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special thanks for making the REBEL Poetry, Prose and Art Contests possible go to The ATTIC and JEFFREYS Distributors for all prize

money. Special thanks also go to the judges of these contests and The Greenville Museum of Art for hosting the Seventh Annual REBEL
Art Show.

The list of REBEL awards winners and more accolades appear on page 81.

COVER by Joan L. Mansfield ~The Sphinx Moth Is Often Mistaken For A HummerTT

The REBEL is published annually by the Media Board of East Carolina Universiry. Offices are located in the Publications Center on the ECU campus. This issue and conrents
are copyrighted® 1982 by The REBEL. All rights revert on publication to the individual artists and authors, from whom permission must be obtained to use any material
from this issue in any form. Volume 24, Number 1. Address all correspondence to The REBEL, Mendenhall Srudent Cenrer, East Carolina University, Greenville, NC 27834

a

ae

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isual Arts Forum Calendar

Art Work By Susan Hall For V

REBEL/82

Introduction

William L. Rapp

Associate Editor
Christie Lawrence

Prose Editor
Cheryl! L. Fisher

Doug Smith

[kebecca Spivey
Liz Urquhart

Poetry Editor
Richard F. Gordon Jr.

Gayle Caldwell
Jamie Harris

Edgar D. Baldrar

Art Director

Allison Walpole

The goal of the REBEL magazine is to provide a stimulus and
an outlet for the literary and artistic expressions of the students at
ECU. Thus, the REBEL is a glimpse of the students and attitudes on
our campus. To better portray this eclectric amalgamation, we
have expanded this issue from 64 pages to 80 pages and
increased the power of the layout formar. Changes were also
made in the REBEL's organizational form and process. We think
this has made a bertter REBEL, though this judgement is best
made by the students, fo whom this magazine is dedicated.

Community support has also contributed to a berrer REBEL.
The ATTIC and JEFFREYS Distributors donated needed prize mon-
ey for the REBEL Poetry, Prose, and Art contests. This has
resulted in a greater student participation in these contests. The
GREENVILLE MUSEUM OF ART has also provided invaluable sup-
port through hosting Seventh Annual REBEL Art Show and recep-
tion. This has provided The REBEL with important community
exposure and interaction.

Special Thanks

Photography Ed Midgert

Marketing Director Liz Urquhart

Fred Pulley " all around good guy

Tom Haines and Janet Gaino of The ATTIC

Roger Via and Wayne Hardison of JEFFREYS Dist.

Mary Anne Pennington of The GREENVILLE MUSEUM OF ART

Ricls Gail

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Literature Art
�"�
Ruby's Fearher Theresa Williams 8 Illustration for Visual Arts
The Master Magiciar: Doug Smith 21 Forum Calendar Susan Hall 1
Good Morning Mr. B. Kyle S. Inman 27, Illustration Teresa Bice 7
Commitment Eleanor Webber 49 Photograph Chap Gurley {3
Full Time Hero Norris Hoggard 62 Drawing John Bradley 14
Flat Bull Michael Elpbeck 1S
The Only Love Poem Lisa Ryan 4 Photograph Greg Conyers ull
Dusk Cheryl Fisher 4 Photograph Neal Zimmermann 20
Ditch Jumping A. Lynn Eason S) Print Gary Freeman 25
Squint Laurilyn McDonald 5 Photograph Rochel Roland 26
The Sadness Suzanne Woolard 6 Phorograph Gail Perry 32
Nort Like a Pillow of Down Shannon Williams 6 Illustration Janine Vassilion 33
Sandra Debra Wiggins 6 Among The Rocks Lisa Jeffreys 32
Letter to Donna Daphne R. Mintz 7, Midgett Motivator Ed Midgett 37
Wet Kay Lamb 1) 4 Seasons Beverly Bass 36
My Hooch Rick Gordon 16 Seated Figure Lisa Kenion 38
A Needle Kyle S. Imman 16 Raku Mask Arlene Morgan 39
In the Background of Drawing Molly Emanuel 39
CorotTs Ville DTAvray Lisa Ryan 16 The Raising of Wart John A. Arnold 40
My First Valentine's Tuan's Transmigration Bette Bates A\
Day Present Kay Lamb 18 Pearl Paula Moffitt 42
The Last Goodbye David Guy 18 Blue Ridge Mountains-Carolina Ed Reep 43
) The Way ItTs Supposed to Be Jenny Meador 19 Figure Drawing Lisa Redfern 44
=" High School Love Poem in Figure Drawing Debbie Meyer 44
) a Medieval Setting Jeffrey Scott Jones 19 Skins Kirn Read 45
Drawing By Ronnie C. Immaculate Conception Kris Gunderson 46
Grade One Rebecca Ann Hemby 33 Painting Jim Jacobs 47
Ourer Banks Cold Rebecca Ann Hemby 34 Gum Print Julie Winfree 47
Not Only Off the Hook Raymond Schmidt 58 Rainbow's End James Beaman 48
Tables round, and majesty Lisa Ryan 59 Untitled Anna Daughtry 48
Dorm Dave Brown 60 Drawing Susan Hall oy
Ode to Robby the Robot Jeffrey Scott Jones 60
The Masochist Grass Daniel Fuller 60
Peppermint Rust Laurilyn McDonald 61
Moon Kiss Edith Jeffreys 61
A Vampire's Lament M. James Moye 61
Why Jean Marie Chervenak 61
Sunset Tina McSwain 61
Lover's Poem Rick Gordon 61
Reaping Malynn E. Linton 73
A Song Tia Danelle Tyler TES)
Solstice Rick Gordon 74
Flight Ernest Marshall 74
The Dogwood Katharine Kimberly 1S)
Farm Memory Gary Bryant TS
Irish Airs Al Maginnes 76
New York Seen By Darwin Bill Rapp 76
On the Beach David V. Guy Wy
Games By a Pool Kyle S. Inman v7. Pg. 37

The only love poem

The time in Appalachia

was long in rain and fog and lichen.

The rociks of Balsam Mountain
cradled and then seared me,
climbed my calves at midnight.
| could not pick them off.

Bur in the filrered sun,

| called my jumping legs
inheritance. The mountain
would not hold me

after | remembered.

| went below the timberline

in an afternoon thunder

to find arms scaled down,

and your world, where no one
falls into the grey,

or goes into the mosr,

or feels their feet suck mud.

You walked on plank floors,
peddled vitamins, ginseng,
red clover capsules,

amber hulls, herb brew.

Potency was in the back,
being not for everyone.
Behind those curtains |

was oiled and massaged,
steamed and wiped down.
Declawed and scented,

| left your town,

came east.

Bur there are none here

with mountains Under their nails,
to pillow me under quilts,

fo stare at me

as if into blue flame.

No one to touch me

like the touching of rice paper "
never torn, but carefully wound,
stored, saved.

The time in Appalachia

was long in rain and fog and lichen.

Lisa Ryan

Dusk

I sir on this side of the bay
while machines

illuminate one-by-one and
other islands turn into
airplane instrument panel boards
iN the night sky and

drift across the channel.

A confusing time when
sight is unknown and

red turns to pink and then
grey like military dress

marching in to the Midnight lines.

Cheryl L. Fisher

A
A

Ditch Jumping

When | was young
my sister and |
we'd jump big ditches.
Our legs were springs
as we leaped in the air
but we always knew the ground was there.

The ground would jar us
bur the jump was superb
we'd escape our prison

we'd jump off the earth!

Or sometimes when creativity was the game
the ditch was a ravine
full of animals who would maim.

Then when late in the evening
the sun was fading slow

and all the sky's colors were set
my sister and |

we'd jump our last jump and
race to the house.

| can't remember how long ago
| jumped my last Gcitch

(of course | didn't know)

bur | think someday soon

I'll go jump some ditches

reach for the moon

the stars

and hope that the ground
won't jar me foo much.

| Know the earth is where | must remain
the ditch is jusr a dirch

and now a ravine.

The feat was not grear

bur oh wonderfully plain.

A. Lynn Eason

Squint

Squint, your eyes

to the afternoon sun

see the overlapping circles of color

They make a see-through screen

for the sun to make one of those

holy star things on the late afternoon sky.

Take a look at the tree limbs

where they scratch the edge of the sky.
Take a sniff of the freshness

and let the sun warm your still face

in the late afternoon.

You see the long shadows grow
longer srill "

Squint your eyes

see the circles, linked like rings
and the flecks of color thar the
sun slides through "

see.

Laurilyn McDonald

The Sadness

The salty water flickers downward
searing into the flesh.

The need, the ache, the want "
all expressed as the sadness.
Her body diligently compiles to the
daily demand of her schedule.

All life has become latent, and
soon to die, if not awakened.
When it rains, she sees the clouds
and is blind to the rainbow.
The winter is night " and she livens some

" for the cold adds comfort to the sadness.

Suzanne Woolard

Not Like a Pillow of Down

Soft, warm, and wonderful you are,
Not like a pillow made of down,
Thar lays silent " only moving when
tossed about.

You're warm, sincere and warm,
Like a candle, you burn,

You make my heart flicker.

How | love you, beyond words,

For they're in silence bound.

Soff warm and wonderful you are,
SUE es . .

Not like a pillow of down.

You're one hell of aq woman.

Shannon. Williams

Sandra

She fries meat in a burned black pan
she just can't chuck because it used

to be her motherTs bacon pan

back when the three would

sit for breakfast

she had sweet cocoa

and they sipped on black coffee

So bitter like an oppressed manTs heart
and her father would aslx her

why ain't she talking this

morning like she always do

and she would hunch her shoulders
and smile

kicking her feet Under the table

then he'd kiss her cheek

a soft coffee kiss

and she'd feel warmed in the kitchen
where her mother stirred abour the stove
humming a tune that made the scents of
frying apples and bacon combine
creating a mellow odor

as light as love

and her father sipped on thar

strong black liquid as he talked

abour the smooth cocoa

when he was a boy

Debra Wiggins

gE sg

Letter to Donna

MissinT the homefront;

No place for my bulbs to sprout.
~Fraid | canTt grow ~em in concrete,
And pitch seldom yields even weeds. é es

Houseplants are nice bur get dusty;

Fuchsias parachute from the ceiling, and
Wandering Jew crowds the window frame
Absorbing the sunlight except a single thread.

Closed in with Gershwin and the cityTs steam,
I'M growing stagnant like the black canal.

Miss those rivers and beaches
And the black soil:

Beets and squash wil bulge,
And berries burst with liquid.

And now your own fruit

Grows round within your womb,
Your face is full with a motherTs love,
Your breasts swell to sweet soreness.

Feed on carrots so that babeTs eyes will sparkle
Like prisms on the bottom of a clear ocean.

As your lungs absorb thar salty air,
Whistle ballads to him;

He'll take to the sea.

Daphne R. Mintz

Theresa Williams sa

Reuben was at his grandmotherTs house playing
with bobbypins on the floor. He made piles with ten
pins each. Then he crawled around the pins, looking
at them from every possible angle and elevation.

His grandmother was sitting in a worn easy chair.
She reached over the arm of the chair and strained for
a ball of yarn that was in the paper sack on the floor.
She was a massive lady, but firm. The fat underneath
her skin was smooth, and not one of her several chins
sagged. The yarn began to feed quickly into the knit-
ting needles in her solid hands. oLouise,� she said,
oIt'd do you and the boy a lotta good.� Louise, her
daughter, sat on the couch across the room looking at
her reflection in the lacquer finish of her fingernail
polish. ~ooHumph.�

ReubenTs grandmother wanted to go to the tent
meeting that was in town that night. She was trying to
convince her daughter and grandson to go, too. oITm
sure Charles would approve you goinT,� she said,
without raising her head.

Louise looked up from her fingernails. Although the
weather was beginning to get a bit cool, she wore a
pair of white shorts with a blue and white striped tank
top. Her robust figure defied the boundaries of her
clothes. oI donTt ask him for no blow by blow account
of what he does in those ports and all,T�� she said
pronouncing the word oports� as if it had five oTs.

ReubenTs grandmother stopped knitting and
smoothed her multi-colored creation in her lap.
oWhat | meant,� she said, ~~is that heTd approve for the
boyTs sake.�

oCharles?� Louise shook her head back and forth.

oNah,� she said, ~heTs Episcopal.T

oYou ought to go with me,� ReubenTs grandmother
sighed. oIt'd do you and the boy a lotta good.�

Louise took a cigarette from her purse and held it
between two fingers. She struck her lighter with the
thumb of her other hand and illuminated her small,
but slightly sagging facial features. Squinting her eyes
against the smoke from her cigarette, she looked ab-
sently at Reuben. ~Everytime | come over here,� she
said to his grandmother, oI get a sermon. DonTt have
to go out of my way to hear one.�

o| never tell you anything that isnTt true,�T said Reu-
benTs grandmother icily, and she started to knit again.

Louise fell back onto the couch, and her pot belly
flattened out. She dug into her cheek with and in-
credibly long fingernail and left a small, white hole in
her makeup. ~So, ask Reuben to go with you,� she
said, ~~but stay off my back about it.�� Then, as if she
had been suddenly enlightened about something, she
sat up and scooted to the edge of the couch. ~Boy,
you been on my dresser again?�

Reuben ducked to let the words fly over his head
and brought a dingy sleeve across his nose. oThat's
ten,� he said, pointing to a pile of pins. He shifted his
glance and his finger to another pile. ~But thatTs only
nine.�

Louise ran her eyes over the wrinkles in his shirt. It
was a 100% cotton shirt, unironed, a bulky garment
that behaved like it was quilted. ~oAnswer my ques-
tion, boy. You get them off my dresser at home?�

Reuben put his hands over his ears. oI think maybe |
did,� he said.

be

C6
Ya

it

ill

His mother glowered at him. ~Drop ~em in here,�
she said, pointing to her splashy green and orange
cosmetic bag.

Both hands full of pins, Reuben stood up and
walked over to the bag, his pants drooping, and tag
prominently displayed on his inside-out underwear.

oWell, put Tem in.�

oI canTt open it,T� he said.

Louise groaned and yanked back on the zipper.
oHold your horses.� She dug around in the bulging
bag until she found a bowed emory board. She held
out the bag. Reuben dropped them in, then dove to
the floor beside his grandmother. He lay on his back
and pushed his foot into the side of her chair and
made a dent that slowly disappeared when he took his
foot off.

oDonTt do that, sweetheart,� said his grandmother.

Louise shut her eyes and brought the emory board
forcefully across her thumbnail. ~ITm gonna tear his
tail up if he donTt quit kickinT that chair.�� She opened
her eyes again and looked at Reuben.

oReuben,� said his grandmother, ~~do you want to
go to a big tent with Granny?�

He looked at his mother and didnTt answer until she
returned her eyes to her grooming. He rolled over on
his side and poked the paper sack with a long finger-
nail that was grey to the quick. ~No, ITm full,� he said.

oWhat you mean, full?

oOh that,� offered Louise, ~oYou donTt know what |
went through with that kid tryinT to get him to eat.
HeTd take a couple of bites and push the food away.�
She flung one hand out like a traffic cop to demon-
strate. ~Every meal the same. ITd always say are you full
and it got to be such a damn rigamarole that now
when heTs had enough of something ... anything, he
says heTs full.�

oIsn't that cute,� said his grandmother.

oYeah, real cute,� said Louise without a smile. Reu-
benTs grandmother stood up and spread her knitting
over her chest. She held the top in place with her chin
and let the rest hang. Then she pulled at the sides with
her hands. oDoes it look long enough?� she asked.

oDonTt know,� Louise answered. ~~WhatTs it spose ta
be?�

oShawl,� she said, her chin sinking down into the
complex pattern of parrot-green, yellow, and red
yarn.

oI guesso,� said Louise.

Sitting back into the chair, ReubenTs grandmother
held the shawl at armTs length, evaluating it. ~~ItTll be
just right when | add a row or two of green on the
bottom,� she said decisively. She started knitting
again. ~Well now, Reuben. Can't see how you can be
full of that tent since you havenTt even been there

et.�
/ Reuben took a ball of yarn from the sack and threw
it under his grandmother's chair. It landed with a soft
thud. Then he went around the back of the chair to
retrieve it.

oGuess he donTt wanna go,� said his mother.

oYou arenTt scared to go to the tent with Granny are

you Reuben?�

oNo,� he said, wrapping the yarn around his ankles.

oYou could sit in GrannyTs lap once we got there.
ItTs a big tent " like they have at the circus.�

oYeah, like the circus,� laughed Louise.

Reuben remembered the circus. His father had tak-
en him to one in California. His mother wouldnTt go
then either. He didnTt know they had a circus where
his grandmother lived. He took the tangled yarn off
his ankles and tried to mash it into a ball again. oI want
to go to the tent,� he said.

His grandmother cut a stray piece of yarn off her
shawl and held it out for one last inspection. oGood,�
she said, operfect.�

kk KK

Reuben stayed in the bath water until it was cold,
then he climbed out and looked for a towel. There
were a couple on the floor, but they were wet. A cool
draft hit him when he opened the bathroom door and
by the time he got to his room he felt like he was
almost dry.

He rushed around his room trying to find some-
thing to wear. He slipped into a navy-blue pair of
corduroy pants that looked like theyTd been washed
with the family bath towels. He put his cotton shirt
back on.

oHurry up,� said his mother from her bedroom. He
walked across the hall and peered at her from the
doorway. She was sitting at her dresser looking into
the mirror. He went in, scuffing his bare feet over the
carpet.

oI need some socks,� he said, picking a piece of lint
off his pants.

oSo, find some socks,TT� Reuben thought she looked
like a clown because she had layers of cold cream
surrounding her mouth. She pulled her red robe
down over her shoulders and smeared cold cream on
her throat too. Reuben stood behind her.

oTheyTre all dirty,� he said, speaking to her reflec-
tion.

oWell then, guess you canTt go ... can you?�

Reuben looked at his own reflection. His saucer-
like eyes stared back at him from a bluish, deadpan
face. He saw his lip tremble. He sucked in some air
and expelled it along with an extended sob.

oOh, good God, Reuben,� his mother said. She
looked on her dresser for something to wipe off her
hand. She didnTt find anything, so she just waved her
hand wildly in the air and wobled her head slightly as
she spoke. oI just hate crybabies.�

He ran back to his room, fell on the bed, and
sobbed loudly until his mother told him to shut up.
Then he sat up and watched the doorway, sniffling.
His mother passed by his room, and he heard the
bathroom door close. He got up and sorted through
his clothes on the floor and found two mismatched
socks. A car horn sounded outside.

oYou goinT or not?� yelled his mother. oHurry up.�

olam hurryinT,� he shouted back. He slipped into
his shoes and ran out of the house.

Reuben hurried toward the car that was humming
in the driveway. It had a nice sound.

His grandmother had recently traded her 54 Chevy
truck for a new Chevette. Sister Ruby Bagwell got out
and folded her seat back to let Reuben in. Then she
heaved herself in and with effort shut the door. ~This
little car, it shoTs is nice,� she said, breathing heavily,
obut | believes the truck had moT room.�

The car was warm. Reuben nestled into the corner
of the back seat behind his grandmother and gazed
suspiciously at Ruby. SheTs not the same, he thought.
HeTd never seen a negro close-up before.

Ruby was bigger than ReubenTs grandmother. Her
light blue polyester dress was pulled tightly over her
legs because she sat with her knees far apart. There
were two spaghetti sauce stains on the front of her
bodice. She wore a hat with a long, well-seasoned
feather in it that lingered over the back of the seat.

oHow you doinT, Reuben,� she said, turning around
to him so that the feather brushed up against her
window.

oFine,� he said shortly.

oWhere's yoT coat?� she asked, flashing him a chew-
ing tobacco grin, oJack Frost gonna pinch yoT nose
tonight.�

ReubenTs grandmother put the car into park and
took her foot off the brake. ooGo back in and get your
coat,� she said.

oI donTt want to,� he said, anticipating a hard time.
His lip started to quiver again. Ruby and his grand-
mother looked at each other, then at Reuben.

oReuben usually dresses himself. He probably
couldn't find it,�� his grandmother said. oI'll just wrap
him up in my shawl if he gets cold.� She patted the
shawl that was lying between the bucket seats, then
she put the car into reverse and eased out on the
highway.

oHe sho did a fine job dressinT hisself, he shoTly
did,� said Ruby. oHow old is you, Reuben?�

He waited for a moment before speaking to let the
sob that blocked his throat subside. ~Four,T he
squeaked.

oFow. And dressinT yoTself. Smart boy.�

oknow that,T he said, o| can count.�

oHave you heard who's speaking at the meeting
tonight, Ruby?� asked ReubenTs grandmother.

o| heart itTs Reverend Thomas Pierce from Califor-
nia.�

oThat's what | heard too,� agreed ReubenTs grand-
mother. ~I hear heTs a powerful man in the Holy Spir-
ie�

oIl can ride in the back of GrannyTs truck all by
myself,� said Reuben.

His grandmother let out a short laugh. oBaby, Gran-
ny donTt have her truck anymore.� She glanced away
from the road and to Ruby for a quick moment. ~oGlad
I still had that truck back in the summer when Louise
and him first came. First time Louise left him with me,

only way | could get him to hush cryinT was to give
him aride. He sat in that truck bed all the way to town,
his yeller hair just a flyinT.��

oDonTt that beat all,T said Ruby, slapping one of her
knees. oDid Charles come back here too.?�T

oNo, but heTs suposeT to be stationed over to the
base when he gets back off that cruise. ThatTs why
Louise came on back to HawTs Run.�

oIl can count to a hundred,� said Reuben.

oHow is Elaine, Ruby?�

oSheTs fine, sheT workingT in maternity now.�

ReubenTs grandmother was silent. Her hands
gripped the steering wheel firmly. Then she said, ~T]
always wanted Louise to be a nurse.�

oI can count and count all day.�

o| did all | could to encourage that girl, and all | ever
got was a slap in the face, can you believe that?�

o1 know what fifty-plus-fifty is.� oo~You do.� ex-
claimed Ruby, turning around to the boy. ~I dunnoT
waddit is, tell me.T

oA hundred.� he said, inching a little closer to Ruby
and her feather. She opened her large lips a little and
shook her head at Reuben who watched the feather
bob up and down.

oEverybody in town know what she is,T�T said Reu-
benTs grandmother. oThey let it all fall back on me.�

oSheT see it one day,� said Ruby.

