now let me ask head and consolidated power. Despite these assurances,
you.” Heather Duke’s fitness for public office is continuously ques-
tioned by Veronica, rendering Duke the ineffective, clumsy Ni-
“Yea?” kita Khrushchev to Chandler’s ruthlessly effective Stalin. The
“What’re you running from?” I took in a shaky breath, consequent deposition of Heather Duke, however, is due not to
thinking about my response. internal hierarchy, but an external force in the form of Veroni-
“It’s not what I’m running from, it’s what I’m running ca, a national outsider who justifies her destruction and eventu-
to.” Spark seemed surprised by my answer. She pulled her al victory with promises that her government will be softer,
head back to look at me. Her eyes were full of a fierce, curious,
hope and her head bobbed in agreeance. After a while, she laid

down and dozed off.
I gazed out onto the wheat fields that raced by. For the

first time in twenty-four hours, I felt the knot in my stomach
uncurl. With every passing foot, I was getting further from that
farm. With every passing second, I was getting closer to my
new life. I felt a naive euphoria wash over me. Finally, I was
the eagle soaring out toward The Evergreen State.

Glass Mosaic Laura Brown

22 39

Red, Blue, and Hierarchy in “Heathers” Glass Mosaic Mary Beth Losch

Clara Tyson 23

ENG 111 Essay

James Beatty, Instructor

The Age of Reagan, extending in United States history
far beyond the end of Ronald Reagan’s presidency in 1989,
marked the rise of the religious right, American disgrace
caused by defeat in Vietnam, climbing inflation, and a newly-
initiated energy crisis. Widely conceded is the distinctive trepi-
dation that the American public experienced in relation to Sovi-
et power during the period, influenced by the Reagan admin-
istration’s rhetoric and sociopolitical authority in combination
with that of the president’s predecessors. Perhaps then, it is not
a continuation of analysis to contextualize cultural themes
within their historical and political eras, interpreting red and
blue through their potential analogy- the extended Red Scare.
Heathers, a 1988 film depicting the depravities of high school
clique culture, with its satirical commentary on issues such as
suicide and eating disorders, seems an unlikely candidate for
such an examination. Nevertheless, the inherent parallels are
demonstrated in the color palettes of the main characters and
the continuously shifting social dynamics of the film, lending an
extra dimension to the quintessential forerunner of Mean Girls.

The juxtaposition of color in Heathers is so blatantly visible
that it is entirely possible that the producers could have con-
veyed the same latent messages in a strictly black and white
film. Heather Chandler, leader of the Westerburg High Heath-
ers clique, dresses almost exclusively in red, while Veronica
Sawyer, a late addition to the faction, is primarily represented
as blue, and Jason Dean, the newcomer misanthrope, is consist-
ently seen in black. The film opens with a shot of Heather
Chandler wrapping a crimson scrunchie around her hair with
bright-red painted nails, and her emphatic statement is later
captured during what is supposed to be a friendly croquet
match, “I’m always red.” The Westerburg school colors- red and
black- additionally convey her sovereignty, elevating the Heath-
ers to an authoritarian status, linking their rule to that of the

38

Ethereal—excerpt In Tianjin, he was stopped by a group of ninjas. The
Jordyn Cottle leader of this group, Adrianne, said that her ninjas were called
the light ninjas. The light ninjas were good people and wanted
24 to help Tony find a ninja named Keith and his dark ninjas. Fi-
nally, Tony met up with Keith. He was the leader of the dark
ninjas and planned to rule the light ninjas. Keith told Tony
that he had captured his father in his earlier travels after a
dark ninja medallion had gone missing. Tony was told that his
father was now in dark ninja prison in Shanghai. Tony went to
Shangha to rescue his father. Tony and the light ninjas fought
with Keith and his dark ninjas and beat them.

Tony demanded the freedom of his father. Keith had no
choice but to free Tony’s father. Tony was very happy. Adri-
anne of the light ninjas told Tony that his father was the elder
of the light ninjas. This meant that Tony was a full member of
the light ninjas.

They all went back to the States. When Tony’s mother
saw Tony and his father, she was so happy. She started to cry.
Tony felt complete because he had his father and mother. Tony
could not have asked for anything more.

When Tony went to
college, he met a nice girl,
who became his girlfriend.
She looked like an angel
from heaven. Her name
was Adrianne. They fin-
ished school together. They
got married and lived hap-
pily ever after.