Reuben looked out the window and watched the
cars whizzing by in the passing lane. ~I can count
those cars,� he said.

oIt hurts, Ruby, specially knowinT she lets any stray
dog trail her in that house while ReubenTs there.�

oWhy is everybody goinT by us Granny?�

His grandmother looked down at the speedometer.
The needle was pointing to forty. She put a little more
pressure on the accelerator. ~I donTt know,� she said,
omaybe theyTre late.�

~Maybe they want to get to the tent before we do,�
he said excitedly.

oOnce they get growTd, ainTt a thing you can do.�
said Ruby. ~NothinT but pray.�

o| donTt know whatTs got into Louise. She grew up
with your Elaine. All of us at the same church. What
did | do wrong?�

Ruby shrugged her shoulders slowly. ~When kids
get big, they decide for themselves.�

The car slowed down again. ~~When | get big, ITve
decided I'll get Granny a car that will go fast,T�T said
Reuben. He stuck his tongue out at a car that was
passing them.

oThatz nice, said Ruby, looking straight ahead.
oYouT sweet boy.�

omi tryinT not to let it bother me,T
grandmother.

olam sweet.� said Reuben, getting close enough to
Ruby to whisper in her ear. oAnd | know my A-B-CTs
too.�

oYou smart boy,� she said. ~~What comeT after ~FT2?�T

oA-B-C-D-E-F ... Gl!�

oI know | shouldnTt let it worry me,� said his grand-
mother, obut | got Reuben to think about.�

T

said ReubenTs

10

V up
Vat

I've
said
was

oa,

en's

Dida maybe sheT straighten out befoT Charles get
ack.�

The grandmother sighed and slumped in her seat.
oWhatever happens, it all falls back on me.�

Reuben touched RubyTs feather, then brought his
hand down on her shoulder. oI know what that is in
your hat,� he said.

oTell me then,� she said, smiling, and Reuben no-
ticed she was missing her two middle teeth in the
bottom row.

oItTs a chicken hair!�

Ruby and his grandmother laughed, then Ruby said,
oHoney, | believes you right, but it moT rightly callTd a
feather.�

o1 know that,TT said Reuben.

They pulled up into a red clay parking lot, and
Reuben stood up in the seat to get a better look. o~Is
that the tent?� he asked, pointing to a delapidated
structure about sixty feet away.

oThat's it,T said his grandmother. She took the keys
out of the ignition and gathered her Bible and shawl
up into her arms. They all got out. Ruby put her purse,
which looked more like a black vinyl suitcase, on the
hood of the car. She quickly reached up under her
dress and tugged at her slip. Picking up her purse, she
walked toward the tent, and after looking both ways,
she pulled at another under-garment through the
back of her dress.

Reuben held his grandmother by the hand and
limped at her side. ~ThatTs a ugly tent,TT he said.

oSShhh,� said his grandmother, ~~and do walk like
you're somebody!�

eV Canet..

oYou will,� she warned. Then she turned to Ruby.
oLooks like weTre here real early,T�� she said. ~Hardly
anybody here yet.�

They entered the tent and Reuben broke away. He
raced up to the front row of seats, sat down, and
swung his legs rapidly under the chair. ~o~HeTs never
been in a sanctuary of the Lord before,� his grand-
mother explained to Ruby as they took seats about
middle way.

His grandmother tried desperately to get his atten-
tion, but once he sighted her location, he kept her
out of his field of vision. Finally, she rose from her
chair and picked a loose thread off her sleeve. oI donTt
know why | wore this,� she complained, ~ItTs much
too cold for chiffon.� Then she made her way toward
Reuben. She picked him up out of the seat by his arm
and gave him a soft swat on his bottom. ~Go sit by
Ruby, now,� she said, indicating the way with a wrin-
kled finger.

He walked unsteadily down the aisle. Dropping
heavily into the seat next to Ruby, he crossed his arms
and sulked. An elderly negro man was sitting a couple
of seats away from him. He held a cane between his
knees and fumbled through an old Bible that he held
up in the air close to his face. Reuben looked at him
with interest. ~I saw a man use a whip, not a stick,�
Reuben called to the man.

The man looked at Reuben. ~~Come again?�

eh whip�, he said knowledgable, o to hit the lions
with�

ReubenTs grandmother had been fellowshipping in
the front of the tent. She returned and sat between
Reuben and the man. oShhh,� she said to Reuben,
tapping him on the head with her open palm. Then
she turned to the man. oHeTs my grandson. HeTs never
been in a sanctuary of the Lord before.�

oThatz O.K.,� the man said, and he returned his
eyes to his Bible.

The services began. About half the seats were emp-
ty. A man passed out songbooks, packets with cards
for faith pledges, a picture of the preacher, and little
stickers that said, ~oHello, My Name is

oYou put your name on that, Reuben,� said his
grandmother. She fished around in her purse for a
pen. She handed him a black ball point and through-
out three songs and a prayer, he laboriously printed
his name. The sermon started, and he numbered from
one to ten and wrote the alphabet A-R before he
peeled the back off and stuck it on his shirt. He had
pretty well worked over the preacherTs picture and
was in the process of punching it full of holes before
his grandmother noticed what he was doing. She took
the pen away and dropped it back in her purse. Reu-
ben looked up to the front of the tent.

oShe wore a hat with a long
well-seasoned feather in
lt a

A fat man, in a suit almost as white as his skin, was at
the podium. Every now and then, he stuck a pudgy
hand into his pocket and produced a handerchief that
he used to wipe his forehead. o~I feel the sweet spirit
of the Lord here tonight,� he kept saying.

Reuben touched Ruby on the arm. She looked
down at him, and he pointed to the name tag on his
shirt. She mouthed the words, oThatz nice,� and
rubbed the top of his head with her large hand. He
got up on his knees in his chair and made a mega-
phone of his hands. He put them up to his grand-
motherTs ear and asked her if he could sit in her lap.
She shook her head, then stopped short like sheTd
remembered some distant promise.

oCome on,� she said.

There was a five piece orchestra behind the podi-
um. They struck out oWhen We All Get To Heaven,�
and several people got out of their seats. A small
group congregated behind a meek young woman.
Reuben thought she was as slender and gentle look-
ing as a giraffe. The preacher brought his hand down
on her head, and she rocked back and forth on her
feet like her shoes were nailed to something on the
ground. Finally, she fell backwards into the waiting
arms of those behind her and was brought down. She
laid on the ground waving her outstreached arms in
slow motion.

14

Ruby let herself out into the aisle and glided around
the tent. Reuben watched the feather on her hat fly
out behind her and marvelled at how she looked like a
giant exotic bird in flight. Other people stepped out
to join her, bouncing as if the ground was a giant
trampoline.

The preacher strutted back and forth behind the
podium and hurled his accusing finger out at the
penitent looking audience. Reuben settled further
back into his grandmotherTs lap. ~ooWhy is that man so
mad, Granny?�

oBecause he wants people to be good,� she said.

Several people went up to a makeshift altar and got
down on their knees. Reuben got out of his grand-
motherTs lap and pointed at them. She knocked his
arm down. oIt ainTt nice to point,� she said.

oBut why are they doing that up there?�

oBecause they want to be good,� said his grand-
mother with a slight wince. ~Ooh,T she moaned,
stretching her legs, oI think youTve cut off my circula-
Hon

Ruby came back to perch in her seat. Reuben
looked at the people at the altar for a few minutes.
Then he sat down on the ground, took off one of his
shoes and dumped out about a handful of sand.

Reuben fell asleep in the back seat of the car on the
way home. ~Louise must be in bed already,� said his
grandmother as she drove up into the driveway. oThe
lights are out, but her carTs here.�

Folding her seat back, ReubenTs grandmother
draped her shawl over him. oI donTt know if | can even
pick him up,� she said, grunting a little as she half drug
the sleeping boy out of the car. ~There!T ReubenTs
limp body fell against her chest, and she leaned back
slightly as she walked up the steps of the house.

Ruby rang the bell four times and then knocked.
oReckon sheTd mind if we went on in?� asked Ruby
trying the knob. It was unlocked.

o1 reckon I'm goinT to,� said his grandmother, oheTs
breakinT my back.�

They went in and made their way through the dark
livingroom.

When they got in the hallway, Ruby turned on the
light. ReubenTs grandmother laid him down in his
bed, and he opened his eyes. Ruby came in, bent over
his bed, and gave him a kiss. He reached up to touch
the feather and it fell off in his hands. Reuben was
startled.

oThatz O.K.,� said Ruby, oYou keep it. That feather,
itTs long overdue.�

oTell Ruby ~thank youT,�� said ReubenTs grand-
mother as she wiped several strands of yellow hair out
of his eyes, but he was already asleep.

On her way out, ReubenTs grandmother paused in
front of LouiseTs bedroom. She inclined her ear to-
ward the closed door and listened. Then she knocked
softly. oLouise ... itTs me | put Reuben to bed.�

oWhat? Huh?� came LouiseTs muffled voice. oYeah,
O.K., perfect.�

oGoodnight.�

oYeah, gTnight,� said Louise.

The next morning, Reuben got up and found his
shoes on the night table beside his bed. His socks
were stuck down into them. He put them on and
went to his motherTs room.

oI have my socks on,� he said. He peacocked back
and forth at the foot of her bed.

She gazed at him through two narrow slits. ~oHip-
hip-hurray.�� She lifted her wrist and twirled her fin-
ger half-heartedly into a circle. She sat up in the bed
and rubbed her forhead with the heel of her hand.
oBet Granny spilled out her guts to Ruby last night,
huh?�

o1 donTt know,� he said, moving faster.

oI mean she talked about me,� she leaned forward
and hugged her knees. ~So what'd she tell old black
Ruby anyway?�

o| donTt know,� he said again.

oOh, I see, itTs a big damn secret. Big deal.� His
mother put her head down on her knees. oFor GodTs
sake, will you be still?T

He stopped. oLast night Ruby came in. Her feather
fell out and she let me have it.�

oBig deal,� she said, obig damn deal.�

oI! know RubyTs black,� he said.

His mother got up out of bed, holding a sheet
around her, and sat in front of her dresser. ~oGod
whatta fright,� she said passing her hand over her
face. She dabbed some cold cream over a heavily
painted brow.

oAre you growTd mama? asked Reuben.

o1 donTt know what youTre talkinT about.�

oRuby says when youTre growTd, ainTt nothinT you
can do.�

oRubyTs an idiot,� she said. oI can do plenty.�

oRubyTs black and she can fly like a bird,� he said,
oand | have one of her feathers.�

oA buzzard, she is,� his mother said to him through
the mirror. oHer and your granny canTt never leave a
body alone. | donTt want you goinT nowhere with ~em
anymore, you hear?� She turned around to face Reu-
ben. ~I'd rather go down to BuckTs Grill Sunday morn-
ings and have greasy ham anT eggs with Leroy Fountain
than sit with them hypocrites at GrannyTs church.�

oIt falls back on Granny when you do that,� he said.
He started crying. ooAnd | want you to be good too.�

oHell, ITm good,� she said, oask any damn man
around here, ITm real good.� She smiled at him. ~Ask
Leroy.�

oGranny says you let stray dogs in.�

He paused and looked at his red-rimmed eyes in
the mirror. oRay comes in here anytime he wants.�

oWhat?�

oRay comes in here all the time,� he said, putting
his hands over his ears.

His mother stood up. She laughed and let the sheet
fall down around her feet. Reuben left the room,
went back to his own room and shut the door.

42

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15

My Hooch

| lie here on my bare back.
Swear beetles crawl across my chest and
down my sides, burrow through the canvas cor,

and fall, tup, tup on the browned plywood floor.

| stare through the 2200 dusk ar the
corrugated quonser ceiling thar
surrounds me like the rids of a beast.
They are. | have been swallowed,
like Jonah. Living in a darkness:

till some someday on a brightly
living beach.

The galvanized ribs rumble with a

roar and a growl as a flock of

B-52's goose southward across the sky.
They're unseen, always. \Wombs

empty now " live eggs lain in dying nests.

A friendly rain-drop-army charges now,
beating down the beast and

cooling its bowels, bringing a moment of wet
peace from jennies, jets, and claymores.

Night mist will langor skyward " empty incense.

Frags that shatter the night will seem far away
from my: oc,
And | may almost sleep tonight.

Ricls Gordon

A Needle

A tower, a needie above the truckstop,
Strung with thread from its tip, bur
The thread is invisible, covered by
Small black birds, unafraid of trucks.

The thread is alive, vibrating, pulsing,
Moving with each nod or twitch of

A single bird, when thar bird, the

One near the top, becomes restless,
Maybe from a horn, drops into the air
Sounding the alarm, bringing every other
Bird, fluttering behind, like pellets

From a shotgun, elaving the bare thread,
Holding the tower above the trucksrop.

Kyle S. Inman

In The Background Of CorotsT Ville DTAvray

| walked around the apartment looking

for myself in the pictures, the collected unframed
art, for on any given day | may

be in any given picture.

But | was pressed low under
glass, not being anywhere.

Not the man with the

pipe, and most certainly not

the two-tit picture.

Nor the Filipino with the dough
hands and not the brown man
chained between the tree lane.
Nor in the field of poppies,

not twirling in a Frenchman's arms,
nor demure on a park bench,

mor a Enid.

The only possibility was in a room
in the building behind
the river.

Lisa Ryan

Wet : as

Slick nails on the Cover Girls finger tips
Moist salt on the runner's bacls

Hair before shampoo is added

Moist

Delicious

Intriguing, Wanting

Glass panes during a thunderstorm
A childTs mouth after licking lollipops
Silver and gold

The bottom of shoes in a puddle
Can be wet

I {e) au e/g) 6)

47

My First ValentineTs Day Present

Friday night during dinner,

Knock, knock.

The boy waits.

Blush,

Swear,

The porch light is brighr.

Flowers, candy?

There is a mussed bag in his hand.
Looking into the bag

| feel a woman emerging.
Taking the container our,

| open the box.

Candy,

A heart-shaped box.

My family peers out the window,
Seconds click by,

A |iiss.

Kay Lamb

18

The Last Goodbye

This is the last time,

Thar | will say goodbye
This is the last time

That you will hold me back

The moment of parting
Is many years overdue,
So let's not keep a phorograph
Of me and you, together smiling,
With our hair blowing gently
In the warm, romantic wind
Let's not remember one blissful moment
That can make us cry our in desperation
Or believe thar itTs nor really true,
Because this is the last time
Thar | will say goodbye,
Or give you a pleasanr though,
And this is the lasr time
Thar | won't cry at night

And this is the last time

Thar I'll wallk this broken road

Up Cherrybrook Hill in the darkness
To pur flowers on your grave

David Guy

High School Love Poem in a Medieval Setting

An ambitious, beautiful, bright girl

The fairest | did see.

She'd never fall for a kKnavish churl,

A knavish churl like me.

A fairy tale princess, graceful queen,
Two eyes that sparkle brightly,

Bur a heart thatTs frigid, cold, and mean
Treats my poor passions lightly.

If |, in flowers, could her bedeck,

| surely, surely would,

Bur she wouldst fain put rope round my neck,
And hang me, if she could.

Jeffrey Scott Jones

The Way ItTs Supposed to Be

Tonight was the way it should have been.

We hadn't been together in a while "
yet everything was perfect.

The mood was right.

The movie,

the ice cream,

the beer,

the dances,

and holding you
felr good again.

The way if used fo.

My jokes,

Your laughter,

Talking and kidding
brought our the besr of us.

The atmosphere was right.

Cheerful yer passionate.

Yes, tonight was the way it was
supposed fo be.

Jenny Meador

19

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THE
MASTER
MAGICIAN

Doug Smith

William Beacon lived outside of town at the end of a
long dirt road, and on this dreamlike summer evening
the old man was sitting alone on the front porch,
rocking slowly in his chair, a bottle and glass beside
him. The old man was bald and the last rays of sunlight
shone on the top of his head, making it gleam like the
slanted tin roof above him. Whenever an automobile
drove past, trailing a cloud of dust, he would smile
and wave weakly with a claw-like hand, his eyes
squinting from the sun. As the dust settled the old
man would reach for the bottle and pour the dark
rum into the sweating glass, all the while watching the
automobile until it disappeared around the curve in
the road.

In front of the house stood three dogwood trees,
and the middle tree cast a long shadow over the yard
and up the steps towards WilliamTs feet. A fine coat of
dust rested on the leaves of the trees and on the
houses that lined the dirt road. There was dust cover-
ing the small flowers of the trees. The dust had even
settled in the creases on WilliamTs face and in the folds
of his thick neck. He coughed, the sound loud in the
summer heat. Taking a long swallow from his glass,
William gazed across the road at a group of children.
They were playing kick-ball with a worn rubber ball,
and their shouts carried through the dry air to him. He
could also hear the whirring of insects around his
head, and brushed at them, feeling the beads of per-
spiration on his forehead: a thin stream of sweat rolled
down his face, streaking the dust, and trickled off his
chin. He took another drink from his glass and studied
the growing darkness around him.

In town the streetlights flickered and came on, but
William was content to sit in the lengthening shad-
ows, in front of the bleached house, and watch the
children play. In the darkening field across the road
he could see the children, now dim figures against the
grey evening sky, as they ran after the ball. William
suddenly heard a child scream as an old truck sped by;
the driver, a black hat perched on his head, was blow-
ing the horn furiously, and a huge black dog in the
back was howling. For a moment William was terrified
for the children; he closed his eyes and felt his heart,
as though trying to escape from an unknown enemy,
beat faster and faster. Opening his eyes, he saw the
truck turn the curve in the road. After the dog could
no longer be heard, he poured another drink and
gulped it down. Still staring at the curve in the road,
and the settling dust, William shuddered, gripping the
glass with an unsteady hand.

Along the shoulder of the road William saw a string
of children running. Their clothes were streaked with
the red dust from the road. They were chasing the
soft light of fireflies in the air. He could hear them
laughing and yelling as they drew closer. A slight
breeze blew for a moment and William could smell
the sweet fragrance of the three dogwood trees. As
the children wove their way around the dogwoods
they waved at the old man. William smiled and raised
his glass in greeting. A small Negro boy stopped and
bowed towards the old man; his face was hidden in
the dark, and after a moment he ran after his friends,
his shirttail flapping behind him. The last boy in the
group ran towards the porch waving as the other
children disappeared into the darkness, their laughter
gradually dying away. William leaned forward in his
chair, the glass in his hand. It was his grandson, James
Watchman, and he smiled at the boy. James sat down
on the steps near the old man, breathing hard, and
looked up at him.

oDid you catch any fireflies, James?� William asked.

oYes, sir, | did,� James said. ~~Do you want to see?�

James stood up quickly and held a clenched fist to
the old man. William put the wet glass down on the
porch and, smiling, took the small hand in his own
gnarled fingers. The gleaming light between the boyTs
fingers made them both laugh.

oWell,� James said, ~~what do you think? Is this a
nice firefly? ItTs the first one ITve caught this year.�

oYes it is,� William said, looking at his grandsonTs
face in the darkness. o~ITll bet you ran your hips off
trying to catch this firefly.�

James sat down again on the steps and William
poured another drink.

o| just used the tricks you showed me,� James said.

oItTs not easy to do,� William said. oBut if youTre
quiet, you can do it. Just stand in the darkness, and
wait until you're ready, and then grasp at the thin air;
those fireflies will jump into your hands. They have
to7�

They were silent for a moment.

oMotherTs not back yet?T� James asked. ~I'll bet
youTre hungry; | know I| am.�

2

oShe said something about a church meeting. She'll
be home soon.�

James nodded and looked out into the darkness. He
still held the firefly in his hand. William took a long
swallow from his glass.

oWas she mad this morning?� James asked. oBe-
cause of last night?�

oShe didnTt say anything to me. DonTt you worry
about something like that. ThatTs between your moth-
er and me.�

oYes, sir,T James said.

They sat there in silence for several minutes, listen-
ing to the insects and staring into the darkness. The
moon was now visible behind the dark field across the
road, and the three dogwood trees stood in stark
outline against the pale light. James suddenly stood up
and opened his hand. The firefly glided into the air.
They watched the gleaming light until it faded into
the darkness.

oMy hands smell from holding that firefly,T� James
said, wiping his hands on his pants. oI think I'll go play,
if you donTt mind.�

oBe back soon. Your motherTll have supper ready.�

James looked at his grandfatherTs wrinkled face.
William was looking at the dogwood trees and rocking
slowly in his chair.

oYes, sir,�� James said. oI might try to catch another
firefly." He ran down the road, his hands clenched
tight. William watched the boy running into the night,
listening to the sound of his shoes against the road
until it faded away. He felt another breeze on his face
and heard the rustling of leaves in the dogwood trees.
His hands were shaking and, as he reached for the
bottle beside him, he started to cough, the noise loud
and frightening in the summer evening stillness. The
attack subsided and he picked up the bottle. It was
empty.

Replacing the bottle on the porch, William sighed,
his face flushed, and reached into the pocket of his
faded cotton pants. He pulled out a penny and started
running it through his fingers. The penny seemed to
jump from finger to finger, faster and faster, the
gnarled hand suprisingly swift. Flashing in and out of
his fingers, the penny glinted with moonlight. The old
man smiled, making the penny disappear into his palm
and reappear, gleaming, between his fingers again.

Looking up William saw the lights of a car turning
around the curve in the road, headed for the house.
He put the coin back into his pocket. The car swung
into the driveway, the lights shining for a moment on
the old man, his eyes gleaming. It was Rachel, his
daughter. She cut the engine off and opened the car
door. Slamming the door, she walked towards the
porch, holding a bag of groceries in her hands. Wil-
liam stood up slowly as she climbed the front steps.

oCan | help you with those groceries, Rachel?� he
asked.

She opened the screen door in silence and went
inside; the door slapped shut after her. William stood
there for several minutes, staring at the moon through
the branches of the dogwood trees. The naked bulb

oThe old man smiled,
making the penny disappear
into his palm and reappear,
gleaming, between his
fingers again.�

above him suddenly came on, flooding the porch with
light. Rachel pressed her face against the fly-specked
screen, staring at the back of the old manTs gleaming
head.

oNo use to sit out here in the dark,� she said. ~oNow
is there, Daddy?�

oI guess not,� William said. oSometimes you have
to, though.�

oHave you seen James? I'll have supper soon.�

oHe'll be here shortly, Rachel.T

For a long while they were silent. William still faced
the dark field and the moon behind the dogwood
trees, as if he was trying to see something in the
gloom; Rachel still had her face pressed against the
dusty screen. A firefly landed on WilliamTs arm,
gleaming, and then flew off into the night.

oI see you been drinking tonight,T�T Rachel said final-
ly. She ran her fingernails down the screen as she said
it, making a long rasping sound. ~How long you been
at ite

oSince strawberry time, Rachel, what do you
think?�

oWhy, Daddy?� Rachel asked. oITve begged you.�

Just then a bird flew by, and they listened to its
wings beating against the night air. It landed on the
middle dogwood tree and perched in the branches
singing.

oThereTs no need to go into it,T�� William said, as the
bird glided off the tree and into the darkness.

o1! think there is.�

oPlease, will you just start supper?�

oFor ChristTs sake, Daddy, you have a responsibility
to James. | donTt want him to see you like you were
last night, and | donTt think you want that either.�

oYou're right,�� William said.

oThen why did you come in last night drunk, sit
down in the middle of the kitchen and start crying
about Mother, and then vomit all over James when he
tries to help you to bed? Christ, Daddy, the boy loves
Vou,

yol

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tury

and
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ar

Nith
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ling

ave

oI love the boy, Rachel, you know that.�

~I know you do, | know you do. I just want you to be
more of an example to James. He canTt be a child
forever.�

ooHeTs a good boy, Rachel. And heTs only twelve.
You donTt have to worry about him.�

~Please just stop it,� Rachel said. oI want you to live
here, but not like this; donTt you understand? James
won't even go to church with me anymore, because
you donTt go.�

William turned and looked at his daughter. Her face
appeared grotesque pressed against the screen.

oTurn out that light,� William said. ~ItTs starting to
hurt my eyes.�

oI'll start supper,� she said, turning off the light and
backing away from the screen. William sat down again
in the rocking chair and stared at the silver moon,
now partly covered by a thin cloud, that hung in the
eyeless sky over the dogwood trees.

They were sitting around the kitchen table listening
to Rachel read from the Bible. William sat across from
Rachel, under the small cross that hung on the wall.
His face was as pale as the moon. James watched him
drag his hand across his drawn mouth. Groaning, Wil-
liam stood up and opened a cabinet; he reached in
and pulled out a bottle of dark rum. At the table James
laughed, hoping that his grandfather was joking. Ra-
chel put the Bible on the table in front of James.

oWe're all alone,� William said. Rachel glared at her
father and then at James.

oWhat are you laughing at?� she asked James, and
James looked from his grandfather to his mother.

oYou're twelve years old; stop acting like a child.�

oWhat did | do?� James asked.

oWhen in GodTs name are you going to grow up?�
Rachel asked, putting her hands over her eyes. oItTs
just something thatTs got to be done.�

William reached into another cabinet for a glass.
James kept his eyes on the table, looking at the plates,
covered with cold food and cigarette ashes, that sur-
rounded the Bible. William took the bottle and glass
with him down the hall to his room; the kitchen door
swung shut with a creak after him.

oIt never ends,� Rachel said. She stood up angrily
and began clearing the table. Picking up the dirty
plates, she turned and set them down hard in the sink.
She turned back to the table and picked up the Bible.
Handing it to James, she picked up several glasses and
turned again to the sink. James suddenly heard glass
shatter and he saw her back tense and then he heard
her crying softly. She reached for the paper towels
and tore a sheet off the roll. One of her fingers was
bleeding, the bright red color a shock to James.

oMother?� James said.

oPlease, son,� Rachel said, her back to him.

oAre you all right?� he asked, afraid she would cry
forever.

oITm just tired,� she said, tossing the bloody towel
into the basket under the sink. She reached for the
detergent, still crying, and then turned on the water.
James stood up, the Bible in his hands, and started to
reach for her; he decided against it, walking instead
towards the screen door at the back of the kitchen.

He opened the screen door and walked out, closing
it softly behind him. Closing his eyes, he sat down on
the steps, the Bible beside him. He could hear his
mother crying whenever the dishes stopped rattling.
He wanted to run off into the darkness and chase
fireflies. He could bring one home for his grandfather
and his mother. Opening his eyes, he could see the
faint outline of the dirt road in the moonlight as it
curved out of sight. He wanted to run into the dark-
ness, but instead he sat there for a long time, the Bible
beside him, watching the dirt road and listening to his
mother cry softly.

Late that night, after James and Rachel had gone to
sleep, William quietly opened the front door and
stood on the porch, his back against the door and his
hands in his pockets. After a moment he closed the
door and walked down the steps and across the yard,
stopping in front of the three dogwood trees. They
stood silent and dark, as though in judgment of him,
and their branches hung over him like a curse. He put
his arms around the center tree and rested; finally he
let go and walked to the dirt road. He was wearing his
best coat and shoes, and his head gleamed with silver
moonlight as he started the long walk into town. In his
coat pocket he was carrying a flask, and he took a long
swallow from it every few steps. He rounded the
curve in the road and his footsteps could no longer be
heard at the moonlit house.

When he had walked for a long time he stopped to
rest against a tree. A sign was nailed to the tree over
his head. When he finally stood up again, groaning, he
saw the sign. He read it by the silver light of the moon:
Jesus of Nazareth: Thou hast made known to me the
ways of life; thou shalt make me full of joy with thy
countenance. There was an open Bible painted over
the words. William read the sign once more and then
turned towards town again. Far ahead he could see
the first traffic lights hanging from a wire. He stopped
and stared at the lights. The two signals glared red in
the darkness; hanging in the air together, they looked
like the horrible eyes of a dragon waiting by the side
of the road.

IV

James was in bed the next morning when his moth-
er shook him by the shoulders. He opened his eyes
and saw her tired face. She gestured for him to get up.

oWhat is it?� he asked.

oYour grandfather is missing again. He must have
walked into town like the last time. Ran out of some-
thing to drink, | suppose, and had to find a bar open.�

23

oThe two signals glared red in the

darkness; hanging

in the air together,

they looked like the horrible eyes of
a dragon waiting by the side of the

Rong. 4

oWhen's he coming back?� James asked.

oHe'll be back soon,� Rachel said. ~~As soon as he
gets hungry or tired, he'll be back to let me take care
of him. I swear, sometimes he reminds me of a child.

James got out of bed and pulled on an old shirt and
a pair of pants. Rachel watched him for a moment.

oI've got to go to church,� Rachel said. oI want you
to stay here and wait for your grandfather. He may
need some help, so donTt go outside and play. Will
you wait for him?�

oYes,T� James said.

oMaybe we can all go to church next Sunday,�
Rachel said. oI think it would be good for all of us.�

oYes, maTam.�

oGood enough,� she said. oI'll see you tonight.� She
walked out of the room, pulling at the bottom of her
dress, and James heard her open the front door. He
walked to the door and watched her get in the car and
drive off. When she rounded the curve in the road he
closed the front door and walked to the kitchen. He
wondered where his grandfather had gone, and why
he had left in the middle of the night. He opened a
cabinet door and reached for a box of cereal; after
getting the milk, he sat down at the table in WilliamTs
chair.

He remembered the morning three years ago when
his grandfather had gotten him out of bed, asked him
if he wanted any breakfast, and told him to come to
the kitchen. There was a plate of bacon and eggs on
the table when he got to the kitchen. He could recall
his grandfather sitting on the opposite side of the

table, under the small cross that hung on the wall. He
sat down and poured a glass of juice and started to eat.
Looking up, he noticed his grandfather appeared
tired.

oWhat time is it?T�� he asked.

oItTs early,T�� his grandfather said. His voice sounded
rough to James. His grandfather began to talk, slowly,
as though he was in a dream.

oJames, | met a man once. He showed me some
tricks, told me they would help get me through some
hard times.�

He remembered hearing his mother crying in the
next room, but he continued to listen to his grandfa-
ther.

oAnyway,� the old man said, othis man was at a fair,
and he came up to me and said, ~I am the master
magician.T Now | didnTt believe him at first, but he told
me some things that sure helped me to stay around
through some bad times. It helped me when your
grandmother died; you donTt remember her, but she
sure did love you.

oTl remember her,� he said.

oOf course you do,� his grandfather continued.
oDo you want to see the tricks?�

He remembered looking down the dark hall where
his mother was crying, and only seeing her closed
door.

Ves, Sit.

His grandfather held out his hands, palms up, and
James looked into his grandfatherTs dark eyes. ooNoth-
ing there, right?�

24

ster
und

our
she

nere

oNothing there,� he remembered saying.

His grandfather suddenly reached behind him and
then held out his hand. There was a penny, bright in
the middle of his palm.

oThis was in your ear,� the old man said. He put the
penny down on the table and reached under the
plate; opening his palm, he displayed another penny.

oHow did you do that?� James asked.

oAnyway, James,� his grandfather said, ~~the master
magician showed me many tricks. I'll show them to
you when | can.�

James remembered looking down the dark hall
again.

oHe told me how to make things appear out of
nowhere, James, and he told me that an innocent
child is the most perfect of all beings. A child doesnTt
have to feel guilt, and he doesnTt have to make things
appear out of nowhere; a child is free, for a while, at
least, from dealing with that.�

James could remember his grandfather saying many
other things: but what he remembered with the most
clarity was hearing that his father was dead, killed in
an automobile accident. He could still hear his mother
crying alone in her room at the end of the dark hall.
He had a dream later, with his father pinned to a tree
by a flaming car, and his fatherTs fingers clutching at
the rough wood, and his grandfather running through
the woods screaming, and his mother reading quietly
from a book beside his fatherTs body. Now his father
had been dead for three years and he could barely
remember what he looked like.

James stood up and reached for a bowl in the sink.
He sat down again and poured a bowl of cereal; the

dream was still on his mind. As he poured the milk he
heard a truck pull to a stop in front of the house. He
heard a large dog barking, and then the truck sped
away. James put his head on the table; he was very
tired. Looking up, he heard the front door open. His
grandfather was stumbling towards him, his eyes wild.
There was dried blood and vomit on this coat. His face
was badly bruised, and blood was trickling out of his
forehead.

James stood up, knocking the bowl of cereal to the
floor with his hand. The bowl rattled on the linoleum.

oWhat happened?� James yelled, but his grandfa-
ther didnTt seem to hear him. William reached the
kitchen and sat down in the middle of the pool of milk
and cereal. James leaned over him.

oA fight,T William said, closing his eyes.

James ran to the sink and got the dishrag. He ran
some water over it and turned to his grandfather.
William was now lying in the milk, his mouth open,
corn flakes sticking to his head when he moved. James
started to pull him out of the milk when the old man
began to bleed from his mouth. James lifted his grand-
fatherTs head and rubbed at the blood, trying to get it
to stop.

oWho did this?T�T James said quietly as he sat down
on the bloody floor and gently moved the dishrag
across his grandfatherTs face. He looked wildly at the
small cross hanging on the wall over the table; it was
hanging deviously on the nail. There was more blood
now and James closed his eyes. He wanted more than
anything to run outside and down the dirt road "
wanted just to keep running " but the blood on his
hands held him fast in his responsibility. |R)

22

26

Rochel Roland

titi
Vy

oit

Kyle Inman

In office 201 of the Stanley Tool Company there
once sat an over-weight, plain, balding middle-aged
accountant named Woodrow Bittlebaum. Every
morning at two minutes to eight, he would arrive,
briefcase under arm, and say ~~Good morning, Miss
Petterson,� to his secretary. Then heTd walk into his
office, shut the door behind himself, and wouldnTt
come out until 9:47. Once behind his desk, Bittle-
baum would stare intently down at his stack of yellow
ledgers through dark-rimmed glasses, his left hand
holding a Scripto mechanical pencil while his right
hand danced lightly over the keys of an old adding
machine. As he gazed down at his ledgers, scribbling
figures from the adding machine in the correct col-
umns, his bald spot pointed outward so that anyone
entering the office would notice it immediately.

The only way Miss Petterson knew Bittlebaum was
still breathing in the adjoining office before 9:47 was
the constant ticka-ticka-ticka-chunka-chunk of his
old adding machine. It started up each day at precisely
8:00 and stopped for fifteen minutes at 9:46:30. She
knew the exact time because BittlebaumTs boss, Mr.
Fitzsimmons, gave her a digital LED clock, accurate to
within 1/10 of a second for Christmas one year.

Miss Petterson thought Bittlebaum was nice, in a
way, although certain things about him bugged her.
For instance, heTd say, ~oGood morning, Miss Petter-
son,� or oGood evening, Miss Petterson, see you in
the morning,� and nothing else. No compliments, no
complaints, no winks or nods; nothing. Miss Petterson
wasnTt at all bad-looking either, and all the men down
the hall went out of their way to talk to her. But
Bittlebaum was rigidly cold, and that bothered her.
Once she wore a severely low-cut blouse which dis-
played most of her large bosom to see if he would
offer a lingering stare, but he didnTt even pay her a
double-take. He wasnTt wearing his glasses, she
guessed. She was irked enough, however, to turn
down three dinner proposals before BittlebaumTs
punctual mid-morning appearance.

Bittlebaum kept a Big Ben wind-up clock on his

desk behind the adding machine. When his fingers
werenTt busy tickling the keys and the adding ma-
chine was quiet, he could hear the clock, very lightiy,
going tink-tink-tink-tink. Since the clock had no sec-
ond hand, Bittlebaum once wrote Westclox to find
out how many ~tinksT there were in a second. West-
clox wrote back, oThank you for your interesting
question. There are exactly four ~tinksT to a second,
according to our technicians.�

He once had an electric clock with a sweep second
hand, but he couldnTt stand the painful groan it made
while his adding machine was taking a break. So he
bought the Big Ben, which made a pleasant sound,
and threw the groaning electric clock into the trash.
Mike, the janitor, found it and took it home. Mike
appreciated the alarm, without which he would have
been late for work, like he had been in the past.

Bittlebaum had a pretty good built-in clock, too. He
knew, for instance, just about when 9:46 rolled
around each day, so he didnTt have to look up from his
figures. If he happened to look at Big Ben too early,
say 9:45, then he would count the number of figures
he had added. He once timed himself with the old
sweep-second clock and discovered he averaged for-
ty-two figures a minute. After forty-two chunka-
chunks, he knew it was about that time. If he looked
up at Big Ben and it was already 9:46 on the nose, heTd
merely add twenty-one extra chunka-chunks to bring
him up to 9:46:30, which is when heTd turn the ma-
chine off. Then it was a simple matter of counting one
hundred-ten_ tink-tink-tink-tinks from Big Ben to
bring him up to that special time of day, breaktime.
HeTd also figured that it takes four seconds, or sixteen
tinks for him to reach his office door from behind the
desk. From there he subtracted sixteen from one hun-
dred-ten equals eighty-four tinks, starting at 9:46:30,
before getting up. He once felt bad about cheating
stanley Tools out of that thirty seconds heTd spend
listening to his clock each day, which adds up to 2.725
hours a year, but he figured his good record warrant-
ed one small lapse.

P44,

By the time Miss Petterson finished her second cup
of coffee, she would handle what little paperwork
Bittlebaum hadn't done, like putting his accounting
reports in clear plastic folders for the board to ponder
over. Normally, sheTd go to the bathroom, tidy up her
hair, add a dab of make-up, then sit back down at her
desk where she would file her fingernails. When sheTd
finished her last nail, her left thumb, it was usually
about quarter-to-ten, and she knew Mr. oB� would
be emerging soon. So sheTd slide back from her desk a
bit, cross her slender legs, stick out her ample chest,
and act as if she were busy typing while looking as
deliciously inviting as possible. This would happen
nearly every day, and nearly every day, Bittlebaum
would just grunt as he scuttled by her desk on his way
to the lounge. oWhat's wrong with that guy?� sheTd
hear herself asking.

As Bittlebaum ambled down the hall, eyes to the
floor, he would silently appreciate the person respon-
sible for making the hall floors so shiny, while denying
himself the mouth-watering thought of his morning
snack. Watching his fuzzy reflection in the white lino-
leum tile kept his mind off it for the twenty seconds it
took to reach the lounge. Once heTd reached the
fourth door on the left, heTd stop while still gazing
downwards. Then with the reverence of someone
before an altar, heTd slowly lift his eyes to the door
handle, savoring the bitter-sweet sensation of antici-
pation, before pushing the door lightly and easing
into the carpeted room. There in the corner stood
nirvana in the shape of two red-metal dispensing ma-
chines, one for bottled drinks, and the other for Lance
Nabs.

A shiver would run down BittlebaumTs spine as he
stalked up to the machines. HeTd go first to the soda
machine, where heTd buy an Orange Crush, then to
the Lance machine where heTd buy glorious salted-
peanuts. HeTd grasp his two purchases carefully be-
fore sitting down on the red naugahyde couch by the
windows. With a light touch only accountants have,
heTd carefully split the ends of the peanuts pack so as
not to rip it unnecessarily, then dump its contents
into the Orange Crush. Then heTd flatten the empty
package, fold it in half, and place it into his left trouser
pocket.

For the next eleven minutes, heTd enjoy the tingling
gourmet delight while watching the peanuts swim
round-and-round in the orange liquid. He had his
swallows timed out so that he could enjoy the deli-
cious nectar for the entire break. HeTd even trained
his mouth not to acept more than three peanuts a
swallow so that he would have at least one of the salty
nuggets in the last sip.

After finishing his favorite treat, Bittlkebaum would
sigh, ~Oh well, back to work,� which he only pre-
tended to mind. He really only liked one thing better
than his work, and heTd just finished it with a slurp and
crunch-crunch-crunch. He usually had only one min-
ute to be back on time, but he could return twice as
fast as coming, no longer bearing the burden of sen-
sual anticipation.

One day as he was scurryin back to his desk, he
bumped into Mike, the janitor, who was wrestling
with a large electric floor buffer. Mike jumped
around, angry at first, and said ~oHey!T�T After Mike
clicked the switch off, Bittlebaum, looking a bit ruf-
fled, stammered, oYou do superb work. | was noticing
it just a while ago.�� Then Bittlebaum hurried down
the hall, since heTd just lost ten seconds, while Mike
just stood there in shock.

oMan, | ainTt never had nobody tell me dat. Shoot.�
he said before clicking on the switch and losing him-
self in the shir-er-er-er-er of the buffing machine.

oWhy Mr. oBTT, Miss Petterson said in surprise, oyou
look bothered. DidnTt you have a good break?� Bittle-
baum grunted past and ten seconds later she heard
the familiar tinka-tinka-tinka-chunka-chink, and fig-
ured everything was all right. oWhy doesnTt he ever
notice me for what I am,� she thought, ~~a woman.�
Then shrugging her shoulders, she added oI must just
not appeal to him, thatTs all,� irked nevertheless.

Following break, BittlebaumTs days were eventless.
HeTd spend no more than twenty minutes eating a bag
lunch that he brought in his briefcase. Lunch usually
consisted of two bologna-and-mustard sandwiches
which he ate at his desk. On special occasions when
he wasnTt feeling especially frugal, Bittlebaum would
add a cheese slice to his sandwiches that he got out of
individually wrapped serving packets. That day he
bumped into Mike, he didnTt eat but one of his sand-
wiches, even though they both had cheese, being so
unsettled over the whole event. But that one brief
incident wasnTt to be his first or last encounter with
Mike, the janitor.

Miss Petterson sometimes wondered why she
didnTt have an intercom system that went into Mr.
oB's� office, since all the other secretaries did. They
were always busy typing, coffee-making, phone-call-
handling and what-not. But Mr. oB� rarely got a
phone call and he barely had anything to type except
maybe a submission statement for a pile of yellow
ledger pages heTd compiled while stuffed away in his
cave of an office. Mr. Fittzsimmons, Mr. oBTsT� man-
ager, would come down to the office to offer her a
lunch date while he picked up a balance sheet that
had always been finished days earlier.

oHey, honey. WhatTs your favorite flavor of food?
Anything you want, you got.� Fitzsimmons would say
this while gazing fixedly at Miss PettersonTs breasts.
Miss PettersonTs reply would go something like, ~~Well
now, Mr. Fitz, you know I'd love to, if it werenTt for
the small matter of your wife.� Fitzsimmons would
reply, oI'll bet youTre making time with olT dumpy
Bittlebaum,� followed by an hysterical rampage of
laughter as heTd bobble out the door, mouth open
and face red. ~Men are all so easy,� sheTd think after
Mr. Fitz had left. oAt least Bittlebaum didnTt act like a
blubbering fool,� she thought maliciously. _

The day after his encounter with Mike, Bittlebaum
left his office at 9:47 with a conspicuously cautious
gait. Instead of peering down, he looked ahead to
avoid another mishap that would alter his strict rou-

28

tine. But once he reached the fourth door on the left,
he performed his ritualized reverence of raising his
gaze slowly before pushing the handle and walking in.
Upon entering, he at once felt doomed because
Mike, the janitor, was merrily stroking the carpeted
floor of the lounge with a red-plaid bagged Kirby
vacuum cleaner directly in front of the soda-and-nab
altar. Bittlkebaum started to back out when Mike saw
him and yelled over the roar of the machine, oItTs
awright Mistah ~TBTT, come on in. EyeTz be through
directly.�

Bittlebaum didnTt know how to react at first, so with
some hesitation he lumbered slowly across the floor
with a definite look of dishevelment on his chubby
face.

"May | get to those machines, please?� he asked
quietly. Mike, of course, didnTt hear him, as the Kirby
was running wide open with a constant ~wiiinnngn-

niinngT as he pushed and pulled across the floor, suck-_
ing up Nip-Chee crumbs. He kept on vacuuming until «

Bittlebaum finally tapped him on the shoulder and
said, ~~May | get to those machines, please?TT fully
aware of the time being spent.

oWhat?TT Mike barked over the din.

Then Bittlebaum leaned close to MikeTs ear and
said, oMay | get to those machines, please?� a little
more frantically this time.

Mike seemed a little surprised at the fervor of this
request.

oWhy shoT, Mishah oBTT. | didnaT mean to get in yoT
way. Come on ovah. | be outta yoT way directly.�

oThank you,� came BittlebaumTs reply meekly.
Mike started his Kirby to the other side of the room
where the naugahyde couche was and started va-
cuuming in front of it. Bittlebaum rushed towards the
red machines, quickly deposited his coins, pulled out
his Crush and peanuts, and walked over to the couch
where Mike was still laboring with his machine. Bittle-
baum stood there, lost for a moment, as Mike dili-
gently vacuumed without noticing the distraught ac-
countant behind him.

oExcuse me, may | sit on that couch please?�

~WinngiingiiiinngT

oExcuse me, may | sit on that couch please?�T Bittle-
baum asked, tapping MikeTs shoulder like the adding
machine.

oShoot,� said Mike, spinning around. oOh, itTs you,
Mistah oBTT. What can olT Mike do fuh yaT?�T

Bittlebaum couldn't speak, he just motioned with
an open mouth and a frenzied finger towards the
couch Mike was obstructing.

oOh, you wants here, Mistah ~TBTT. Why didTna say
so? | gets right outta yoT way.�

Well, too much time had already been wasted for
Bittlebaum to properly enjoy his break, so he ripped
open the peanuts as he sat, spilling half the contents
onto his lap and the red naugahyde. His face red-
dened as he became furious with the dayTs events and
his inability to enjoy the one pleasure of his life. As he
quickly poured the Lance package into the bottle,
three or four peanuts slid out of the split seam and





landed on the floor. In all his fifteen years as a Stanley
Tool accountant, heTd never had a worse turn of
events. HeTd never even lost a single peanut until
then.

_ Mike was still pushing the ringing Kirby when he
noticed BittféaumTs snack habit.

oWhy, you @@es dat too. My cousin back in
Louweesana used'ta do dat too,� he said clicking off
the machine as Bittlebaum gulped down his soda,
allowing four and five peanuts to slip between his
trained lips. ~o~He said it was good, but | says he crazy.
Izzat really good, Mr. oBTT?�T

Bittlebaum tried to speak, but he had a mouthful of
Crush and it came sputting out along with a peanut
that stuck to his chin momentarily before dropping
onto his paisely print tie, leaving an orange stain. He
wiped at it, then gave up replying pompously, ~oMy
good man, the combination of Crush and Lance pea-
nuts is undeniably better than wine and cheese.�

oShoot, ITda never thought dat, cuz my cousin, heTs
half crazy anyhow. But I trusts you, Mr. ~BTT.�

oMike. My nameTs Mike. HowTs dat foxy sekatary
you got?�

oIf you donTt mind, | wonTt take up any of your time
if you'll let me get to those vending machines over
there.�

oWhy shoT, Mistah oB�. They sez itTd be funny ifinT
you was makingT time on dat lady. | seen her a coupla
times. Shoot, she hot, datTs foT shoT!T��

BittlebaumTs ears turned a little red as he tried to
ignore MikeTs comments. Then he opened his mouth
between swallows of three peanuts and Crush and
said, ~~Miss Petterson is an efficient, diligent working
companion.� He hadn't really wanted to say anything;
it just seemed he needed to set Mike straight.