Pencil Drawing Keven Cao

37

The Package PROLOGUE

Jonathan Watts If only the words that came out of my mouth made sense
to her. My mind understands more than my age predicts. It seems
Brunswick Interagency Program to everyone else that what I see is nowhere near the depths of my
imagination, but what they believe to be my imagination is unfortu-
When Tony arrived home after school, there was a large nately reality.
package waiting for him on the front porch. He had not or-
dered anything lately. He had examined the box but there was Something is wrong.
no return address. When Tony opened the box he found a ninja
medallion, ninja weapons, ninja clothes, and a full detail letter I feel the words escape my lips, but they sound too pan-
from his father. Tony showed the letter and the ninja stuff to icked for her to understand.
his mother because it was unusual that his long- lost father
would be sending him a package. This prompted his mother to “Momma? Treeeeeeesss . . . They’re—” Hiccup. I stumble
tell Tony everything about their divorce. She told Tony that if again, trying to grasp the word I’m about to say; it must sound ri-
he really wanted to find out more about his father, then he diculous. “Vanishing.”
should take a trip to find him. They found in the letter that
Tony’s father had put aside a lot of money for him. Tony asked I’m sitting on the very edge of the windowsill. The paint has
his mom what he should do. She told him that a boy should not started to peel, and light from the sun hardly ever passes through
be without his father. this glass. The mass of trees that surrounds our house prevents
the light.
He wanted his mother to be proud of him for finishing
high school, so after he graduated from high school, he talked The trees; they want me dead.
to his mother again about his trip. Tony’s mother told him that
she was very proud of him and that he should find his father My mom sports a half jog while “rushing in”; her face
now. He packed his bags with clothes, his father’s ninja medal- shows no fear. She illustrates only a smile that’s clearly supposed
lion, and the fully detailed letter. Tony even took some of the to be reassuring. This made me instantly realize she didn’t believe
money that his father had left him. Tony and his mom discov- me. I should have kept my mouth shut.
ered that Tony’s father was last seen in China. So Tony re-
served a room at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Hong Kong, and “It’s okay honey. Look.” She directs my attention to the for-
booked a flight. est.

Tony was very familiar with the Chinese culture. Tony Sure, there are a lot of trees; 426 trees to be exact. How-
had been taking martial arts since he was five years old. He ever, there were 432 trees four minutes ago. I watch as a man and
had even taken Chinese as a second language in high school. woman run through those woods. Effortlessly. With a purpose. But
After he checked into his hotel, Tony searched all around Hong I’m more concerned about the trees themselves, “All the trees are
Kong for his father. Someone told him that his father had been in the forest where they belong and keep growing, and keep grow-
seen in Guangzhou, so Tony went to Guangzhou, China. He ing! They’re not going anywhere.” The child lecture again. Some-
checked into another Ritz-Carlton Hotel, ordered something to times I wish I could verbally tell her I’m not on that level. I am too
eat, and went to sleep. Tony woke up the next morning and young to speak to her, but I am not too young to think like her.
went on his quest. He looked for his father all over Guangzhou
only to find that his father had been spotted in Tianjin. 25

36

Sometimes I think I should be questioning myself just as Lettuce Have Salad (Watercolor) Cheryl Serra
she questions me in her head.
35
She keeps staring at me with eyes full of grief and wonder. I
remember a time when her eyes were blue. Bright and raging like
the ocean. Now they’re a muddled gray. Too foggy to see beyond
the beyond.

What’s happening to her . . . Her voice echoes. Only her
lips don’t move.

I’ve heard my mom think for as long as I can remember.
There’s not much that she says in her heard that she doesn’t say
out loud though. She’s always been the kind of person to be brutal-
ly honest especially when it hurts. I don’t think she can help it. Her
friends secretly hate her for it though. They’re better at keeping
those thoughts in their heads rather than spilling them out of their
mouths like Momma.

She stands up and heads for the phone on the wall in the
kitchen. I sit on the windowsill still looking at the ground, deep in
thought. It’s not that I’ve never experienced this before, it’s that I
don’t know what it is or what to do about it . . . about me. I used to
believe that this was my way of being different, special even.

I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore.

“Doctor Gray. It’s Anna Line, Emory’s mom. Ever since her
dad died . . . she’s been acting strange.”

There’s a silence for a short second. Then a man with a
deep, brawly voice speaks firmly.