Bittlebaum shot an annoying nod of gratitude to
Mike before noticing the electric wall clock.

oOnly thirty-two seconds! Oh my gosh,� he said,
jumping up to shove the bottle into the wooden crate
beside the vending machine. Then he hastily stuffed
the Lance package into his left trouser pocket and
started to make his exit.

oDat shoT iz a nice-lookinT sekatary you gots Mistah
oBTT. All doze fellahas up in da main office thinks so. |
heard ~em.�

oSheTs very efficient and dependable. Now, if you'll
excuse me, | have numerous figures to compile.T�� With
that, Bittlebaum brushed past Mike and the Kirby
through the door and out into the hall. As he left, he
heard the ringing sound of the Kirby start up again
while fearing he would be late.

oDat man shoT gots a nice sekatary,�� Mike said to
himself as he vacuumed alone.

oMr. oBT,�� Miss Petterson exclaimed, owhy, youTre
almost late.� She swung her breasts around and
winked towards him, though he didnTt notice. He just
shook his head and rushed into his office. Miss Petter-
son heard the adding machine tinka-tinking more vio-
lently than usual as she tought, ooWhatTs wrong with
that man?�

At five oTclock that day, Bittlebaum merely said,
oGood evening, Miss Petterson,� with emphasis on
evening. Miss Petterson snorted ~Hanh, somethingTs
got to be bothering the man,� as she turned out the
light, a little peeved that she didnTt even get a ~See
you in the morning.�

The next day, things seemed pretty normal to Miss
Petterson until Mr. ooB�T came from his break. At 9:47,
as usual, Bittlebaum scooted past her desk silently on
his pilgrimage to the lounge. This time, he even
watched his unfocused reflection in the floor, think-
ing about a nice uninterrupted break with his favorite
treat. After worshipping the door momentarily, he
opened it and realized his desire could not be ful-
filled. Mike was washing the lounge windows with a
sqeegee and blue liquid. BittlebaumTs stomach turned
over one full time.

oWhy how do, Mistah oBTT. You down here the
same tim | iz again.�

ol noticed,� he said under his breath as his stomach
churned loudly. ~~Why hello, uh ...�

oWhy | wouldnTa doubt it, dat you ~un her could be
tagether, cuz | knows how smart and sly you iz. Them
boyz upinT daT main office ainTt nevah got no com-
plaints on you. No suh. Shoot. YouzaT sly devil. | kin
tell. My crazy cousin was. | kin tell.�

oMike,� Bittlebaum replied clumsily, oyou donTt

bb
ri: turned intently back

to his swallows of peanuts
and crush, realizing his
timing had been thrown

completely off.�

know how wrong you are. Why | donTt even talk to
the woman. She does her work, | do mine.� He turned
intently back to his swallows of peanuts and Crush,
realizing his timing had been thrown completely off.

oWhy dat woman iz so stacked. Shoot. She gots
some nice drumsticks too!�

oMike. Will you please?�

oYassuh, | know what you thinkin�. You like ta make
time on dat lady, you sly devel.�

With that, Bittlebaum gulped down the last three
peanuts, furiously folded the Lance package, stuffed it
into his pocket, and stormed out of the lounge.

oShoot. Dat woman iz a brick house if ever oneTs
been built!T

oWhy, Mr. ~B�, youTre back early!T� Miss Petterson
said, swinging her great breasts from behind the type-
writer. For one full second Bittlebaum stopped and
gazed upon her chest and stammered oUh-uhh, the
breakroom was too crowded,� and bumbled into his
office.

Miss Petterson heard a furious, confused series of
tinka-tinka-chunka-tinks. That reaction from Mr. oB�
made it difficult for her to sit still the rest of the
afternoon. Bittlebaum didnTt eat either of his bolo-
gna-and-mustard sandwiches. At quitting time, Miss
Petterson noticed Mr. oBT� hadnTt even said ~~oGood
afternoon,� although, today it didnTt bother her.

For the next two days, things went incredibly nor-
mal. Bittlebaum emerged at 9:47, as usual, and re-
turned at 10:01 precisely, as if heTd never even no-
ticed Miss Petterson on that occasion. But three days

[Sl a EE oon ole: eo CEE om, wel ee ee ee eo © es oe, EE ee

oP Ts (3b et FT| eS

_"_""

later, on Friday, a strange thing ocurred.

Bittlebaum sauntered out of his oi..ce and Miss Pet-
terson protruded her chest as usual, although he
passed on by without a glance. He spent the regular
amount of time gazing at the floor as he headed for
the lounge, paying proper respect to the hallowed
door before entering. He pulled his three quarters
out as he made his way to the red machines. With a
chinkle-chink and a push of the button, the Orange
Crush was in his hand. Then he put the remaining
quarter into the Lance machine, heard it deposit into
its coin container with a chink, then pulled the knob
beneath the peanuts to find it would not budge. He
pulled and pulled, feeling a tension grasp his nerves as
the knob refused to yield. At that moment, Mike
came whistling in from behind and said, ~Hello, Mis-
tah oBTT. Back here at choT regular time, | see.�

oPeanuts,� Bittlebaum gasped, ~~WhereTs the pea-
nuts?T�T His face was flushed with disbelief.

oIz they give outta peanuts? Shoot. Dat man wonTt
be here til Tuesday.T

oTuesday! What am | to do now? | always have my
peanuts, everyday. ITve eaten peanuts from this ma-
chine for fiteen years! They've never run out before.�
The veins in his neck were bulging.

oMan, you know you gots one fine seketary. Shoot.
A fox, | mean.�

oNo peanuts? No peanuts? No peanuts! What am |
going to do?�

oA pure tee fox, ya know?�

oAhhhhbhh!� After that scream of pain, Bittlebaum
bolted out of the lounge door, pushing it with great
force.

oSheT beautiful. Fitzsimma sez so, anT | seen her,
many times, anT heTs right, anT Mistah ~oB� is just one
sly fox to get her foh a sekatary.�

Bittlebaum rushed down the hall like a man on fire.
He burst into the office where Miss Petterson was
taken quite by surprise.

oWhy, Mr. oBY...�

oNo time Miss Petterson,� he panted, ~no time and
no peanuts. You look beautiful, Miss Petterson, more
beautiful than ITve ever seen or noticed. Your body,
your face, Miss Petterson, ITve never said this or want-
ed to say this to anyone before.� He paused briefly,
panting hard. oI think | want to carry you away and
take on great big break. | deserve it, you deserve it,
you're beautiful, come with me please! | must have
you!�

Of course Miss Petterson was taken aback by this
high-powered approach from a man sheTd never real-
ly spoken with.

oMr. oBTT. | never even knew you noticed.� She
fondled her hair and twisted her shoulders so that her
full bosom jostled and swayed in BittlebaumTs eyes.

ol only thought you liked that old adding machine
and your old numbers ...�

oFigures,� he corrected.

oRight, well maybe I'll take an early lunch with you
today.�

oOh, Miss Petterson, youTve just made my peanuts,

| mean day. | want, need, and hunger insatiably for
you!�T

oI'll get my purse.�

No one but Mike, the janitor, saw the two oddly
matched people walk intensely down the hall locked
arm-in-arm.

~l knowed he was a sly devil,� he said, smiling from
the lounge door.

When both Bittlebaum and Miss Petterson hadn't
shown up for work the next week, Fitzsimmons began
to worry.

~HeTs never missed a day in fifteen years and Petter-
son has been as dependable for her five years here.�
The board finally decided after a month to look for a
new accountant and secretary. The figures were al-
ready piled up to the point that only another Bittle-
baum could clear the stacks, the board reckoned.

Mike was given the job of cleaning out BittlebaumTs
office. He walked in immediately noticing the Big Ben
clock which had wound down at precisely five
o'clock. oQuittinT time,� he thought as he wound it
up, listening to the steady tink-tink-tink. He sat down
in BittlebaumTs old chair, pushing back and forth on its
wheels, listening to the clock. He decided this one
would be a nice change from that groaning old clock
he found in the garbage, so he stuffed it into his
overalls pocket. Then he noticed something beaneath
the desk as his foot bumped againt it. He pulled out a
plain, black briefcase and set it up on the desk before
him. He unclasped the fasteners, opening it to find
hundreds of neatly folded Lance Peanut packages and
one brown paper bag and two stale bologna-and-
mustard sandwiches.

oShoot. He one sly devil.� KI)

31

Gail Perry

32

Prawiia by Ronnie C.
me | | Grade One


















For the sky " blue. Bur the six-year old searching

7

his crayon box, finds no blue to march thar sk
Ji >.

framed by the window " a see thru shing

over free tops, house rops.
The wax colors hold only dead lighr,
e nor this water flash, thinning to silver
at morning's far edge.
Grey won't do either

grey is for rain that you make

with dark slanting lines down paper.
Try orange!
Draw a large corner circle for the sun
egg-yoll solid
with yellow strokes, leaping Ourward
like fire bloom " a brightness shouting
flower shape, wind shape, joy shape.
The boy sighs, with bliss creating.
It is done. The stubby crayons (all ten of them)

are stuffed back bumpily into their box.

Rebecca Ann Hemby

Outer Banks Cold "

Winter "

snow and ice freezes
everything

Cold resolution and a bitter wind

blows away doubt or pain

sealing all over in numbness
The blessed brittleness of stil
winter days and nights
too chill for thought ...
After so long a period

of coldness

all feels normal

Forgotten is spring

and the thawing

warming
melting
remembering
And it always comes.

Rebecca Ann Hemby

34

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COMMITMENT

Eleanor Webber

le big-city bus terminal was busy with peo-
ple, although the hour was nearly midnight. A slim,
black-haired woman rose from a stool at the coffee
bar. With an easy motion, Jenny hoisted a backpack
off the cigarette-butt floor, hitched it over her bony
left shoulder, and adroitly maneuvered through the
clusters of people out to the loading area. Six or seven
buses were lined up, but she walked straight to the
second one, as if recognizing an old acquaintance.
She stepped quickly up the metal stairs, pausing by
the empty driver's seat.

In the dim light, the driverTs green indicator lights
were glowing. A few seats back, a slim black man had
folded his suit-coat into a pillow and was crookedly
asleep across both seats. In the nearly empty bus, his
long breaths were audible. Toward the back, a man
with Clint Eastwood cheekbones was reading, his little
overhead light focused on a thick paperback. In the
front window seat, a skinny woman with short-and-
straight red hair was engaged in looking out the win-
dow at the passers-by.

The black-haired woman rested her backpack
against the upright metal pole. Plenty of seats; she
could get some sleep on the trip. Then, on an im-
pulse, she turned to the young woman in the front
seat. oIs it OK if I sit with you?�

oOf course. ItTs a long ride to Charlottesville and |
canTt sleep on a bus, thereTs too much going by that |
might miss.� She helped Jenny settle her pack on the
overhead rack. ~I always get so excited on atrip,T�T she
continued, othrilled to be getting away and just as
eager to get home again.�

oDonTt you get away much?� asked Jenny idly as
they settled back into their seats.

oWith four kids, and going to school, too?TT She
smiled, and her plain face became pretty. ~No, ITve
pretty much given up travel for the duration. But, letTs
face it " when ITm finally a nurse at a real-live hospital

and all the kids are in school, | wonTt be able to get the
vacation time, or I'll be saving for their college. At
heart, | guess ITm just a homebody. Sometimes | think
ITm trying to carry home with me, my arms get so tired
from all the luggage.�� She gave Jenny a sidewise,
arenTt-I-ridiculous look. ~Say " you really travel light,
donTt you? But you probably checked it all.�

Jenny looked at her with calm black eyes. ~No,
thatTs everything,� she stated. ~~Cab drivers are crazy
about me, but bell-hops just hate it; they never make
any money off me.� She hesitated, curling a twist of
black hair between two fingers. She usually didnTt like
to explain herself to people. ~I like to travel light,T�T she
said, propping her feet against the waist-high partition
in front of her, circling her knees with her arms.

The bus driver leaped up the steps, took a quick
look at the passengers and, satisfied, folded the door
closed. He did a quick check through some clip-
boarded papers, then eased off the brake with a long
hiss, and proceeded with business-like arm motions
to swing the cumbersome bus out of its narrow slot.

oYou'd think he was dead on time, not an hour late,
the way he acts,TT LeeAnne whispered.

Jenny laughed, and whispered back, oThey never
bother to be on time at night. They figure everybody
else is asleep so who do you need to get there on
time, anyway.�

oYour attention, please,� the driver spoke impor-
tantly into his mike, driving with just his right hand on
the wheel. Your coach is now leaving Washington,
D.C., enroute to Charlottesville, Virginia. Scheduled
arrival time is 2:30 a.m. Stopping at Fairfax and Spring-
field, Virginia. A rest room is located at the rear of the
coach. No cigar or pipe smoking is permitted, and
cigarette smoking is permitted in the last seven seats
in the rear, only. Have a pleasant trip, and thanks for
going Greyhound.�

oNobodyTd wanta smoke if he hadnTt just waked

49

~em up!T Jenny whispered, and LeeAnne laughed.

LeeAnne reached into a big-handled shopping bag
at her feet, and took out a small bag. oHave some
cookies,� she said. oChocolate chip. | got them at a
truly wicked pastry shoppe in Georgetown. It smelled
so fantastic | decided | must be having a dream, so ITd
better grab what | could before | woke up.�

Jenny took the bag, sniffed deeply and pleasurably,
and handed it back. oI canTt eat now, ITm too keyed
up. Moving always gets me hyper.�

oYou're moving? With just a knapsack?� asked
LeeAnne incredulously.

Jenny turned to look out of the front of the bus at
the white lines going past in the darkness. She half-
opened her mouth, then closed it.

oI didnTt mean to pry,T�� LeeAnne put in hastily.
oNever mind "�

oNo, itTs OK,TT Jenny said, carefully. oMost people
donTt understand because theyTre such homebodies.
Oops!� She knocked on her head with her knuckles.
oI didnTt mean that. | meant they donTt have any sense
of adventure, but you do, donTt you? The way | look at
it, | donTt like to take anything more with me than |
can carry on my back. When | move, I give everything
else away and buy new when | get there. If | have to.�

LeeAnne took a bite of cookie and chewed slowly,
as if the chewing were a deliberate sensual exercise.
oNo, | donTt really understand,� she said. ~ITm a pack
rat. | hoard things and | hoard people. | never give up
on a friend: | spend a fortune on stamps. And | still
have my teddy bear, and my two-year-old, Lori, loves
him as much as | did. But | do understand that people
are different.�

oGood enough,� Jenny replied. oYou see, most
people think itTs weird. But ITm not like you; | couldnTt
tie myself down to a lot of kids. | think youTve got a lot
of guts, actually.�

oYou're a silly,� LeeAnne said affectionately. ~You
sound like my ten-year-old, Corinne. She and her
water colours are going to run off to a cabin in the
woods and Create Great Art and live on home-grown
CORN.

oAm | that silly? Really?� Jenny asked, embarrassed.

oWell, not quite. A bit extreme, but not quite that
bad. And you do have the good sense to move in the
summer-time.�

oI feel so immature next to you,� said Jenny.

oITm only thirty-one, but you grow up fast when
you start having kids. In fact, sometimes it would be
nice to be able to go back to being a kid again, fancy
free.� LeeAnne brushed cookie crumbs off her grey
pantsuit, catching a few strays that had dropped on
the seat.

oBy the time youTre thirty-two, you want to feel
you've grown up some. But ITm happy the way | am,�
said Jenny.

oI'll bet you have no place to stay when you get in.�

oA hotel, of course. My job doesnTt start for a week
so | have plenty of time to find an apartment. YouTre
looking motherly, LeeAnne.�

LeeAnne looked embarrassed. ~Well, | canTt help it,

| have this protective impulse. And my husbandTs go-
ing out of town " he travels a lot, for his job " and
you could keep me company till you do find a place.�

oWell, OK, and I appreciate it,� said Jenny, rocking
her seat back and folding her jacket into a pillow.
oNow, this old lady needs her rest. Wake me up when
we get in.�

a ee lay on her back on the plush blue carpet
of her new apartment. The thick pile comfortably
cushioned her rear-end. She took in a huge breath
and let it out slowly. This apartment is just perfect.
One bedroom, tiny kitchen, quiet neighbors. No nui-
sance types constantly running in to ~just share a cup
of coffeeT.

The doorbell chimed. Heck, you just have to think
of the Devil. She pulled herself to her feet and forced
a pleasant mask onto her face. She opened the door
and in walked a woman with fuzzy ringlet curls. The
perfect figure, | definitely hate her.

oHi, ITm Carla, | live downstairs in 2-D. ITve been
meaning to come by all week,� pattered the perfect
body. oITve brought a casserole, you donTt want to
have to cook dinner, do you? WhereTs the kitchen, Ill
just put this in the oven for you "�

oJust turn right and youTre in it,� said Jenny, obut I'll
put this away for you.�� She took the blue-flowered
dish and stuck it in the refrigerator.

oYou must show me your apartment,� Carla said,
crossing to the far wall of the living room and finger-
ing the overstuffed leather couch. oOoh, | love it, and
the matching chair is adorable. You must love the
view from up here "�

oThe grand tour is pretty simple, ITm afraid. Take a
left as you come in, straight back on that wall past the
fireplace, and youTre in the bedroom. And thatTs it,T�T
Jenny said as Carla disappointedly peeked into the
barren bedroom.

oOh, | see you havenTt started decorating yet. I'll
bring over all my old Better Homes and Gardens to-
morrow, there are some great ideas in there. And
some flowers, you must have some white chrysanthe-
mums for those ice-blue walls, and yes, definitely,
bright yellow daisies. ITm into house-plants, you
know. Well, you must tell me what you do. Oh, this is
a gorgeous view,� she added, settling herself on the
couch.

oITm a.systems analyst,� Jenny replied cautiously,
settling across the room on the one armchair.

oWhat, in computers? ThatTs really brainy, isnTt it?
Why at my company, I work for Morgerin Industries,
ITm personnel manager, well, | know this guy, Bill. HeTs
a system what-you-said and man is he spacey but big-
time in the brain set. Hey, you wouldnTt know him,
would you?�

oWell, yes, | work with Bill at Morgerin,� Jenny
admitted. _Oh-god-this-gets-worse-and-worse-she-
actually-works-where-I-do. ~As you say, he does
seem to be an intellectual.�

Carla carefully resettled her hair into casual waves
with a delicate hand. ~Oh, ITve always thought he was

adorable, but really a space case and hopeless with
women. Well, you must let me know what I can do to
help out, ITm just one flight down in 2-D, just come by
anytime.� The doorbell chimed briefly. oOh, thatTs for
me, thatTs Peter, | told him ITd be just a minute.� Carla
walked smoothly over to the door and opened it to a
tall, husky man. A football player, what else? oSorry,
sweetie,� said Carla, snuggling up to her guest. oI just
stopped for a minute to chat. Jenny, meet my friend,
Peter; Peter, my new neighbor, Jenny.�

Jenny's smile was stretched as she shut the door
behind her visitors. She felt stiffness in her shoulders
as she threw open the huge casement windows.

oYou should have been here, thatTs all, she was
hideous.T Jenny was sprawled on the couch, tele-
phone cord dangling across the floor.

LeeAnneTs measured voice spoke into her ear. ~As |
understand it, she made you a casserole, offered you
magazines and flowers, and offended you beyond for-
giving?�

oOh, you make me sick sometimes, youTre so insuf-
ferably mature and of course youTre right, as usual. I'll
be nice, really | will. But do I have to have daisies?�

oOf course not, silly,� LeeAnneTs calm voice re-
plied. ~~And by the way, how about supper here to-
night? Tommy misses you, you know.�

oOh, you wicked woman, tempting me with your
ravishing four-year-old. Of course, ITd love to come.
What can | bring?�

~Maybe some sanity? The week you were here, the
crew seemed to calm down some from the usual cha-
os. Maggie came home from school today throwing
up, with something undoubtedly highly contagious,
Tommy wants me to tell him funny stories like Aunt
Jenny, and my anatomy prof and biochem prof have
both scheduled tests for next Monday.�

Jenny laughed and felt her muscles relaxing. ~Sure
thing. I'll tell all the stories you want, and | can catch
stomach aches with the best of ~em. By the way, may-
be I could invite a friend from work. Bill Cooper "
rather bright guy. He lives right near you.�

~Sure, glad to have him. See you at six, then,� and
LeeAnne rang off.

al knocked hard on the heavy wooden
door. LeeAnne answered the door in a flour-spotted
apron. o~BillTs already here, Jen, heTs in the living room.
CorinneTs been entertaining him. If you'll just excuse
me while | finish up in the kitchen? No, no, | donTt
need help, just keep Bill company.� She swept her
hair back, leaving white streaks on her red hair, and
disappeared into the kitchen.

Jenny looked around the old-fashioned entry hall,
spotting little Tommy crouched behind the umbrella
stand, obviously ~invisibleT. ooOh, my, where can
Tommy possibly be?� Jenny lamented. ~Il came spe-
cially hoping to see him and " but heTs not in the coat
closet.� She opened the door and checked carefully.
oNo, not in the coat closet. And | see heTs not in the
mirror. No, ITm in there, but heTs not. Oh dear, this is
really a problem.� She pantomimed despair, pulling a

long face, pretending to give up. Then she abruptly
said, ~~Oh, | know! HeTs in an umbrella! Of course!T�T
Tremendously excited giggles issued from behind the
umbrella stand. She elaborately inspected the long
umbrella, inside and out. Finally, she looked down
and saw Tommy, helpless with giggles. oThere you
are! Where have you been? | thought you werenTt
here,� she teased the little boy, and then picked him
up and swung him high in the air. He screamed with
excitement, and when she put him down he ran into
the kitchen to his mother.

Jenny headed for the living room, pausing in the
doorway. A manTs voice said, ~~Well, of course you
could build a special home for your kitties, Corinne "

~o" And | could paint pictures of all the animals on
it and it could have lots of rooms in it " �

o " And a scratching post and soft blankets "

o " Anda special room for amomma kitty and her
babies, extra big and away from the rest " �

oSounds great,� said Bill.

oWhen can we start? Can we start right now?� Co-
rinne asked excitedly.

Bill laughed, looked up and saw Jenny, and shook
his head ~noT. ~~Why donTt you tell your mama about it
honey, see if she thinks itTs a great idea. We may be
jumping the gun a little, here ...�

oOh, no, she'll love it, too,� shrieked the little girl.
oIll ask her right now,� and she raced out of the
room.

oHow old is she " ten?� Bill asked Jenny.

Jenny walked in and settled in a big wooden rocker.
oYes, CorinneTs the budding Grand Master, and she
takes her art very seriously, with her cats running a
close second, as you found out.�

oWere you like her as a child? She reminds me of
you somehow.�

oWell, yes, rather like, except there was so much
fighting when | was growing up, no one had the ener-
gy left to get involved with my flights of fancy. When
Daddy finally left us " | was about ten at the time "
all the life seemed to go out of the house. IsnTt that
odd, that the fighting seemed to be the life in our
house?�T

oPerhaps. No more odd than people always are.�

oWell, | learned to go into my room, close the door,
and try to shut it out. And then when Daddy left, all |
wanted was for him to come back, and | swore I'd
never mind them fighting again.�

oDid he ever come back?�

oNo, he never did. HeTd call, say heTd be coming to
town with some nifty present, and heTd never show
up. Hey " here | am going on and on about myself, |
donTt know whatTs got into me.� She began to rock in
a business-like way, as if to divert her energy into a
harmless occupation.

oITm interested,� said Bill. oYou know, ITve always
wished | had a daughter like Corinne. You know,
having a kid is like seeing yourself grow up again, from
an objective viewpoint. ITd like to see how a smart kid
like her develops.�

51

oSheTs so outgoing " �

oTime for supper, everybody in here,� called
LeeAnne from the dining room, and the troops thun-
dered in.

,

a ae was kneeling at BillTs feet, struggling to
pull the laces of his ice skates tighter. ~~You see, the
reason you couldnTt stand up was that you couldnTt
hold your ankles straight, and thatTs because your
skates werenTt on tight enough.� She tugged fero-
ciously on the laces. oThere, that oughta do it. Are
you game to try again? It really should be a lot easier.�

Bill made a gesture of resignation with his arms. oITm
just a sucker,T�T he said. He climbed to his feet, strug-
gling to walk on the blades of the skates.

oHold onto my arm,� Jenny said. oHere, we're al-
most there " oops! Grab my arm " Okay, good, just
get your balance again. Here, itTs a lot easier on the
Ice.�

Bill stepped onto the ice cautiously, grabbing onto
the rail with his right hand, and Jenny with his left
hand. oITve always been so clumsy, my legs are just too
long,� he complained. oPeople always trying to get
me to dance and ice skate " �

oThat's right,� said Jenny, oget into the sliding mo-
tion, the feel of one foot moving with the other, the
push onto the front foot. They go together, and itTs
like tying =. 7

oFlying ITm supposed to remember yet!� he said,
concentrating very hard on his long legs and on mov-
ing his legs together instead of jerking forward first
one and then the other.

oThatTs it exactly, just keep that motion going go-
ing,� Jenny encouraged him, as she kept her own
motion icy smooth so as not to jar him even slightly.
oNow, donTt try to go too fast, just keep it slow, now, a
little slower, no, no, oops!� she cried as BillTs feet
slipped forward and he landed hard on his rump.

oI've got it!TT he cried. oIt is like flying, thereTs noth-
ing in your way, such a feeling of freedom. | love it,
letTs do it again.�

Jenny laughed down at him, smiling in her eyes and
in her hair and in her slim body. oYou're learning,�
she said proudly.

The light was dim in the apartment, but Jenny
hadnTt turned on the lights yet. She was cuddled in
her leather armchair, excitedly watching out the case-
ment windows as the stiff wind blew clouds along like
toboggans sliding across the sky. The doorbell
chimed. oCome in,� she called.

oI! need help,� the manTs voice replied.

She ran to the door, flung it open, grabbed on of
BillTs grocery bags from his overloaded arms. oYou'd
think you went shopping for weeks, not just for one
meal,T�T she said.

oIl know you,� said Bill, leading the way to the kitch-
en. oYou never keep groceries in the house. | know,
you want the lights out; ITll just turn the kitchen light
on. No, no, you go sit down, thereTs only room for
one in here.� Jenny trotted happily back to her arm-

chair. ~Hey, lady, whatTs going on here? Milk, marga-
rine, bread in here? You knew | was shopping for
dinner, didnTt you, babe?�T

oOh, yeah, | forgot to tell you. My motherTs coming
tomorrow. She might want something.�

oFrom Fairfax?�T

oWhats rghit.�

oComing for the weekend?�

oNo, sheTs not staying over, sheTs just coming for
Saturday. DonTt even think it.�

Bill stepped out of the kitchen. ~~What gives? | know
you had trouble with your Dad, but what is it with
your Mom?�

Jenny sighed, twisted her hair around her fingers.
oIt wasnTt anything she did; she was very good to me.
But the life went out of her when Dad left. ItTs like
sheTs afraid to be alive or something. She hides out
with her lavendar sachets and her embroidery work
and only goes out to play bridge once a week. | get so
depressed when | see Mother that | just dread it.�

Bill stood quietly for a moment in the darkening
room, following with his eyes the shadowed curves of
her dark hair, the angular lines of her fingers, her
skinny, crossed legs. He looked at the shadowed cor-
ners of the room, the simple furniture, the curtainless
windows. He walked over and flicked on a table lamp.
oI bought you a present,� he said, bringing out a blue
rectangular box wrapped by an elastic gold thread.
Jenny looked up with an eager smile. oOh, | love
presents,� she said, reaching for the package. ~~First, |
have to guess what it is.�

Bill sat on the floor in front of her armchair, one arm
stretched across her knees, his face turned up to
watch her expression. ~I know, itTs perfume, itTs a
delicate hint, right? ItTs just the right size for per-
fume.�

Bill laughed. ooYouTre not the perfume type, honey, |
know you better than that. YouTve just got to open it.�

Jenny scratched the package open. Inside she
found a Hummel figurine of a chubby-cheeked little
girl cuddling a cat in her arms. ~ItTs exquisite,� she
said, picking it up and examing the detail, noticing the
look of relaxed contentment and love on the little
girlTs face as she rubbed the catTs tummy. Jenny
looked up at Bill. oBut " � she stopped abruptly.

oBut youTre not the figurine type? This place is so
bare, honey, and that little girl reminds me of you, the
way maybe you were when you were little. Do you
like it?�

Jenny hesitated; she looked at BillTs face, intent on
her, seeing the smooth calmness of his expression.
She looked at the shadowed corners of the room, the
curtainless window, the warm glow of the lamp.
oThanks, Bill, | do like it. ITll put it on the mantel, and
we'll have a fire, oh, letTs do,� she said impulsively.
oThereTs wood downstairs that tenants can use. I'll go
get some. And you know, supperTs going to burn if
you leave it much longer " �

Bill jumped up, striking his head with his hand. ~Oh,
no! My chicken cacciatore! My masterpiece!�

Climbing back upstairs with a newspaper and sever-

OW
vith

me,
ike
Out
ork
{so

1 if

Jain was cuddled in
her leather armchair
excitedly watching out
the casement windows
as the stiff wind blew
clouds along like
toboggans sliding across
the sky.�

al choice chunks of wood, Jenny met Carla just com-
ing in. oOh, you're going to have a fire?T�� Carla asked
girlishly. ~~Oh, | love fires. My apartment doesnTt have
a fireplace. ITve been out shopping and ITm exhaust-
ed,� she said as she followed Jenny down the ha!! and
into the apartment. oAnd | have some marshmallows
if you want to roast " " She stopped abruptly as she
saw the figure in the kitchen. oOh " ITm sorry " you
have company " I'll come by later,T she stammered
as she backed out of the apartment, closing the door.

oWho was that?� called Bill.

oIt was odd. It was Carla, and when she saw you, she
ran away.�

oOh. I'll tell you about it in a minute. Just let me get
this chicken and this tomato sauce together; this is the
tricky stage here.� He was knuckle-deep in tomato
sauce as he combined the ingredients, then set them
to simmer, and joined Jenny in the living room. She
was occupied in striking a match to a pile of crumpled
newspaper. ~I ran out for a paper,� she said, as the
flame caught.

oYou actually bought a newspaper, just to burn it?
Oh, Jen, youTre hopeless. But you make a great fire,�
he commented as the sticks began to catch fire. He
settled back on his elbows, feet stretched toward the
fireplace. ooHow about a pillow to lean on, Jen? This is
hard on the funny bone.�

oSure.�� She brought in two bed-pillows. ~This is all
ITve got,�� she explained. She smushed her pillow up
behind her head and stretched her toes toward the

fire. ~Ideal,T she said. oSo, whatTs with Carla? She
followed me up here, talking like she was going to
hang around all evening, and when she sees you she
just hops off like the apartmentTs on fire.�

oI'm afraid | can shed some light on that,� Bill re-
plied, stretching out on his back and crossing his arms
over his chest. oThe fact is that the lady is mad for me.
No, no, donTt laugh, itTs true.�

oBut sheTs into the dumb ox type,� Jenny protested,
sitting up and pulling her knees up to her chest.

oFace it, the lady has a secret yen for quality,� Bill
said mischievously. ~But seriously, | only took her out
a couple of times, and she followed me around at
work for weeks before she realized she wasnTt making
any headway. In fact, she got the idea that we should
get married.

oOh.� Jenny got up, walked over to the window,
and noticed that the storm had opened up. The rain
was breaking against the window with loud spatters. ~I
suppose thatTs the sort of romantic nonsense you'd
expect from her, actually. She probably reads Harle-
quins, too.�

Bill strolled over to the window. He stood behind
her, looking at the storm over her shoulder. oSo mar-
riage is romantic nonsense?� he inquired, walking
over to the other side of the window.

oYou bet,� muttered Jenny, tracing the downward
line of a raindrop with her fingertip.

Bill leaned his lanky body against the window frame.
oHave you ever sung choral music?� he asked.

oSure,TT she replied, selecting a new raindrop to
follow.

oWhich part do you sing?�

oAlto.�

oSo you usually sing harmony.�

oYes. What are all these questions?� she said petu-
lanty.

oJust tell me. Have you felt the kick of singing har-
mony, of setting a note against the melody that blends
so well that it sends a thrill through you?�

oYes, of course | have.�

oThen why are your hands shaking?� Bill asked as
he placed her raindrop hand around his slim waist.
Softly, he traced her jawline with one finger. Gently,
he lifted her chin up with his fingertips. She reached
up and spread her fingers into his soft yellow hair, as
his head came down to her.

Es morning light was over-cast white; the air
smelled faintly of burnt tomato-sauce. The fire had
burned down to smutty grey-black wood chunks. Jen-
ny woke up, surprised to find herself lying on the
living room floor with Bill, his arm holding her secure-
ly against his body, her head resting on his smooth
chest.

oYou awake, baby?� Bill asked softly.

Jenny nodded, hesitantly tracing his collarbone
with her fingertip. She laughed softly.

oWhat is it, babe?�

Jenny traced delicate circles across his chest; oWell,
when | first moved in here, a couple of months ago,

53

Carla come busting in, the perfect neighbor, casserole
and flowers, you know. And she made a point of
mentioning to me, oh so casually, how terrible you
were with women. She must have been desperately

trying to scare me away.� Jenny looked up at BillTs -

grinning face. ~oYou neednTt look so pleased, | prob-
ably just have peculiar taste,� she said, stroking his
cheek. oYou need to shave.�

oLater,� he said, sliding his hand down her back.
Jenny glanced over at the door.

oOh, no! My motherTs coming today; | forgot.� She
jumped up, raced into the bedroom for clothes.

oMight as well shave,� said Bill to himself, getting
up and collecting his clothes. ~oWhenTs your Mom
due?� he called.

oAnytime, maybe an hour or so. Why donTt you
shower first and then you can borrow my razor while |
shower,� she called back.

The bathroom was steamy when she tapped and let
herself in. Bill, in T-shirt and pants, was standing at the
sink, looking dubiously at her dainty razor. ~I donTt
suppose you have any shaving cream to go with this?�

oSorry,� she said, turning on the shower full force
and climbing in. oYou'll have to do the best you can
with that.�

Several hearty cuss-words emanated from the sink
area. Jenny finished her shower, dried off, and pulled
on a pair of brown wool pants.

oMy face looks like a war zone. I'll have to bring
over my extra shaver,� Bill complained as he dabbed
at his face with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.

o| donTt think that would be a good idea, Bill, said
Jenny, hooking her bra.

oWhy not? You have plenty of empty closet space.�

oI need a lot of space. | donTt like to feel hemmed
in, weighed down, by a lot of things. | know it sounds
unreasonable.� She slipped on a lacy white blouse.

oSounds unreasonable? Sometimes | wonder about
you, Jen. YouTre almost obsessive about this freedom
business.T

oPlease donTt letTs get into that now. ITve got
enough to deal with Mother coming.�

oITm really looking forward to meeting your Mom.�

Jenny buttoned the top button of her blouse to the
second buttonhole. oWell, Bill, | donTt want to seem
inhospitable, but | really donTt think you should stay
...TT She continued the crooked buttoning as she
disappeared into the living area.

Bill shot the cotton ball into the wastebasket,
picked up his shirt and thurst his arms through the
sleeves, and followed her. ~You've got some problem
with me meeting your mother? You didnTt have any
problem letting me fuck you last night, but you donTt
want anything of mine near you and you donTt want
me around when your MomTs here. Now just what am
| supposed to think about that?�

oOh, Bill,� said Jenny, staring out the window at the
trees shaking in the wind. oItTs not like that at all, of
course itTs not. ItTs just that " well, Mother doesnTt
handle my having boyfriends well; she gets upset. You
know, sheTs still hurt from losing Daddy, and it hurts

her to see me involved with a man. | hate to put her
through that. And itTs bad enough having to deal with
her when sheTs feeling good.�

Bill plunked himself into the armchair. ~Well, |
guess itTs up to you. | donTt think youTre doing her any
favors. And sooner or later she'll have to accept it,
Jenny. ItTs certainly not going to go away.�

oYes, | know, well maybe | can get her primed a bit.
Just a little more time and it wonTt be quite so bad.�
She came to him and kneeled by his chair. Reaching
up to him, she smoothed his frown-wrinkles with
gentle fingertips.

oOh, all right, deal with your neuroses in your own
way,� he said, closing his eyes, and missing the tension
which remained in JennyTs face.

Rk Y

ou neednTt look so
pleased. | probably just
have peculiar taste.�

B.. Mother, why wonTt you let me take you
out to lunch? I'll be glad to; ITm making good money,
you know, and you look so nice,� said Jenny to the
petite woman seated by her on the leather couch.
Mrs. North was dressed in a tidy blue wool suit, legs
crossed with feminine care.

oBut dear, we can talk so much more easily here
without people talking so loudly. And people always
seem to push so, on the street. Of course, I'll go if you
want to " �

oNo, no, we'll eat here, Mother. Excuse me a min-
ute, | need some aspirin,� Jenny muttered, getting up.

oNow, dear, you know what Mrs. Eddy says, in
Christian Science we must deny the hold of material
substance on our perfect spiritual being,� said the
older woman, her fragile hands shaking a little.

Visibly controlling her words, Jenny replied, ~I have
a headache, Mother, and ITm going to take some aspi-
rin. Please excuse me a moment.�

When she returned, she smiled briefly. ~ITm sorry,
Mama, ITm not feeling well today. What would you
like to have for lunch?�

oITm not really hungry yet, dear. Maybe we could
just talk. | donTt like to see my little girl unhappy,� said
Mrs. North, drawing a half-finished embroidery piece
out of a little wicker basket, and selecting a green
thread.

Settling back in her corner of the couch, Jenny
stretched her arms along the top and rested her head
on it. oOh, | just had a little disagreement with a man
ITve been dating.�

oIs it someone special, dear? I'd like to meet him.�

oNo, Mama, it was just a small argument, really,

d
id

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id

in

nothing to get excited about, not a real fight.T��

oOh, yes, you think ITm too old to remember how it
is,T replied her mother, drawing her green-threaded
needle through a section of her cloth on which was
stamped the outline of a tree. oBut I still remember.
Before your father died "�, Jenny looked up, star-
tled, " owe would have little spats. | must say, itTs
been quiet around the house since heTs been gone.
Yes, he used to tease me and make me laugh like
nobody else could. And | was always teasing him to go
out to parties. | canTt imagine what got into me; |
haven't gotten silly like that since your father passed
on.

oWhen did Daddy die, Mama?� Jenny asked, crack-
ing her knuckles systematically.

oYou remember, dear. You must have been nine or
ten.� She paused to pull the needle through the fabric
with trembling fingers. ~~He passed on suddenly and
thatTs why we moved in with Grandma that winter.
DonTt you remember Christmas in her house? You got
those stilts you wanted so badly, and you spent the
next week up in the air.�

oYes, Mama,� said Jenny, her body shaking slightly,
as with chill, ~I remember those stilts.�

al ee was huddled at the end of the couch,
telephone receiver held to her ear with tensed fin-
gers. ~o~LeeAnne, | hope youTre not terribly busy,� she
said in a tiny, strained voice.

oWhat's wrong?� LeeAnneTs alert voice was con-
cerned. oCome over right now, if you can. You can
help me get the rest of these beds made before sup-
per. | donTt know whose bright idea it was, having all
these kids.�

oThanks, Lee, ITll come,� Jenny whispered.

Si. was still shaking a little when she knocked
on the heavy, wooden door of LeeAnneTs house.
oCome on in, Jenny, take off your jacket,T�T LeeAnne
said, as she helped Jenny slide out of her jacket, and
hung it up in the coat closet. oYou take this pile of
sheets and we'll go to work on the upstairs bedrooms.
The kids are gone till suppertime, so we've got a good
hour at least.�

They climbed the worn stairs and entered the girlsT
bedroom. LeeAnne efficiently pulled the comforter
off the bed, dumped it in the corner of the room,
peeled the old sheets off. Together they stretched the
fresh bottom sheet on. They coordinated their efforts
to put the top sheet on evenly, making tight hospital
corners at the foot. Finally, they spread the comforter
on top, folding under just the right amount at the
bottom, and folding in the pillows evenly at the top.
Jenny picked up the pile of sheets, feeling unaccount-
ably comforted by the homely ritual, and LeeAnne led
the way to the boysT bedroom. oI appreciate your
help. ItTs so much easier when you donTt have to run
back and forth around the bed to fix the other side,�
said LeeAnn. She tripped over a little wooden car.
oDamn! Why did | have kids anyway?TT

oWhy did you?� Jenny asked seriously.

LeeAnne turned to her with a sharp look. oAre you
kidding? The kids are my life. WhatTs the sense of
cooking just for me? Instead of Corrine and her cats, |
could have white carpet. Or | could trade in TommyTs
bouncing onto my bed in the morning for ten more
mintuesT sleep. AlbertTs going to be an astronaut and
carry my message to the universe. And a two-year-old
can drive you up the wall, ITll grant you, but when |
think of how Lori climbs up in my lap and hugs me "
Good Lord, girl, you live through the people you love
and who love you. When theyTre gone, most of you is
gone, too. Why, | wouldnTt trade in my kids for the
White House and a lifetime supply of Halston evening
gowns.�

oOh,� said Jenny feebly. oI hadnTt thought of it in
that way.�

oNow, letTs get this bed made,� said LeeAnne brisk-
ly, oand you can tell me what the problem is.�

oItTs partly Bill. He stayed over last night.�

oYou mean he hadnTt already?� LeeAnne answered,
tugging the bottom sheet into place. She looked up to
see why Jenny wasnTt tucking in her side, and saw the
surprise on JennyTs face. oWell, it was obviously com-
ing, wasnTt it? Your relationship with Bill is one of the
best ITve ever seen. It was bound to get serious sooner
or later.�

oITm starting to feel claustrophobic.� Jenny tucked
in her corners carefully. oBillTs moving in on me,
Mother wants to meet him, you and probably all of
Charlottesville are just waiting for the diamond so you
can start ringing the church bells ...�

oITm confused, Jenny. What is it you want from
Bill?�

oAnd my mother " LeeAnne, sheTs losing touch
with reality completely now. She thinks my fatherTs
dead. She looked right at me and said he died, that
winter when he left us, she thinks he died.�

LeeAnne lay down the corn-yellow blanket she had
started to spread and came to sit on the bed beside
Jenny, holding her close as Jenny cried softly. ~You
must have been scared, dear, | can imagine how
frightened you must have been.� She patted Jenny as
she gently rocked her.�

oItTs been coming; | shouldnTt be surprised, | guess.
She was hardly even going out for groceries. SheTs just
drifting into a fantasy world. And thereTs so little | can
do,

oNo, itTs her life, dear and no one can choose her
way of living for her, or make her face life if she
doesnTt want to. But itTs not too late for you, and |
donTt want you to make the same mistake.�

Jenny pulled away, her sobs abruptly ceasing.
~oWhat?TT

oYou're doing exactly the same thing, Jenny. You
won't let anything or anybody get close to you. DonTt
you see itTs just like your mother?�T

oNo, it isnTt,� Jenny said sharply. ~Everybody thinks
if you donTt want to get married thereTs something
wrong with you. Well, there isnTt. And besides, ITve
only known him a couple of months.�

oNobodyTs asking you to get married,� LeeAnne

55

said, flapping the yellow blanket into the air to spread
it over the bed. oYou have to make your own deci-
sions.�

al ee was singing as the strung popcorn chains
on her little Christmas tree. oAnd the glory, the glory
of the Lo-o-o0-o-ord, Shall be re-e-e-e-vealed.�� She
draped a red-and-green paper chain precariously
around the lower branches. ~For, unto us a child is
born, unto us ason is given, unto us ason is given ...�T

She heard a light tap on the door, and Bill walked in.
oYou're just a sentimental fool after all,� he teased
her. oChristmas carols, decorating a tree, even mistle-
toe,� he added slyly as he slipped a sprig out of his
coat pocket and held it over her head.

oWell, what can | do, when you drag in a tree?
Besides, this kind of sentimental foolishness is my
bread-and-butter, or should | say, my pate de foie
gras,� she said airily, aggressively pursuing his claim
for a kiss.

oWoman, youTre the sexiest female in this world, |
swear you are. You sure know how to keep your man
happy. In fact,� she said, slipping a small, gaily-
wrapped parcel out of his other pocket, ~~you know
how to keep your man, period. You donTt mind open-
ing your present on Christmas Eve, do you?�

oYou mean instead of Christmas morning? No,
Christmas never meant much at our house, especially
since | was an only child and there were no other kids
to share it with. And besides, ITm greedy, | canTt wait.�
She eagerly tore off the wrappings and opened the
box. Inside was a blue velvet jewelerTs box. She
opened it and found a pear-cut diamond ring.

oNo! no! no!� she yelled, stamping her foot. ~~How
can you ruin it like this? You know | donTt want to get
married, you wonTt let me alone.�

oNow calm down and listen to me.�� He held her
hands and turned her to face him. She started to pull
away. ~~No, this time | want you to listen. ITve heard
enough excuses, and ITm not taken in by them any
more. | know you, Jenny, and | know your games as
well as | know your sexy little body. All this, ~I need
spaceT, ~Just give me some time!T, ~My daddy left and
so my life is ruinedT, ~My toes are too shortT bullshit.
You know what it is?�

oITm not interested, and ITIl thank you to take your
little sparkler and leave,T she spat at him.

oItTs not wanting to take responsibility for being an
adult. ItTs time to grow up, Jenny. You canTt shut out
the world forever, and | donTt intend to lose the most
exciting woman | have ever met because she chooses
to live her emotional life on the level of a two-year-
old. We donTt have to get married yet if you donTt
want to, but we are going to move in together, and |
want you to wear that ring to remind you of where
we're going.�

oForget it. | donTt have to answer to you or to
anyone. | can run my life, and | donTt need you. If
donTt need anybody! So just get out. All of you! Get
out!�T

oYou'll get over it,� Bill said firmly. ~oYouTre furious

now, but you know ITm right.�

o| donTt care if youTre right or not. YouTve ruined
my Christmas. | knew it was a mistake, falling in love
with you.�

Bill kissed her on the forehead and smoothed her
hair with his hand. oI love you, Jenny,� he said. He
picked up a silver ball to hang on the little tree. He
whistled the opening melody of the Hallelujah cho-
rus.

a ee in blue jeans and down jacket, was sit-
ting on her couch, telephone on her lap. ~Hello,
LeeAnne? | just called to say good-bye.�

oI think youTre making a mistake, Jen. Won't you
reconsider and stay here for a few weeks and take
some time to think things over?�

oITve already quit Morgerin, Lee. And besides, my
backpack is loaded and waiting by the door. | only
have an hour Ttil my bus leaves. | just wanted to thank
you for your many kindnesses and | want you to give
Tommy a kiss for me.�

oHe cried all day when | told him his Aunt Jenny
was leaving.�

oYou tell him I'll be back to visit, and I'll be sure to
send him a present from New Mexico. | have to go
now.� She replaced the receiver. Then she zipped up
her jacket, hoisted her backpack off the plush blue
carpet with an easy motion, and slung it over her bony
shoulder. She opened the door and walked out with a
light step. I

y gZ Hii:
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Not Only Off The Hook

oImportant as memory is, if must be remembered that
the creative process is also dependent on forgetting.�
" Paul D. MacLean,
National Institute of Mental Health

Sleep has a way
Of bruising his eyes.
Burt as drives are hard to come by,
He considers morning
And the crust thar it entails
Nominal, a deal even.
Real living is thar old, shallow change
In his breathing as he nightly takes leave
Of his senses.