“Anna, I promise. This is normal. I’ve seen it countless
times with children her age in the same situation. She was close to
her father. She’s creating distractions for herself. It’s just a phase
her thoughts have introduced her to.”

What my mom doesn’t realize is that it wasn’t only when he
died that this all started happening to me. It’s been years. I’m not
surprised if I was born with it. My dad was the only one who knew

26

Alone (Song Lyrics) about me. He believed me too. He told me the most important ad-
Benjamin Stephens vice I could ever get. He said, “Whatever you dream will come
true.”
Oh where to go
When all alone in the dark with no way out He said this because I told him of a dream I had. I told him
I’d seen fairies. They were very nice and gave me a white petal.
Searching for a place to belong
Holding out your hand I held it out to him, showing him that I couldn’t have only
dreamt it, because I really did have the petal with me in his study.
In a world that seems so cold
For the chance you are not alone “When I woke up, it was on my pillow! I really must have
been there!”
Somewhere around you feel a warmth
That so many seem to know He had smiled at me and told me those words. My dreams
did come true indeed.
And despair only seems to grow
You rush to find that way out Unfortunately, so did my nightmares.
My mother sucks in a large breath and holds it for far too
Feeling as if you are running in place long. I’m about to jump on my feet to make her breathe when she
All alone in the dark with no way out lets out an exasperated breath and thanks him quickly. The phone
goes dead, and so does my limbs. As soon as I deflate, I realize
You feel a sudden warmth I’d much rather ignore her and her worried face. She walks out of
Burning forth from your heart the kitchen and through the archway toward where I am in the liv-
As a dim light from the star’s above ing room. I don’t give her enough time to dodge all the furniture
Begins to shine in the sky and a hand taking yours before I’m making my way back to the stairs. I escape, tumbling
and climbing up the stairs. My mom watches me as I leave in si-
A warm smile lence, a frown is painted on her face. When I find my room, I stag-
Greeting you ger my way to my bed in the quiet. It’s too quiet. Almost pleasant.
Leading you I’m just glad I don’t have to hear all the concerns about my deliri-
um. A fatal thing to have. I lie there and turn my body away from
A doorway of light opening to you facing the door. I shift so my body faces my only window. If there
The world now ahead of you is one thing you need to understand about me, it’s this:
My thoughts have no bounds, but my voice pleads insanity.
As the hand lets go forever lingering
The smile joining the star’s above 27

And the warmth in your heart only seems to grow

34

Song Lyrics ing the lyrics “Para bailar la bamba” blaring from my red boom
Wiley “Drew” Andrews box. My life changes for the better that day as I head to bed
with a smile on my face.
Admire
Every day I witness you fighting a battle When I awoke the following morning my thoughts im-
Struggling with the pain no matter how far you mediately raced to the incredible number of books out there in
the world waiting to be read and to the albums of music I had
travel yet to hear. Being a shy student and living near the metropolis
Never saw you shed a single tear that is Washington D.C. left its mark on me. I am one of the
Grandma passed away you told me it would be okay few introverts in a family full of rowdy extroverts. My intro-
Picked me up from the church every day spective inner world reminds me of something Stephen Hawk-
I dIdn’t understand what you were goIng through ing once said, “Quiet people have the loudest minds.” A lesson
I’ll never understand what you’re goIng through in all of this is that it is okay to live in your vivid inner world.
Seeing you hurt I felt I needed to be beside you You can stay there sometimes but do not forget to venture out.
Try to remember there are book fairs to attend, monuments to
If I make it to being famous visit, and people who love you after all. The Tuckahoe Elemen-
I’ll pay you and dad back for everythIng tary School book fair was my first experience browsing through
I’ll hold a toast to cherIsh every memory and picking exactly what I wanted to read. To this day, I have
Brought me in this world and always held onto me never forgotten the feeling of freedom and excitement that
now I’m about to take off, I’m takIng all I learned wIth books and music provide. It has been a long-standing entangle-
ment and will surely be a lifetime love affair.
me
All the days I see you smile mean the world to me Glass Mosaic Jenny Bellini
All the times I see dad work day and night just pushes
33
me