A nyctitropism of sorts,

He flies from Seattle tomorrow.

It's been too long since things were sound.
Off the hook,

In the trash,

No more calls fonight ...

(I like to travel with a window at my side
Thar the clouds may see me
Alated.

o| love� my grandmother sang oyou
ely.

In church when people tied the knor.
A waltz for piano, strings,

Sky, colors, tail, I've been closer to
Kites, than ever to Kathleen.

They are in Heaven and France,
Respectively

" That is, if France exists.

And | am in the Bible,

oFeed me with raisin cakes
Comfort me with apples�

| hope | don't lose my lunch.

Carrying a tune,

Away with me now,

Yarn should do.

The sickness is only

Distance and the sloshing of balance in oneTs ears.)

One side of the conversation was enough.
This time he really is going
To sleep better.

Raymond Schmidt

Tables round, and majesty

Continuing in Arthurian vein (royal
blue and pulsing) | would

use the High Speech

if | Knew ir,

if itsT knowing remained

ourside of green Gramarye

and hidden religious houses. (| would
hide behind it. No shame

there).

It is Precursor fo all jousts
and most medieval executions.

Arthur sorrowed in the mantra

of mechanical speech, but never wished
Merlyn to conjure a wispy salvation.

For Merlyn taughr Arthur

in soeech both high and low

and mostly animal,

how not to expect dear Lance

before the pyre burned.

(Aria fic? ee)

The High Speech,

then the Table,

then the Grail,

then the Law,

and then the passion

that washed ir all away. (Tables

round and majesty. Wan

by then, he buried the good

intentions that begat Mordred

in the rocky soil near Lincolnshire Wash).

Lisa Ryan

56

Dorm

Soundless pictures in black and whire
amplified music thar noisely grates
darking rooms with moving shapes
tired eyes on endless lines

dead bugs amidsr the dust

drooping plants in wilted grandeur
yellow leaves a smokey breeze
wrinkled sheets that knew no sleep
assembled cans, bits of nuts

the product of a night's disgust.

Dave Brown

Ode to Robby the Robot

Ashes fo ashes,
Dust to dust,

Thine meral skin
Harh turned fo rusr.
Wheels of steel,
And gears of tin,
Are silent now
And cease fo spin.
Your mechanical brain
Of Einstein kind
Now all to rust
And fate resigned.
Dearly beloved,
We gather here,
To eulogize

A robot dear.

Jeffrey Scott Jones

The Masochist Grass

| am the masochist grass

Thar lives in the meadow.
Mow me!

Make me bleed sweet water.
| am the masochist grass

Thar lives in the meadow.
Strep on me.

Plow me up and bury me alive.
Take my children and

Feed them defecation.

Let them be earen alive

By beastly grazing mammals.
| am the masochist grass

Thar lives in the meadow.
And long after you are dead,
My childrenTs children will
Sleep with you.

Daniel Fuller

Peppermint Rust Moon Kiss

laughing in high grass, We ocd
a metallic sound. Moon shadows fell upon his face
tossed in with golden hair He reached

and blue jeans. As if to kiss

Sensible enough And then

to taste like peppermint. Just faded away

Candid enough

for rust. Edith Jeffreys

Laurilyn McDonald

A Vampire's Lament

| need

So | feed

Bur then | bleed.
So | feed

again.

M. James Moye

Why
Why am | the only one who thinks you're so great?
they tell me you're an immature brat "

why don't | listen to them?

Jean Marie Chervenals

Sunset Lover's Poem

Sunset Sweet love's sweat
Tranquil, serene, of midnightTs heat
The tide of light recedes, warms the air

Nature dams the flow of day, then as two hearts beat
Silence. together.

Tina McSwain Ricls Gordon

61

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Norris K. Hoggard

oPat pat patter pat,T�T said the rain on the tarpaper
roof. The man in the bed beneath the roof exploded
into action. He leaped from the bed and crouching
low, readied himself for anything. It took but three
seconds for the man to realize that the rain was not a
threat. He stood, carefully balancing his weight on the
balls of his feet " always ready to leap into action.

It was five-fifteen in the morning; an hour and a half
before the alarm clock beside the bed would sound-
off. The man surveyed the room carefully and glided
panther-like into the john.

oAahh,� said the man as he ridded himself of the
previous nightTs coffee.

Doug Beaman went through his morning routine
unconsciously. He washed his face and hands, shaved,
and brushed his teeth. When he was finished he
looked at himself in the medicine-cabinet mirror. He
only looked for a second, then quickly turned away.
Vanity was a vice and Doug Beaman had no vices.

ofeak

Doug froze. He flattened himself against the bed-
room wall and began to silently edge toward the door
leading to the living room. All senses on the alert,
Doug burst through the door ready to deal death to
those ascribing to the way of evil and ungoodness.
The room was empty of threats save for the stool that
tackled him. Doug laughed his deep, throaty laugh.
He had placed the stool there the night before to
serve as a warning in case of attack by one of SatanTs
legions.

Doug got up and stealthily crept to his tiny kitchen.
He smelled and tasted the coffee grounds before put-
ting them in the percolator. They hadnTt been tam-
pered with. :

It was Sunday so Doug didnTt have to go to work. He
was glad. He had a lot of thinking to do. Since he was
up so early and church didnTt start for a couple of
hours yet, he decided he might as well get some of his
thinking over with. Lately, Doug had started getting
restless. For years he had suppressed his natural call-
ing. Doug was born to be a hero. Being an incognito
hero for so many years while the world went to the
dogs really bothered Doug. He was ready to come out
of the closet. It wasnTt that he wanted noteriety or
anything, he just wanted to make a positive imprint on
the world. Kind of like Superman did. :

Superman, who had saved the world countless
times, didnTt become a hero until he was grown even
though he had always had super powers. His foster
parents had protected him and convinced him not to
use his amazing abilities. Superman didnTt use his
powers until he grew and moved to Metropolis. Doug
was very conservative in so far as super-heros were
concerned " he denied the existance of Superboy.
Superboy, he reasoned, was created by money grub-
bing crooks who wanted to make a fast buck on Su-
permanTs good name. At any rate, Doug saw himself as
a kind of self-suppressed Superman. He was chomp-
ing at the bit to let himself go and do all sorts of
amazing feats. His problem was, he didnTt know

where to start. Should he round up all the Mafia
leaders and drop ~em off at the police? Should he zip
on down to South America and stop a revolution? Or
should he remain incognito until a super-villan sur-
faced? Doug thought and thought.

Seven-thirty, time for Earl Robbers. Brother Earl was
explaining to his flock that he needed more money to
build his spiritual castle. Doug wrote Earl out a check
for half of last weekTs salary and put it in an envelope.
Doug believed that Earl Robbers held summit confer-
ences with God, Jesus, or whoever happened to be in
charge that day.

After Earl and his son finished their show by saving
all those who had sent in fifty percent of their salary,
Doug did some more thinking. He thought about go-
ing to Brazil and helping the poor German immigrant
cleanse the forests of the heathen natives who would
not come and live in the cities. oNo,� he said to
himself, o~theyTre doing a pretty good job by them-
selves. I'll probably be needed somewhere else. Be-
sides Mr. Sappington wouldnTt give me the time off
from work.�

Nothing was resolved by Doug on Sunday. Mostly
he just sat around all day and watched all his .. . near-
idols on television. These were men who were very
moral and intelligent. They were all highly thought of
in Heaven. Men such as Dim Fakker, Serious Angler,
and Harry Deepwell. Harry Deepwell was second only
to Earl Robbers in DougTs eyes. He was brave and
stouthearted, a man to be reckoned with, a man with
some of the same qualities possessed by the thir-
teenth popes.

On Monday morning Doug decided to take bus 873
to work. He normally took bus 756, but he was feeling
cocky. The walk to bus 873 would take an extra forty-
five minutes, but it would carry Doug through the
seamy side of town. Doug was hoping someone would
try to mug him. Maybe a whole street gang. He
rubbed his calloused palms together at the thought of
battling evildoers.

Doug walked lightly on the balls of his feet. His arms
were swinging loosely at his sides and his eyes con-
stantly scanned from side to side in search of a threat.
Every now and then Doug would throw himself up
against a wall and check the street behind. He idly
considered buying a pair of rearview mirror glasses.
They would not only allow him to see behind him, but
they would also make him look even more like an
incognito hero.

The walls Doug kept throwing himself up against
were filthy and crumbly. Some were covered with
profanity or misspelled declarations of love. Occa-
sionally there were statments of protest. Doug read
one of the statements and was appalled. It said; ~Set us
free from white tyranny.�

Doug erased the blasphemy with one swipe from
his piledriver-like fist. The wall was very crumbly and
barely scratched DougTs middle knuckle. How, Doug
thought as he continued down the rubble strewn
street, could anybody complain with the way things
were run in the good ole U.S.A.? The government

made sure that everybody got fed and housed and
didnTt even make them work for a living. Doug was
really spoiling to do something heroic.

The people on the street got out of DougTs way.
They eyed him curiously and with obvious distrust. It
wasnTt often that a six-foot five blond haired, blue-
eyed giant in a spiffy, brown, business suit asuntered

through that part of town.

Doug was not accosted.

Brewster and Associates Incorporated Accounting
Company was where Doug worked. He was one of a
few hundred low-ranking accountants. He didnTt
mind. Destiny was his. Even if he was forced to hold
off revealing himself as the hero he knew he was, he
felt sure that he would rise to the top of the company
heirarchy. Doug never told anybody that he was des-
tined for greatness. To do that he would have to admit
being one of GodTs favorite people. Although it was
the truth, Doug thought that telling other people of
his privileged position would smack of sin. Sin was for
lesser mortals.

oGood morning,� cooed a pretty brunette clerk-
typist. oHow are you today, Mr. Beaman?2�T ,

oI'm fine,T� Doug responded as he hastily jumpe
into the nearest elevator. Girls were always chasing
him. Sometimes he had to be rude to keep them off.
Doug liked girls, but heroing was his life. The Manual
for Mythological Marvels (Mmm for short), stated flat-
ly that a hero must lead a lonely life. The forces of evil
were always looking for a weapon to use against good
guys. 7
DougTs shiny, black shoes clip-clopped on the floor.
He enjoyed walking on hard floors. The loud rhyth-
mic clip-clops made him feel viril and important.
Doug squared his shoulders, straightened his back
even straighter than usually, and marched along lis-
tening to the staccato beat his shoes were making on
the tiled floor. ~~Wow,� he thought.

The surface on which Doug walked also served as
the ceiling for the twelth floor of the Brewster Build-
ing. On the floor with Doug were fifty-three double
sized desks. Fifty-two of the desks were arranged in
four perfectly even rows, each row contained thir-
teen desks. The fifty-third desk was enclosed by green
prefabricated metal walls in the far left hand corner.
The Floor Supervisor dwelt there. Doug had never
seen the inside of the little make-shift office. He
wanted to though.

oHey Beaman.� someone called, owhat's all that
white dust? It looks like youTve been lining a baseball
field.� i

Someone was right. The sleeve of DougTs coat was
covered with a fine white powder, the wall Doug had
punched had bled crumbly white powder all over
him. When he brushed at it the dust merely crawled
into the threads of the coat and found a permanent
home. ~Damn,T Doug almost thought.

Over at desk 17 Abraham Rabin was grinning at
DougTs vain struggle with the dust. Abraham Rabin
shared desk 17 with Doug. Rabin never seemed to
take Doug seriously. This irritated Doug because Ra-

if

bin was the closest thing to a friend that he had. Rabin
was a nice guy, Doug just thought that he should
listen a little more carefully. Doug wanted to tell Ra-
bin about being an incognito hero. Rabin could be his
right hand man then; taking care of public appear-
ances, press releases, and other administrative duties
that a hero just doesnTt have time for. Everytime Doug
started to tell Rabin about his views on life and how
the world should be, Rabin would think it funny.
Doug gave Rabin a stare that was guaranteed in MMM
to freeze the hearts of dragons and petrify mere mor-
tals. Rabin started laughing.

oWhy donTt you two clowns begin working,� said
Clyde Wilson. Clyde occupied desk 16. He was a real
go-getter. Doug had tried to make friends with him
several times, but he was always rebuffed. Rabin usual-
ly referred to Clyde as ~that asshole.� Doug didnTt
know why. He admired ClydeTs professionalism and
ability to talk to the boss.

oGood morning Clyde,� Doug said cheerfully.

oFuck off creep,� Clyde said not quite so nicely.

oLeave that asshole alone and lets get to work,�
Rabin interrupted. ~Old man Sappinton'Il be in pretty
soon.�

oYou shouldnTt call people names,� Doug lectured.
oItTs not very nice. Rabin didnTt mean that Clyde. Say
you're sorry Rabin.�

oGet away from me you ignorant faggot bastard,�
Clyde said.

oBeaman, get over here and quit apologizing for
me,� said Rabin. oI meant what | said. That asshole has
always been an asshole and will always be an asshole.�
Doug shuffled over to the desk and sat down. Just in
time too. Mr. Sappington, the Floor Supervisor,
stepped out of the elevator and headed in DougTs
direction.

oCome into my office Mr. Wilson,� Sappington
commanded.

oYes sir. Right away sir. Would you like me to bring
you a cup of coffee?� Clyde asked.

oThat's very nice of you. Cream and sugar if you
donTt mind.� Sappington said over his shoulder on his
way to the little green office.

Doug watched as Clyde scurried away to get Mr.
Sappington a cup of coffee. He wished he could im-
press the boss as well as Clyde could. Clyde and Mr.
Sappington sometimes spent all day in the office.
Clyde had only been working for Brester Assoc. Inc.
Acct. Company six months and all ready he was next
in line to be promoted. Doug was impressed.

oWake up!� Rabin said breaking DougTs reverie.
oQuit mooning over that brownnosing asshole and
lets get to work. | wish that youTd pick somebody else
to look up to. Clyde would happily stab you in the
back for a trip to the executive bathroom.�

o| donTt look up to anybody,�� Doug said defensive-
ly. oAnd besides Clyde is not that bad a person. If you
stop calling him names he would be more friendly.

oRabin, do you believe that God controls our
lives?�T

oWhat?� Rabin asked. ~You're skipping around too

fast for me to keep up.�

oDo you believe that God has our lives all ready
planned out " even before weTre born?�

NIG.�

oWihy not�

oLet's get to work Doug. We can have supper to-
gether and talk things out. This is not the time to get
into a religious debate. How about we go to the Beef
Joint right after work?�

SOK

At two in the afternoon Doug left his desk to go use
the bathroom. On the way he began to admire the
architecture of the building; the way the walls went
straight up till they ran into the ceiling, the pretty
flourescent lights that hung from the ceiling, the per-
fectly square tiles that fit so neatly into the floor, and
the lights in the elevator that blinked on and off while
it was going up or down. Doug was looking out of the
big observation window on the twenty third floor
when Rabin found him. ~Beautiful day today isnTt it,�
he amiably greeted his deskmate.

oWhat the hell are you doing Doug!?�T Rabin began.
oYou've been gone for damn near two hours. ItTs a
good thing Clyde and Sappington didnTt come back
from lunch today or youTd probably be out of a job.
LetTs go back down and clean up the desk. By the time
we've finished it'll be quitting time.�

oWhat time is it Rabin?T�� Doug asked. He was a little
bewildered.

oFive to four; time to go back to work.� Rabin took
DougTs arm and guided him toward the elevator. ~You
still want to have supper with me tonight?�

oWhy sure I do! Thanks for asking Rabin. YouTre a
real swell guy, ya know?�

oUh huh. Right. Just follow me. ThatTs right, into the
elevator.� Rabin whispered something under his
breath but Doug couldnTt make it out.

The Beef Joint was a fairly nice place. Doug has
been in the Beef Joint only once before and that had
been for a buffet lunch. The supper staff was a lot
more impressive. The lights were turned down real
low and there was some nice classical music playing in
the background. The waiters all had on ties and tails
and the waitresses wore beautiful evening gowns.
Doug felt important just being in such a fancy joint.

Rabin got a table in a quiet dark corner. They made
small talk about the restaurant and about work until
the main course arrived. By that time Rabin had drunk
a couple of glasses of wine. Doug didnTt drink alcohol
so he drank several glasses of Coke instead.

oDoug,� Rabin began, oI donTt want to pry into your
personal life. And | wouldnTt but your work is starting
to suffer.

We've known each other for a little over eight
months now, and we've gotten along pretty well with
each other. But, and please donTt take offense, for the
last month and a half youTve been acting like a real
space cadet. What the hell is the problem?�

oITm sure | have no idea what you are talking about,
Rabin,� Doug said.

oLike this afternoon, You'll wander off and stay

64

ee ee ee ee ee

~ "�"�! CLF CLF hte

gone for hours at the time. Hell you wonTt even be
aware that youTve been anywhere! No only that "
you'll sometimes stare at a piece of paper without
blinking for; well, once you spent the whole morning
staring at a piece of paper. Now | donTt know anything
about your home life, but the way I see things youTve
either got some big problems or youTve got a god-
damned brain tumor. If youTve got problems at home
tell me about ~em. Maybe talking things out will help.
If, on the other hand you have a brain tumor, | knowa
couple of good doctors you can see.� Rabin ended his
tirade with a long, searching look at Doug.

Doug forgot what they had been talking about so he
thought heTd change the subject. oHow about them
Mets?� he asked.

oBaseball season ended three months ago Doug,�
Rabin explained patiently. He was beginning to look a
little weary. oWhatTs bothering you Doug? Can |
help?�T

Doug sat up straight in his chair and began to ap-
praise his companion. Rabin had always acted like a
nice person, but Doug knew that the powers of evil
could corrupt almost anybody. He scanned RabinTs
face for signs of Satanic possession. There were no
dripping pustules, fanged teeth, or pointy ears. Still,
he couldnTt be certain. Satan was a tricky devil.

oDoug,� Rabin said while waving his hand before
DougTs eyes. oSnap out of it. Are you an epileptic?
ThatTs nothing to be ashamed of if thatTs whatTs
wrong.�

Doug stood. Staring down at RabinTs upturned face
he boomed; ~~Are you in league with the forces of
evil?�

Everybody in the restaurant was watching. Rabin
began to look nervously about. Doug interpreted Ra-
binTs nervousness as a sign of guilt.

oI'll spare your wretched life you miserable swine.�
Doug shouted. oBut only because | have no proof that
you committed a crime. | will not sup with one of
SatanTs minions. This dark, dusty place must be the lair
of SatanTs legions so | will depart. Remember this; |
shall not rest until vermin such as you have been
eradicated of the Earth.� Doug backed toward the
door, never taking his eyes off Rabin, whose mouth
was hanging open. The rest of the diners began to
vigorously clap and cheer. Doug bowed slightly and
stepped out into the night.

The street was well lighted and was filled with cou-
ples and groups going to and coming from the many
restaurants which were crowded together on the nar-
row street. All of the bars and eateries signaled their
presence with blinking, varicolored neon lights that
hurt DougTs eyes.

There were no phone booths in the area so Doug
decided to duck into the nearest alleyway. He would
not only be able to change clothes but would also
escape from the gaudy, blinding lights which were
causing his eyes to water. After a few steps a dark
passage opened up to the right. He checked his rear
to make sure that nobody was following him.

He smiled at a young couple that passed. When he

was certain that no one was watching, he quickly
leaped into the breach.

There were several oveturned garbage cans, along
with their spilled contents, scattered in the alley.
Doug wove his way through the trash and deeper into
the alley until he could barely see. In the blackness he
felt comforted; at peace with himself.

A strangely dressed woman staggered from behind
a Dempsey dumpster and grabbed DougTs arm.

oWhatTs happeninT man?� she croaked.

oWhat?�T Doug asked. He stepped back in the event
she was under contract with the Evil One. She didnTt
look evil. It was too dark to see her face, but an evil
person would never dress in such cheerful colors. The
woman was wearing a bright pink Granny Gown with
even brighter orange diagonal stripes. The sleeves
ended in big, blue, frilly cuffs. There was not enough
light in the alley to illuminate the gown, but it was
very visable. The gown was the center from which the
shadows in the alley began " the gown was produc-
ing its own light. The effect was awe inspiring.

Doug was impressed. Anybody with such fine taste
in clothes couldnTt be evil.

oHey man, you alright?� the dark area above the
glowing dress asked.

oWhy yes | am,� Doug answered. ~What is such a
girl as you doing in a place such as this? Do you need a
guide out?�

o1 donTt know how | got here. Where are we man?2�T

oWe are between Main and Elm.�

oFar out. Come on home with me man and I'll take
care of ya.�

oVery well,� Doug said. He was beginning to feel
quite gallant. ~Allow me to introduce myself. My
name is Doug Beaman, madame.� He took one of the
big, blue, frilly cuffs and kissed the invisible hand at-
tached to it. After wiping the dirt off his lips he began
to lead the woman out of the alley.

oWhat you on man?� the woman asked. oYou got
anymore?�

Doug didnTt know what she was talking about so he
ignored it. After they left the alley the woman started
to lead Doug. She lead him through a maze of alleys,
down a multitude of streets, and through countless
backyards.

Doug didnTt know where he was at.

oWhere are we going?� he asked.

oWere ott to see the ... Hell, 1 forgot the rest of it.�

Doug knew the rest of it, he also knew that wizards
were way up in satanTs hierarchy. He put his arm
protectively around the womanTs shoulders. Danger
and saving damsels from wizards and other evil beings
were the type of things that kept heros in business.
This would be DougTs first wizard and there was no
way he was going to let it escape. Finally after all these
years he thought, ITll be able to become a full fledged
hero.

oLead the way maTam,� Doug said.

oITm not into that cowboy thing man,� the woman
said. ooMy nameTs Mary.�

oWhat is that terrible odor?T�� Doug asked when he

65

had first noticed the smell he had ignored it thinking
that it might be Mary. But the further he and Mary
went the worse the smell got. He had finally decided
that no person could smell that bad.

oThatTs home man,� Mary explained.

oPoor thing.�

oWell man, here we are,� Mary proudly an-
nounced. She was pointing to what could only be
described as a dump. Actually the dump was on the
other side of the house, but the house blended in so
well with the landscape that only the rusted, broken-
down fence that surrounded the garbage dump dis-
tinguished one from the other.

oThis is where you live?T� Doug asked indignantly.

oYeah man. Me and my old man, we live here.�

Doug gathered his courage and bravely began walk-
ing with Mary toward the ramshackle hut. oI'll do
what | can to help madame, but | may be of only
limited use in a fray. Perhaps | should contact a close
personal friend of mine who makes his living helping
beautiful women escape from evil degenerate mcon-
ster.�

oWhat man?�

oIs the evil landlord trying to evict you from yo 1°
property?TT asked Doug abruptly.

oSure is man. The fuckinT assholes condemned ou:
house and told us they were gonna tear it dowr.
whether we moved or not.�

o| feared as much. I'll wait here with you and try to
pay the villian off. If that does not work I know of only
one man that can save you and your poor old father
from the clutches of evil.�

oHey man, you got any money?� Mary asked. It was
the first time she had shown any animation since
Doug had been with her.

oYes, | have. Hopefully, enough to buy your mort-
gage from the heinous landlord.�

| donTt know how much that is man, but thereTs a
new dealer in town thatTs coming over tonight to
show off his stuff. New guys usually give good deals
man, Come on in.�

Doug grabbed the door-handle and pulled. The
loud screech of tin rubbing against tin, then the gun-
shot-like report as the tin door bent under the strain
of DougTs tugging, all combined to speed up the in-
evitable. Doug yanked the door the rest of the way
open, ripped his coat and shirt off and leapt into the
dark hovel.

oCalm down man,� Mary said. oYou'll tear the
house down if youTre not more careful. What you on
man? | want some of whatever it is.� Mary began
lighting the candles that ringed the single room.

Doug forgot himself momentarily and took on his
killer stance; back hunched, legs spread, arms ex-
tended straight ahead, hands upturned and rhythmi-
cally clawing and unclawing, eyes rapidly moving back
and forth, and his teeth gritted and exposed. He was
ready and anxious to deal with death.

The inside of the one room shack perfectly
matched the outside. The bare dirt floor was littered
with organic, decaying garbage. There was a campfire

oDoug forgot himself
and took on his killer
stance; back hunched,
legs spread, arms
extended ... He was
ready to deal with death�

built in the middle of the room, a scorched mattress in
one corner, two cardboard boxes in another corner, a
pile of rags in the corner nearest the door, and some
elaborate, beautifully sculpted glasswares in the re-
maining corner. The walls were bare; made of one-
quarter inch plywood that probably wouldnTt have
supported anything anyway. The roof was just a piece
of tin with a hole cut in its center for exhaust.

oWhere is your fat old father?T� Doug asked through
his gritted teeth. He didnTt think that this was the
proper place to care for an old man.

o1 donTt know man,� Mary absently replied. She
walked over to the corner with the artfully crafted
glassware and chose an ornately detailed bong.

oI got some number one, first class, grade A Hawai-
ian pot here man. ItTs guaranteed to blow your mind,�
she explained while filling the bongTs bowl.

oSit down man.�

Doug shook himself of his killer stance. The shreds
of his coat and shirt lay on the threshold. He kicked
them in the corner with the other rags and began to
untie the Windsor knot in his tie. After he took off his
tie he excused himself and stepped outside. There,
unobserved, Doug removed his T-shirt, shoes, socks,
and pants thus transforming himself into his heroic
alter ego. He threw open the door to the hovel and
capered inside. Revealing to the world, for the first
time, its new savior.

Mary looked up from the bong, opened her eyes
and mouth very wide, and gave a little cry of amaze-
ment. Doug filled the doorway. His heavily muscled
body was clad in skin-tight, sunshine yellow leotards
with a big purple oB� painted on the chest.

oOh wow!� Mary said. ~Far fucking out! oWhat the
hell are you?�

oBee-Man,� he stated in a very bass tone. He thrust
his chest out, proudly displaying the beautiful de-
tailed ooB.� oI was sent by Doug Beaman, my one true
friend, to do that which must be done. | battle evil in
whatever form it takes.�

oFar out,� Mary said. Her eyes were glistening in
the candlelight and were glassily shining at the aveng-
er in her doorway. oCome on in Bee-Man.�

oMuch thanks to you mademoiselle,TT Bee-Man said
while performing a sweeping bow. oThou art safe
now.�

Mary just sat on the dirt floor looking at Bee-Man
His costume was so bright that it outshone her glow-
in-the-dark dress; a feat that even the ring of candles
couldnTt compete with. The bottom of Bee-ManTs
costume was just as bright as the top and even more
colorful. There was a blood-red stripe starting from
the big toe of each foot. The stripes coiled around
their respective leg and converged at his crotch. The
coiling red lines then melded into concentric black
circles which formed a bullseye at the area of his body
usually reserved for sitting.

Bee-Man knew that he was an amazing sight. His
bright yellow leotards had been designed to enhance
his first impression on people. The good, he rea-
soned, would be a little awed at first, but would quick-
ly accept him as their hero. His bright yellow suit
would undoubtedly be associated with the sun " the
source of all that is good (physically). This would strike
fear into the hearts of evil doers. His phosphorescent
suit would light the darkest passages to hell and drive
all that ascribed to evil ways back to the pit from
which they came.

Bee-Man had arrived.

Mary roused herself and began filling the bong. She
offered it to Bee-Man. He didnTt know what it was,
but it came from such an obviously pure person that
he accepted it. Mary showed him how to use the
bong and held a disposable butane lighter over the
marijuana lade bowl while he sucked the smoke into
his lungs.

Bee-Man didnTt know what he was smoking. He
knew that it wasnTt tobacco, Mary had told him so.
Heros never smoke tobacco. She had explained that
onot� was very good for the overall condition and was
also natural. Things from nature, unless forbidden in
the Bible, were all right by Bee-Man. He joyously
inhaled the fumes.

He coughed and spat for about fifteen minutes
afterwards. Mary walked over to the cardboard boxes
in the corner, broke the seal on the top box and
removed a can of champagne. ~Here man, drink this,T
she said. ~My old man ripped it off from outside the
Piggly Wiggly last night. ItTs purty good shit man. Go
on, it'll make your throat feel better.T

Bee-Man took a deep swallow. She was right. He
felt a lot better. oWhew!� he said. Mary loaded the
bong again and handed it to Bee-Man. oHere man,
take another hit.� Bee-Man looked at her in horror.
Was this some form of torture?

oGo on man. If you fall offTn a horse,� she giggled,
oYa ought to knock him in the head.�

This made sense to Bee-Man. That is what a hero
would do. He took another deep hit off the bong. He
drank another can of champagne to quell the cough-
ing.

After hitting the bong four or five more times, and
drinking a six-pack of champagne, Bee-Man got hap-
py. He felt his heroism rising up. He was also very

hungry. ~~What do you have to eat?� he boomed.

oOnly this,� said Mary approaching Bee-Man.

The door was suddenly ripped open. Bee-Man
rose, picked Mary up, gently deposited her on the
mattress, and assumed his killer stance before the
doorway. A short happy-headed man with a scaggly,
dirt encrusted beard entered carrying an open box
filled to overflowing with bags of potato chips, Fritos,
cookies, crackers, candies, and assorted other items.
Bee-Man grabbed the man by the beard and threw
him to the ground. He hadnTt noticed the contents of
the box and assumed that the evil landlord had arrived
with a case of dynamite in order to frighten and force
the fair damsel into selling her home.

oAaagh!�� screamed the newcomer.

oHey man,� Mary calmly intoned from the mattress,
othatTs Fred " my old man. HeTs cool.�

Bee-Man picked the man up off the floor. ~I am
Bee-Man,� he said. oI profusely apologise for having
harmed you. | overreacted.T� Bee-Man offered the
scrubby little man his hand of friendship.

oThatTs awright man,� said Fred with his head bent
back in order to see Bee-ManTs face.

FredTs hand was lost in Bee-ManTs enormous grasp.
Bee-Man gently shook FredTs hand. He was careful
not to squeeze hard; he knew he possessed superior
strength. He didnTt feel the need to prove his superi-
ority.

oHey Fred,� Mary called as she resumed loading the
bong. oWhere the fuck are my quaaludes?� | looked
for ~em all day.�

Bee-Man wasnTt sure what she was talking about,
but he knew that she was angry with Fred. He sat
down between Mary and Fred in case Fred turned out
to be on agent of evil.

oShut up ...� Fred started. He stopped when Bee-
Man began to rise. oumm,� he continued more softly,
oI gave ~em to a dude thatTs sTpose to bring over some
hash tonight, dear.TT

oThat new dealerTs supposed to come by tonight
you asshole,� Mary stated.

oOh wow, man. | forgot all about that. Shit.�

oWhat is wrong,� boomed the uncaped crusader
fearlessly. oDost thou require the aid of Bee-Man? if
evil approaches | shall quash it and return it to the hell
from which it arose.� Bee-Man stood and shook his
fist at the door.

oOh wow,� Fred and Mary said in harmony.

oHow may | aid you in your battle against wizards
and evil landlords. The powers of goodness and right-
ness dwell in me. With mine strength at your fore you
need fear no evil.�

oSure thing man,� Mary said hastily. ~oYou can help
us all you want to. ItTs fine with me.�

oHey man, you got any cash?� Fred asked.

o1 know where | can procure some,� replied Bee-
Man. FredTs eyes were beginning to glow. They also
seemed to be spinning in opposing directions. Bee-
Man was getting more and more suspicious of Fred.
oDo the evil ones have a legitimate claim on the mon-
ey they are asking for?�

67

oYeah man,� acknowledged Mary before Fred
could speak.

oVery well. ITll return in two or three minutes with
enough money to pay off the greed-ridden, hell-
spawn moneylenders. Wait here, and fear not.� Bee-
Man glided across the room and out the door.

Outside Bee-Man picked up his alter egoTs wallet
and removed the money. He then took the pants,
shoes, and T-shirt a couple of blocks away and hid
them beneath a scarred and lifeless tree.

Back inside he, Mary, and Fred smoked numerous
bongs and drank many cans of champagne. Bee-Man
intently studied Mary while munching on a handful of
potato chips. He thought that with a little soap and
water she wouldnTt look half bad. Of course heros
never judge a woman on the basis of her appearance
and Bee-Man was no exception. He was merely mak-
ing the required observations as outlined in oMMM,�
the heroTs handbook.

Loud hammering at the door brought Bee-Man out
of his contemplations. Expecting either the wizard or
the evil landlord, he unsteadily assumed his killer-
stance.

oCome on in man,� Mary called.

A very short, very young, black younster entered
carrying a leather briefcase. He immediately shaded
his eyes from the glare of Bee-ManTs costume. Bee-
Man noted this reaction and kept a wary eye on the
boy.

oJeeeesus Christ� said the youngster. ~Turn down
the lights.�

oWho art thou?� Bee-Man thundred evangellically.

oMaybe | better get the hell out a here,� the boy
said backing out the door.

oHold.� commanded Bee-Man. oThine superior has
ordered thee to stop. So stop.�

oYou're fulla shit.� The boy turned and ran. Bee-
Man gave chase.

It only took a few strides for Bee-ManTs longer legs
to overtake the youth. Bee-Man picked the boy up
and carried him back inside. The youngster was only
four feet tall so there was no struggle.

oWhat's happening man?� Fred asked dazedly.
oWhat's all the fuss man.�

oPut me down mutha fucker,� the boy cried.

oHey man you can put him down.� Mary placidly
stated. ~ooThatTs our new supplier. HeTs cool.�

oVery well.� Bee-Man put the boy down. oMy
name is Bee-Man. | battle evil. Are you alligned with
the forces of good?�

oYeah. Sure | am.�

oWhat is your name young fellow?�

oMarvin. WhatTd you say your name was again?�T

o~Bee-Man. | am pleased to meet you Marvin. Have
you met my friend Mary and her old father, Fred?� He
gently shook Marvin's hand and gestured toward Fred
and Mary.

Uo OU

oYeah, | know Mary. How ya doinT,� Marvin said
greeting Fred for the first time. ~~Everybody calls me
Marv. Like in Marvelous. My shit donTt stink. ITve got
the best stuff that money can buy. ITve got some sam-

ples if the HulkTIl let me get my case.�

oThatTs Bee-Man,� Bee-Man corrected. oI will re-
trieve your briefcase for you. Rest easy.� Bee-Man
walked outside and picked up the case that Marv had
dropped in his escape attempt. When he returned the
conversation between Marv and Mary abruptly
ceased. Fred seemed to be asleep.

Marv opened the case and began showing Mary a
wide selection of capsules, pills, powders, and organ-
ics. Mary seemed to be impressed. Bee-Man didnTt
know why, but anything Mary thought proper was all
right by him. He watched impassively as Mary used
DougTs money to buy most of what was in the brief-
case.

oWhat are you buying?� he finally asked.

oA little bit of everything man,� Mary replied.
oMostly | want some quaaludes. God damned Fred
gave mine away and ITm gonna need something to
help me sleep tonight.�

oYo buddy,� Marv began, oWhere in the hell did
you get them wild clothes. | ain't never seen nothing
like them before. | know some dudes would kill to get
their hands on a suit like that.� Marv had taken a
couple of brightly colored pills. His fear of Bee-Man
had disappeared soon thereafter. Bee-Man assumed
that the pills were aspirin and that Marv had had a
headache.

oDo you feel better now?� Bee-Man asked.

oSho nuff do,� Marv laughed.

Fred awoke. oGive me drugs man,� he said. ~ooMan |
said give me drugs.�� Marv handed Fred a handful of
capsules and a can of champagne. oHere, theseTll send
you through the roof,� he said.

Bee-Man grabbed FredTs arm and prevented him
from taking the drugs. He also grabbed Marv to pre-
vent an escape. The wierd ~drugT had jogged loose
some of Bee-ManTs memories. He had watched
enough oStarsky & Hutch� episodes to know a drug
deal when he saw one. He didnTt know why it had
taken him so long to recognize the illegal act, but
since nobody had escaped he decided not to worry
about it. oThis is a bustT� he exclaimed in his best TV
cop show imitation. oNobody move.�

Mary looked up from toking on the bong. oHey
man, whatTs the matter?� she queried.

oPossession and distribution of controlled sub-
stances is against the law. | am going to take these two
drug dealers to the police station for prosecution.
You will have to accompany me Mary. You undoubt-
edly will be the chief witness against them.�

oHey man,� Fred wailed, ~oSheTs the one that bought
the god damned shit, not me.�

oWhat? Do not speak untruths to me vermin. You
besmirch MaryTs good name.� Bee-Man holding Fred
by the forearm, lifted him off the floor. Fred stopped
complaining.

oYo,'T Marv broke in, ~What you been doing here
all night? DidnTt you take a couple of hits off the bong
a while ago?�T

Vien�

oWell ainTt marijuana against the law too?�

resp

fore
tloo
gla

trils

I|

of

id

Se

1g
ad
ut
ty
ay

eves.�

oWhat'd you think was in the bong, pipe tobacco?�

~Heros never smoke tobacco. Mary told me that it
was natural... pot.�

oWell I hate to tell you buddy, but pot and marijua-
na is da same damn thing.TT Bee-Man picked Marv up
by his left arm and began to shake him.

oUm, hey man,� Mary shyly began, ~oMarvTs right. It
was marijuana. | thought you knew.�

Bee-Man dropped both of his prisoners. Since he
was blocking the doorway, both Marv and Fred scur-
ried to the two corners farthest away. Mary began to
load another bong.

oYou used the money that Doug loaned to me in
order to purchase drugs?TT Bee-Man asked Mary.

oYou said we could have it man,� Mary said. Fred
silently nodded agreement from the glasswares cor-
ner.

o| have broken the law,� Bee-Man whispered. oI
have aided in the purchase of illicit drugs and have
used marijuana as well. | am a failure.�

oDonTt let it bother you man,� Mary said from the
floor. oCome on down here and letTs get high.�

Bee-Man, though despondent, could still feel the
effects of the marijuana. He was high all ready. He had
never been high before and had been enjoying him-
self until Mary had dashed his hopes and dreams of a
saintly and heroic life by revealing the true nature of
what she had given him.

oYou have lured me to the brink of the pit sorcer-
ess.T

There came a pounding upon the door. Bee-Man
didnTt feel like taking up his killer stance so he went to
one of the two remaining corners and hid his face
from view. He was very paranoid. The FBI was without
doubt onto his illegal activities. If captured he would
not resist.

oCome on in man,� Mary called nonchalantly.

oGood evening everyone,� a woman, not Mary,
sang.

The beautiful, lilting voice reminded Bee-Man of
Angels. He turned his head and peered between his
fingers at the woman in the doorway. She was even
more beautiful than her voice. Bee-Man looked upon
her silky auburn hair and creamy white skin and forgot
that he was a desperado.

The woman was regally viewing the people in the
hut. Everyone was still. Except for a distant siren there
was silence. Fred and Marv were standing in their
respective corners with their mouths hanging open. A
puddle of saliva was forming at FredTs feet. MarvTs
forehead was beaded with sweat. Mary sat on the
floor in the center of the room and stared through the
glass bong at the imperious female. Smoke from the
last bong-hit was still drifting lazily out of MaryTs nos-
trils.

Bee-Man, meanwhile, had fallen in love.

oWelcome, fair damsel, ~~Bee-Man said. He boldly
stepped from his corner and approached his love.
oMy name is Bee-Man. | am most pleased to make
your acquaintance.�

Bee-Man took the womanTs profered hand and
kissed it lovingly. He could detect a hint of lilac in his
mouth as he raised his head from the kiss.

The woman tilted her head back and looked down
her nose into Bee-ManTs eyes. She was nearly as tall as
Bee-Man. Unlike many very tall women, this woman
was perfectly formed. Her black robe, although loose
fitting, hid very little from view.

oGood evening Bee-Man,� greeted the woman.
oMy name is Tara Garnet. Charmed, | am.�

oYour beauty dims the sun Tara Garnet. Allow me
to introduce the others. In that corner is Marv. In the
other corner is Fred. Sitting on the floor is FredTs
lovely daughter, Mary.�

oSheTs my ole lady man,� Fred called from his cor-
ner. Both Tara and Bee-Man leveled icy gazes at
FredTs interruption. Fred said no more.

~ooMay | be of service to you Tara Garnet?� Bee-Man
asked turning his attention from Fred.

oYes. | do believe that you can be of service to me,�
said Tara giving Bee-Man a lingering gaze. oTell me
about yourself Bee-Man. Curious, | am.�

o| battle evil in whatever form it takes.TT Bee-Man
stood a little taller. ~~My job, nay my mission, is to
eradicate from the face of the earth all that is evil and
unclean. I will do that which must be done to discour-
age the minions of Satan and destroy the denizens of
Hell.�

oI battle evil in whatever
form it takes ... My job,
nay my mission, Is to
eradicate all that is

evil and unclean.�

oVery impressive Bee-Man,� Tara Garnet intoned.
oWhy are you in this miserable little hut with these
disgusting creatures?� She gestured toward Fred,
Mary, and Marv.

oThese people need my help, that is why I am here.
Evil in the form of illicit drugs has corrupted the minds
of these three fine people. | have myself partook of
the noxious mixtures in the hope that the evil which
distributes such things might become visible to me.�

Tara Garnet rapidly blinked her enormous green
eyes several times and took a small step backward
toward the door.

In the center of the room, Mary was once again
busily loading the bong. She offered the dope filled
device to Bee-Man. He hesitated for a couple of min-
utes. He was unsure of his own motives. Earlier in the
night he hadnTt known what he was doing, but now he
knew what was in the bong. He could smoke the
marijuana and deliberately break the law or he could
refuse to smoke and appear to be a liar to Tara.

69

Mary solved the problem for Bee-Man. She got
tired of holding the bong so she dropped it. Glass,
dope, and water spread themselves out on the dirt
floor.

oShit.� cursed Mary. oFred, get another bong man.�

Fred was still drooling at Tara Garnet. The mudhole
he had created before him was growing visably larger.
Still, Fred did not react to MaryTs order.

Marv shook his head vigorously from side to side
and regained control of his legs. He hurried over to
FredTs corner, stepped around FredTs mudhole and
took one of the fancy glass bongs to Mary and without
speaking stared reverently upward at Tara Garnet.

oBefore you load that bong,� Tara said to Mary, otry
some af this hash. A friend of mine gave it to me for
delivery to Fred.� Tara tossed a small plastic bag across
the room to Mary.

oOh wow. Thanks man,� Mary said. ~I thought Fred
was bullshitting me about swapping my quaaludes for
some hash.�

oHappy, | am, that your domestic squabbles are at
an end,� sarcastically hissed Tara. Leaving you people |
am. Accompany me Bee-Man, please?�

oIndeed. How can | refuse fair damsel?� said Bee-
Man at his most chivalrous. oNight in the city is not a
safe time for beautiful women to be alone.

oMary, dost thou require the inimitable services of
Bee-Man any longer?� he asked shifting attention to
the center of the room. oI have patiently awaited the
evil wizard and the despicable landlord and neither
has shown. If there is to be no evil happenings in this
house, | shall depart.�

oO.K. man,� said Mary without looking up from her
preparation of the hashish.

oMuch pleasure has resulted from having made
your acquaintance Mary. If ever you have need of the
services | can render " call my name and | will re-
spond.�

oWhatever.�

o| bid you and Fred and Marv " adieu.� Bee-Man
glided to the door and in one might leap joined Tara
Garnet who had all ready gone outside.

Tara Garnet offered her arm to Bee-Man. oA lovely
night, it is. Do you not think so Bee-Man?�T

oCertainly,� Bee-Man replied automatically. In fact,
however, Bee-Man thought the night was just the
opposite. The night was heavily overcast. Only occa-
sional glimpse of the moon only served to remind
Bee-Man of how utterly dark it was.

There was a chill in the air; an irksome chill, not
cold, but very uncomfortable. The effect of the chill
was enhanced by the clamminess of the night air.

Bee-Man suppressed a shiver. If ever there was a
time to be brave, this was it he thought. Surely evil
reigned supreme on nights like this.

Only the glow of Bee-ManTs suit kept the absolute
darkness at bay. Even his specially designed costume
was hard pressed in such a bleak atmosphere.

The couple walked along the dark streets arm in
arm. She strode confidently and with an air of regality
about. She seemed at home among the abandoned,

desolate buildings. She stepped through the rubble
on the streets without noticing it; like she had placed
each shard of glass or each broken brick there herself.

Bee-Man constantly scanned the streets for hints of
danger. His panther-like tread was rendered to a
stumbling gait by the debris in the streets. Evil is an
almost tangible presence.

oWhere are we going?� Bee-Man finally asked.
oSurely you do not live in this area. This part of the
city has been abandoned for years.�

oAbandoned by most. Not by all,T�T said Tara mysteri-
ously.

The taint of evil intensified the further they went.
Nothing moved. There was silence. There were sever-
al cars parked in front of an old building.