28

times before we arrive. We enter the library and what a beauti- I got to show y’all raIsed a warrIor
ful sight to behold! Books, cassette tapes (it is the 80s people), So many times, people denounced my exterior
sticker sets, and other types of media are neatly displayed on
long library tables. Finally, the librarian sets us loose on this I came from a woman amazingly beautiful
magical scene to browse to our heart’s content. I am a thorough formed from a man who’s a lover and fIghter
shopper and form a plan to scour the tables full of treasure in god gave me both of you and that’s the most amazIng
search of the perfect find.
thing I could ask for
After ransacking everything several times, I find a rare I could never ask for anyone else
gem. The magnificent title of my book of choice is Humphrey, No amount of money could diminish what I was taught
the Dancing Pig by Arthur Getz. I cannot wait to read what un- y’all dId what was In the best Interest of my heart
doubtedly will be a literary masterpiece. Another unique find I don’t know how I could make It up to eIther of you
buried on a table is a flashy Lisa Frank sticker set that catches
my eye. Lisa Frank stickers are brightly colored and are a must I must make it in life
-have for any self-respecting first-grade girl. I purchase the Get my education and career through the grind
book, sticker set, and, last but not least, the La Bamba motion Find love and change the world with my future wife
picture soundtrack. If you have never owned a cassette tape gIve y’all some grandchIldren to contInue the legacy
they contain paper inserts with song lyrics and photos inside Rags-to-rIches Is the story you’ll hear about my
the tape case. These inserts provide hours of reading entertain-
ment and terrible yet lyrically accurate singing renditions. The family
book fair is a monumental day as I buy the first of many books My parents strived hard to get me where I am
in my lifetime. Eventually, after the forced return to class, we
students now have to wait to escape school for the day. To make them heartily proud is the plan
Make a fortune off our name
I spend what seems like an eternity to a six-year-old lis- I love you both.
tening for the school dismissal bell to ring. I have to get home
quick to read about this dancing pig while applying stickers to 29
things, and listening to the song “La Bamba” at high volume.
The time has come and that blasted bell rings. I rush home to
get started on my reading. This is as glorious as it sounds, my
friends. Humphrey, the Dancing Pig is undeniably an intense
read. A basic library summary of this book reads “In his desire
to be slim like the cat, Humphrey the pig dances his weight
away.” The Library of Congress touts it as “Anyone who has
ever fought the battle of an ever-expanding waistline will find a
soulmate in Arthur Getz's 1980 Humphrey the Dancing Pig, in
which a fat-obsessed pig gambols his way to a smaller size with
surprising consequences.” I highly recommend it to anyone ex-
periencing self-doubt in their life. By the end of the day, I read
the book a few times over and not one surface is left without a
rad Lisa Frank sticker adorning it. This is the point where I am
sensing that my dog has become thoroughly annoyed with hear-

32

Hot Tea Pot (Clay) Kimberly Smittle-Caroon When Pigs Dance and La Bamba Booms:

Dusty Path to Nowhere Jillian Simmons I am Off to the Book Fair

30 Vanessa Hughes

ENG111 Essay

Holly Lynn, Instructor

Can you recall where you were in the 1980s? Some of
you may not have been born yet, and this story may age me, but
away we go! The place is Tuckahoe Elementary School, the time
is in the early eighties. We will not go into specifics as you nev-
er ask a lady her age. Tuckahoe Elementary School, in Arling-
ton Virginia, is about nine miles from the White House. It is a
small school with top-notch teachers and staff. I had recently
entered the first-grade as a shy but curious kid. Being some-
what introverted, I loved my quiet little school library. Most
days you could find me pouring over pictures of historical mon-
uments in musty library books. My family was quite adven-
turous, and we would visit Washington D.C. often to see the
places from these photos. This commenced what become my
tireless love affair with reading and traveling.

This story begins on a pleasant day in Mrs. Summer’s
first-grade class. The usual announcements are given, and near
the end, our lovely teacher declares that the book fair is coming
to town tomorrow. I already am a huge fan of the library but
have never heard of nor experienced a book fair. We students
are not sure what to expect but the excitement is palpable. My
fellow students and I discuss what might happen at this fair.
There will be books naturally but what else? Food, music,
clowns, who knows! I get a “night before Christmas” evening of
sleep as I anxiously await the next day of school. As I drift off,
my thoughts continually return to “what will happen at this
fabled book fair?”

The sun rises, and the day of the book fair has arrived.
Mrs. Summers escorts the class to the library. We are a raucous
group and every student brims with excitement. I feel certain
that a couple of student’s stepped on the teacher’s heels a few

31