Tara led Bee-Man to a side entrance, the front be-
ing blocked by collapsed masonry, and then down
into the cellar. Several people were gathered there
drinking red wine out of goblets. All the people were
nicely dressed. The men were wearing tailored suits
and the women in evening gown and furs.

oAh, Tara,� a very fat, middle-aged man said.
oYou're back early. Who is your very oddly dressed
friend?� Everyone in the room turned to Bee-Man.

oThis,� Tara began, ois Bee-Man.�

Bee-Man scanned the room. It was lighted by sev-
eral battery powered light bulbs. The room was fresh-
ly painted. Plush carpet covered the floor. There were
three small tables, but no chairs.

At the far end of the room there was a stone dais. It
was small, just large enough to hold a human body.

oSatanists.�� Bee-Man shouted. ~Art thou in league
with these servants of Hell Tara Garnet?�

7] am.�

Bee-Man threw her into the fat man. ~Then join
your cohorts wench.� Bee-Man turned, ripped the
door from its hinges and stomped up the steps.

Outside, Bee-Man used a rock to smash open the
trunk of a silver Mercedes. He rummaged around
until he found the tire iron, then headed back toward
the cellar.

Bee-Man entered the cellar brandishing the tire
iron. Everyone backed away from him in obvious, and
understandable fear. He walked over to the dais and
raised the tire iron high above his head. He would like
to have had a sledge hammer, but he could manage
with this. He brought the metal bar down hard.

The dais didnTt break under the force of the blow.
Instead the bar kissed it lightly and bounced up to
Bee-ManTs forehead.

oPlastic,� Bee-Man whispered on his way to the
floor.

When he woke up, he was on the dais, securely
bound. He could tell by the glow that he was still
wearing his uniform. The lights had been turned off so
only by the glow of his suit could he see the naked
Satanists ringing the dais.

oRelease me.� he demanded.

No response.

oRelease me, you putrid minions of Hell.�

His captors began a low, keening chant.

70

The c
Bee-\

its

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ed

y=
h-

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ly.
ue

in

he

he
nd
rd

ire
nd
nd
ike

)W.

to

ely
till

ed

Bee-Man struggled with his bonds, but they held.
The chanting figures began to slowly circle the dais.
Bee-Man had seen enough movies to know that soon
the leader would step forth holding a shiny knife. He
was right.

The knife swung down in a graceful arch toward
Bee-ManTs purple oB.�� Bee-Man shifted all his weight
to the left. The light, plastic dais tilted just enough so
that the knife missed Bee-ManTs breast and instead
easily cut through the ropes holding his right arm. The
knife stuck into the plastic of the dais and became
wedged therein.

The leader of the coven couldnTt remove the knife,
but Bee-Man, even in his awkward position, easily
removed it. He freed himself.

All the Satanists had fled naked into the dark
streets. Bee-Man found their clothes, took all their car
keys and left. He borrowed a copper-colored Mazer-
ati and drove to the business district of the real city.

He felt ashamed. He had been taken in by the forces
of evil. Almost, he had become fodder for the ser-
vants of Hell.

oITm not worthy of this suit,� he moaned to himself.
He started to remove it, but realized that he didnTt
have anything else to wear.

He parked the car on a back street near the police

station so that it would be quickly found. He didnTt
believe in stealing, not even to recognize evil.

He was so shamed by his failure to stop, or even
recognize evil that he was determined not to be seen.
He slunk down dark streets and alleyways on his way
back home. His glowing costume stood out in the
dark, but only served to remind him of his failure as a
hero.

While slinking through an alley he tripped over an
old bum. The bum didnTt notice him, didnTt even
wake up, but the bumTs wine bottle fell from its pa-
perbag. Bee-Man bent over to put the bottle back in
the bag. When he lifted the bag he decided that he
needed it more than the bum did. The bottle was
empty anyway.

Bee-Man poked four holes in the bag and placed it
over his head. The bag would protect the reputation
of super heroing. He reasoned that if he was spotted
by somebody, they would see the costume and think
that it was filled with a real super hero, not a failure.

With his head covered by the paper bag, Doug (he
didnTt think of himself as Bee-Man any longer)
trudged despondently down the street. Since his face
was covered, thus preserving Bee-ManTs reputation,
Doug didnTt feel the need to hide from view. He
decided to take the shortest route home " down
Main Street.

Even though it was four oTclock in the morning and
everything was closed there were still a few people on
Main Street. A few of those wandering around were
lechers and perverts, but most were insomniac cou-
ples gazing in department store window displays.

Doug took little notice of anybody. He just watched
his feet dragging on the sidewalk. He was so intent on
watching his feet that he didnTt notice the end of the
sidewalk. The drop-off as he stepped from the curb
threw him off balance. He stumbled into the street.

Doug caught himself from hitting the street face
first with his powerful right arm. As he was rising from
the street he became aware of the deafening sound of
several nearby sirens. He looked up, moved the bag so
that he could see through the holes, and saw a car
headed straight for him. It was going much faster than
the thirty-five miles per hour speed limit. He could
see at least four police cars behind the station wagon
that was bearing down on him.

Doug was knocked about forty feet. His limp, rag-
doll-like body smashed into the corner drug store.
On impact several bricks were dislodged from the
drug store wall exposing the cheap plywood under-
neath.

The station wagon that had hit Doug smashed
through the Sears display window on the other side of
the street.

The police cars screeched to a halt behind the sta-
tion wagon and dozens of uniformed police officers
poured out. They rushed over to the smashed and
smoking station wagon and started pulling people
out.

An alert newspaper photographer was busily snap-
ping pictures.

7A

After fumbling with his bag, trying to get the holes
back in front, Doug got up and sprinted for home. He
heard a lot of yelling from behind him, but he didnTt
wait around to see what they wanted. He was desper-
ately in need of a bathroom.

Doug ran all the way home, about five miles. He
made it to his bathroom just in time. He would have
hated to spoil the Bee-Man uniform.

He took the suit and the bag off and took a quick
shower. After he finished his shower he called Brew-
ster and Associates Incorporated Accounting Com-
pany to inform them that he was sick and wouldn't
report for work. He was sick. Not only was he de-
pressed over his failure as a hero, but he felt terrible.
His back hurt and he was very tired.

He woke up around six in the afternoon. His hands
were scratched and were stinging, but otherwise he
felt fine. He got out of bed and went to the kitchen to
cook supper.

While his chicken noodle soup was cooking, Doug
went to the front door to get the afternoon paper. He
threw the paper on the coffee table, turned on the
networkTs evening news, poured his soup in a Ronald
McDonald cereal bowl, and sat down in the big green
lounge chair in the living room.

His picture was on the front page of the city news-
paper. He looked the picture over for several minutes
to make sure it was himself and not some impostor.
The quality of the photograph was excellent. The
glowing from the suit had provided the photographer
with plenty of light for a clear shot. Doug knew that
no one else had a suit like his, but the bag over the
head of the subject in the photo proved to him that
the photo was the real thing. The story beneath the
photo of Bee-Man read:

Masked Hero Foils Bank Robbery

A mysterious costumed crime-fighter hurled himself in
front of the get-away vehicle for the largest bank robbery in
this cityTs history. Although the light blue chevrolet station
wagon was going in excess of seventy miles per hour when it
hit him, the colorfully dressed hero appeared to be un-
harmed. The Bee-Man, so named because of the large oB�T
painted on the chest of his costume, left police officers
behind to do the mopping up of the alleged (See Hero p. 2)

Doug saw his accidental capture of the bank rob-
bers as a sign from Heaven. He knew that his attempts
at heroism had been miserable failures. He interpret-
ed the signTs meaning as encouragement from above
to keep on trying.

The next time he donned the guise of Bee-Man,
Doug decided that he had better be more prepared
for what he was likely to encounter. To prepare him-
self he would need a few things. First he would need a
bag that didnTt move around on his head. More im-
portant than that though, he would need to educate
himself on the ways of the world. He would need to
learn about law abiding citizens as well as criminals.

Doug knew that it would take a lot of hard work but
he was ready. He got dressed. Under his bland blue
suit the sun-like colors of Bee-Man began warming
up.

oBeware evildoers,�� Doug whispered to the night
air on his way to the library. IR)

A Song

The lyrics and the music
bear our a blood red sound
They stain the walls with
their crying emotions
A bittersweet voice trembles
lifted in the air
An unseen reminder of
a painful pasr
The words reach out
to drown happiness in
Yesterday's confused ocean

b-

i of forgotten love

o The common lyrics

ve born for an
uncaring audience

n, Qrow

od So many times

n- A special and unique

la feeling created for

J one.

te

ie Tia Danelle Tyler

S.

ut

Je

1§

ht

Reaping

oCome, let us lie down together.
| turn my attention away

for an instant
and when | turn back around

you hold my clothes our fo me.
| am cordially invited to leave.

oCome be with me because | love you.�
Better friends, matters of grear importance
quickly arise
and step before your eyes and mind
to bring more reward than ever | did.
| am a human, | exist.

oCome, be nor so sad, for you have my love.�
In word, indeed, | have this love
which leaves me
dark, cold soul against the black hard world "
until the hear and brilliance of your lust find me.
| am warmed again for a moment.

M.E. Linton

73

Solistice

| hold a cubic pencil cup,

a schooner etched into black oak.
| look deep into the grain and
close my eyes around the sight.

| grip the tiller of the Solstice
as she glides across frothy twelve-foot

seas, her sheerline laughing at the waves.

The sun leaves through a cloud and
returns from grey dolphin backs thar
challenge her bow wake. Schooner and
swimmers merge. Dolphins tire and

dive into deep blue memory.

| follow them to springtime Patuxent;

| see my golden smiling collie

leap upon my bed and cool my
fevered forehead like the

tongue of spray from the Solstice bow.

Seven full Solstice sails race

the clouds across the blue. White

linen hung from wooden poles to

catch the wind. Mom used to tend them
with gator-grinning clips and a

wicker baslxet that smelled like

Christmas trees. | rend them now with
cotton ropes and silvered winches.

The Solstice pitches and |

reach for a handhold. | miss and

pull the halyard to lower the

flag flying over my cop-fatherTs
funeral. | backhand to wipe the

salty stinging drops from my eyes and
scratch my face with an old

pencil cup.

Ricls Gordon

74

Flight

Plane and shadow

Separate in ascent

In the time it takes a hawk to blink.

The moment's like night lightening

Slicing open a landscape to view ...

| am seven

Riding my bike

Under moth-sawed streetlights

(Supposed to be home before darl).
Playing tag with my shadow

That always outruns me and speeds on ahead
... A game I'd never won till now.

If | could see enough of this moment

| think there's the shadow of my placenta
And birds dreaming they're srill dinosaurs.

The cocktail cart clinks down the aisle,
The searbelt sign dings off,

And the horizon obliterates in blue.

| turn to the man beside me to tell him
All abour ... well, you know.

He answers before | speak

By glancing twice at his warch

In the middle of a senrence

In the middle of the New York Times.

Ernest Marshall

The Dogwood

Some days | look out of the window

on the east wall of my bedroom

at the dogwood tree.

If ir is morning

the sun shines through the leaves

and makes abstract yellow patterns

on my purple bedspread

and faded, flowered sheets.

When it storms outside

the branches bounce and heave beneath
the force of the rain

and the wind plasters leaves against my window

where they cling

wetly exposing their veins.

Sometimes, the lights flicker and go out

and the tree rubs soothingly

against my outer bedroom wall

lulling me to sleep.

The next morning

the tree glisrens in its cleanliness

and fresh dogwood blooms

frame the window panes

cover the grey branches

and nearly hide the stump from the broken branch.

The branch thar broke when I,
as a child

tried to climbd into the tree
from my window.

Like the tree,

my shoulder carries a stump

a calcium deposit

where my mother jerked me from the ground
by my broken arm

and the tree sent a shower

of creamy beige petals

down around my scream.

Katharine Kimberly

Farm Memory

Srill

In chaff-scatrered thoughts

My uncle's farm, almost benign
Splashed with smells coming to me
Like bees in my nose

And the white hor lake parh
Strewn with slivers

Of the last Spring rainbow

Srill

Years and ages removed

Im hush-breathed sudden

Struck with world-shattering thunder echoing

And the ugly thing dead dying dead

Ceasing to be what it was before me

The moment the first shor pellet entered

Ceasing to be and becoming instead

A flopping glistening gush of red

On black

Dead dying dead

Like the hog with its red smile

Under its upside-down chin, grinning

My uncle grinning with the dripping Knife in his hand
Now coming up beside me

His old swear in my nose

~Purple grackel, boy. Blackbird.�

Bur | see nothing purple or black

Only red, gushing low in a wasted October cornfield
Under dead skies

Gary R. Bryant

75

Irish Airs
This is the music my ancestors heard

In that other land

An ocean and centuries ago.
Songs without words

Played for good fortune

For harvest, courtship

The completion of rituals.

My modern feet cannot fit

In thar ancient dance.

My fingers cannot play those songs
My ancestorsT gods are not my gods
Nor can their music be

Still, the listening is enough.

It is spring, so

Banish misfortune, Black Irish

Whirl in drunken dance,

Treat life like a song

Faster then, now slow

With rhythm, always with rhythm.
Laugh and shour,

Burn your throat with potatoe whiskey.

Drums and strings

Beat the pulse of your blood
Measure the step of your feet.
This is a time for joy,

Winter is passed

The gods must be pleased.

Al Maginnes

76

New York Seen By Darwin

Tepid sea-air rushes

Between cityscape buildings

Thar rise and fall

In jagged concrete waves.

And | sense the swaying cadence

Of barely conscious metamorphosis "
the sharp shock of living

And feel a glassy wash

From frenetic scenes and sounds

In the surging undertow.

Finches skitter about

IN iguanasT three-railed burrows

And rhythms pound in the foorslap

Of people-masses

While | hear rushing murmurs

Of tidal change drawn inexorbly

By moonmass gravity

Thar leaves squirming murants

Glisrening in new tidal pools

On the shifting asphalt and sreel beaches

Of the new-age Galapagos Islands.

Bill Rapp

On The Beach

Sunday on the beach
In August
The sand was warm and friendly
And we walked through it
While time stopped and leaned on a tree to warch
We're older now, no more childish fantasies
About me being a writer and you being happy

We no linger find peace in each otherTs eyes
Bur we cling together " braced against the wind

Like we did years ago
And the wind still blows, bur colder now
there is NO bond between us
Just something we shared in the past
And holding your hand
The patterns in the sand
Paint pictures of yesterday
The warm summer nights
The blankets and wine
Sharing our first love
In a beautiful timeless time
When no one could disturb us
Or ever change our minds
Nor while we had something
We know we could hold onto

And then the wind blows

And the story written in the sand
Changes with every crashing wave

And we shift with it

Carrying pieces of yesrerday

Bur we're nor the people we once were

It's sad to go downhill
Bur itTs sadder to look back up

David V. Guy

Games By A Pool

A fine net of yellow spores
Float on the pool

Where slick, brown girls

Sid daquiris through straws.

Behind the hotel

IN a parking lot sprinkled
With glass chips,

Black boys from uptown
Play keep-away

With a coke can
Screeching, laughing.

On the other side,

A glinteyed man gallops,
Launches full force into the pool
Disrupting spores, and Girls,

With a splash.

He surfaces smiling where
The girls look back with
Condemnation, then burst
Screeching with laughter,
While a file of yellow spores
Covers the pool.

Kyle S$. Inman

77

BIOGRAPHIES

Writers

Dave Brown is a freshman who tells his relatives heTs majoring
in Compurer Science. Will his first publication give him away?
Dave names and talks to his plants.

Gary Bryant is some kind of student, probably of writing,
because he smokes a pipe. This is his third appearance in the
Rebel.

Jean Marie Chervenak has fled academia.

A. Lynn Eason was in Rick Gordon's freshman orientation group
at Wake Forest. She's a senior who hopes to write her way into
med school.

Cheryl Fisher, the Prose Editor, is trying to make it through her
last semester in the writing program. She is slightly arachniphobic.

Daniel Fuller is a junior painting and welding his way to a BFA.

Rick Gordon is a junior Writing major and the Poetry Editor. Rick
has finally discovered how to get what he wants out of life bur
heTs still gor to find whar he wants.

David Guy has been published in the World's Great Conrempo-
rary Poems. He is a sophomore Philosophy major.

Rebecca Hemby is currently an aspiring student, inspiring artisr,
exhuberant person, ocean oriented, extremely sensitive, and a
weaver of dreams.

Norris Hoggard must be more than an English major living in
Greenville. The real Beeman, perhaps?

Kyle Inman is a senior in the writing program. He used to write
music reviews and features for the Greenville Times. His verse
has appeared in the National Poetry Press in California.

Edith Jeffreys is a Computer Science junior. She sings in a new
wave group call Fasr Hands. She's gor algo-rhythm.

Jeffrey Jones is a freshman who was published in Rose High's
Insights. He is heavily into Dungeons and Dragons and collects
toy soldiers and comic books.

Katharine Kimberly is a junior studying writing so she can
change the world.

Kay Lamb is a freshman majoring in Social Work. She likes to
travel and take lots of pictures.

Malynn Linton was published in the American Collegiate
Poets Anthology. Swimming and hiking are this junior Writing
m«jorTs favorite diversions.

Al Maginnes may or may not exist. If not, his poems are nor
really here, either.

Ernest Marshall is a Philosophy professor. He is a member of the
Poetry Forum.

Laurilyn McDonald is a freshman who plans fo study illustration
and writing. Laurilyn collects hearts.

Tina McSwain is bicing towards med school. This sophomore
likes TO waterski and ride mororcycles.

Jenny Meador plays the guitar. She's also a freshman Psycholo-
gy major.

Daphne Mintz probably doesnTt know sheTs been published.
James Moye only takes night classes.

Bill Rapp is our esteemed Editor. HeTs done a whole bunch of
stuff a whole bunch of times. HeTs a graduate Econ proctor and
an aspiring capitalist (MBA student).

Lisa Ryan is a Writing major and a member of the Poetry
Forum. She's been in the Rebel before.

Raymond Schmidt enjoys studying labyrinths. He is a senior
Philosophy major.

Doug Smith is a graduate student in the English dept. This is his
publication debut.

Tia Danelle Tyler. is a freshman in Elementary Education. She
was published in Our Twentieth CenturyTs Greatest Poems.
She likes to get aerobically physical.

Eleanor Webber wrote her poem in the Shenandoahs. SheTs a
graduate student in Computers and English. She works at the
Real Crisis Center.

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78

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Debra Wiggins is the Editor of the Ebony Herald. SheTs a junior
writing major who appears despite her Newark origin.

Shannon Williams is a senior Psychology major who plays the
banjo and writes songs.

Theresa Williams is an Art major from Jacksonville.

Suzanne Woolard was published in Opus, her high school
literary magazine. She's a junior in Nursing. Suzanne likes arr.

Artists

John A. Arnold is a junior majoring in Painting and minoring in
Drawing.

Beverly Bass is a senior majoring in painting.

Bette Bates is a graduate printmaking student working in lithog-
raphy.

James Beaman is an art major, too.

Teresa Bice is a senior worlsing toward a BFA in Illustration. She is
minoring in Drawing.

John Bradley is a graduate student in Painting and Drawing.

Greg Conyers is a senior working toward a BFA in Communica-
tion Arts.

Anna Daughtry came to ECU in 1977 to obtain a BFA in
Ceramics. She is Now working on her MFA.

Cindy Efird is a senior working toward a BFA in Communri-
cation Arts.

Michael Ehlbeck is a printmaling instructor at ECU. He likes to
deal with the fanrastic and absurd.

Ray Elmore is an ECU drawing instructor who prefers mixed
media and graphite on paper.

Susan Hall is majoring in Communications Art Illustration.

Molly Everett Emanuel is a senior BFA Painting major who
minors in Drawing.

Gary Freeman is a graduate student in printmaking with a
minor in illustration.

Kris Gunderson is a senior with a double major in Sculpture and
Metal Design.

Chap Gurley is a senior Drama major. He runs the ECU Photo
Lab.

Jim Jacobs is a graduate Painting student.

Lisa Jeffreys is a senior in Printmaking.

Lisa Kenion is a senior majoring in Painting.
Arlene Morgan a graduate student in Ceramics.

Joan Mansfield wants to use the MFA she is working on as an
illustrator Or an instructor.

Debbie Meyer is a senior majoring in Communication Arts and
minoring in Drawing.

Ed Midgett is a graduate student in Printmaking.
Paula Moffitt is a junior majoring in Weaving Design.

Gail Perry is the Art Director. She is a senior in Communication
Arts. She likes to get giddy, bur sheTs been too serious larely.

Kim Doree Read is graduating this year with a BFA in Commu-
nication Arts.

Lisa Redfern is a Painting major.
Ed Reep has enjoyed a long and distinguished career as an
artist. He is an artist in residence at ECU and a Guggenheim

Fellow.

Wayne A. Rogers is an Art Education major who is student
teaching now in Lejeune.

Rochel Roland holds an AA In Photography from Chowan
College. She is worlsing in clay ar ECU. She enjoys creative
phorography.

Julie Winfree is a senior in Communication Arts.

Janine Vassilion is a senior in Graphic Design and Communica-
tion Arts. She is minoring in Painting.

Neal Zimmerman is a senior working toward a BFA in Commu-
nication Arts.

79

Wayne A. Rogers

Judges

THE SHOW

Artist's Awards

PROSE

Bill Hallberg
Richard Hudson
Skip Docherty

POETRY

Dr. Ernest Marshall
Dr. Jim Smith
Claire Pittman

ART

Terry Erickson
Ray Elmore
Kelly Adams

Writers Awards

PROSE

First Place: Ruby's Feather by Theresa Williams

Second Place: The Master Magician by Doug Smith

Third Place: Full Time Hero by Norris Hoggard

Honorable Mention: Commitmenr by Eleanor Webber
Honorable Mention: Good Morning Mr. B by Kyle Inman

POETRY

First Place: The Only Love Poem by Lisa Ryan

Second Place: Drawing By Ronnie C. Grade One by Rebecca
Hemby

Honorable Mention: Sandra by Debra Wiggins

Honorable Mention: The Dogwood by Katharine Kimberly

ATTIC

BEST-IN-SHOW: Immaculate Conception by Kris Gunderson

PAINTING

First Place: Rainbow's End by James Beaman
Second Place: Four Seasons by Bevelry J. Bass
Third Place: The Raising of Wart by John A. Arnold

FIBERS

First Place: Ruana by Marcia Garrison
Second Place: Pear! by Paula Moffitt

Third Place: Day's Catch by Eleanor Johnson

DRAWING

First Place: Untitled by Lisa Redfern
Second Place: Untitled by John Bradley
Third Place: Seared Figure by Lisa Kenion

GRAPHICS " ILLUSTRATION

First Place: The Sohinx Morh Is Often Mistaken For A Hummer
by Joan L. Mansfield

Second Place: Skins by Kim Read

Third Place: Dual by Dwight Touchberry

SCULPTURE

First Place: Immaculate Conception by Kris Gunderson
Second Place: Untitled Fragments by Eric Nordgulen
Third Place: Crescent Moon by Linda Lemar

PHOTOGRAPHY

First Place: The Flocls by Chap Gurley
Second Place: Untitled by Jim Banks
Third Place: Untitled by Rochel Roland

CERAMICS

First Place: Untitled by Anna Daughtry
Second Place: Raku Masi by Arlene Morgan
Third Place: Winged Basiser by Sara Gray