[This text is machine generated and may contain errors.]

OBJECTIVE:

Throughout the Rebe/ EDITION 45, you
will be prompted by questions that test
your intuition and perceptive skills.
Upon completion, your answers will be

used to provide a character analysis.

YOU WILL NEED:

YOU WILL FAIL THIS TEST.

TURN PAGE
AND

BEGIN
TEST NOW.

COMPOSITION RED & GREEN Analyze the above composition, paying close

attention to shape, form and color.

WITHOUT LOOKING AT THE PREVIOUS PAGE, RECREATE THE
COMPOSITION AS BEST AS YOUR MEMORY WILL ALLOW.

s NOTHING IS AS IT SEEMS

CA genie shot Miss Tin

HANDWRITING SAMPLE Please rewrite the sentence

in the answer space.

10 reBEL

WRITE THE APPROPRIATE LETTER IN THE

SPACE PROVIDED ON EACH PAGE.

Q / i Which lowercase g looks most similar to your

handwritten sample?

=e {| {7

Q/ 2 : Which lowercase t looks most similar to your

handwritten sample?

Q / 3 " Which uppercase M looks most similar to your

handwritten sample?

Mark your response in the

answer space above.

reBEL $2

E. geris Hat Ptezs Ten
(\ ats Shae Nive ye

A Genie Shot Viss vin

upright

mixed

Q / 4 ; Based on the axis of the letterforms, which type

of slant best characterizes your handwriting?

A.) forward Cc.) upright

B.) backward D.) mixed

TURN TO PAGE [46 FOR AN ANALYSIS.

Mark your response in the j

answer space above.

12 reBEL

Best of Show % METAL DESIGN

» Julie Brooks Price

SATELLITE

artist's MANIFESTO o(My artwork is inspired by an emotional response to an aesthetic
experience, in this case music and art. This constant intrigue allows me
to expand on what life has to offer in terms of beauty and appreciation
of little moments and details that others may find trivial. My response
to techno music and its relationship to the underground music scene,
family and friends have all developed and enveloped unique experiences
within this emotion. They have given me what I Strive to return in my
art, a conversation which never ends but keeps questioning, answering

and continually pushing.�

reBEL 13

detail !

14

reBEL

ond Place t FICTION

Leaving Louisville

oBesides,� he said,
othatTs your job, ainTt
it? I mean, I donTt

care about that.�

® Jennifer McQueen

TAN WATCHED DELILAH RUB HER BELLY IN LITTLE
S circular motions, and he could feel the irritation build inside.

He felt guilty for feeling it, especially under the circum-
stances, but he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake
her. He tried to figure out exaétly when this change had occurred,
he tried to figure it out as the solid double yellow lines on the road
rolled beneath his Dodge Ram, and he guessed he knew why he felt
like he did, but he didnTt like it. When he looked at Delilah, he saw
a girl heTd loved for nearly a year, but now he also saw a girl leading
him to trouble.

oWhat about Michelle?� she said. She looked at him with those
big eyes of hers. Too bad she covered them up with so much makeup
all the time. Stan liked his women natural.

oThat's a fine name,� he said, not turning his head, but he could
see her looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

oWhat does that mean?� She crossed her arms and looked at him
harder. He glanced at her briefly, then looked back at the road.

oWhat do you mean, what does it mean? It means itTs a fine name
for any girl, I reckon.� He flipped on his blinker with a hard flick of
his hand and sped up to pass an rv on the road. oBesides,� he said,

othatTs your job, ainTt it? I mean, I donTt care about that.�

oSure you do,� she said. She never did listen to him. Always had
her mind made up about certain things, and there was no budging
her when she got set on an idea.

oI donTt,� he said. oWhatever you like is fine.� He slowed down
because he saw a cop ahead. No need in adding a ticket to the pile of
troubles on his plate. He pushed the truck back up to 80 when the cop
was out of sight. Delilah hated it when he sped, and he could see her
look of disapproval as she glanced at the rising speedometer needle,
but he didnTt care.

oYou donTt have any suggestions?� She sat up a little in the seat, ad-
justing her seat belt. He noticed that it crushed her right breast flat.

reBEL 15

oNo,� he said. Delilah looked down at her
lap. She picked at a hangnail and ended up
biting at it until Stan said, oStop it, thatTs dis-
gusting.� She was always chewing on her nails
like that, and they stayed ragged and raw.
oT like Robert,� she said after a pause. She
still picked at her nail, but she didnTt bite at it.
Stan missed the silence; he wished she would
just shut up. He reached up and unbuttoned
the top three buttons of his plaid shirt. It was
hot as hell in his truck, and he hated those
button-up shirts with collars. Always choked In all his 32 years he
him, but Delilah had insisted that morning. :
oWhat about Robert?� she said. She rolled her hadn C felt SO good as he
sleeves up a little, and her skirt was pulled ,
up to her thighs. Stan watched her dress ride did when she looked at

further up as she moved around in the seat.

oMy fatherTs name was Robert.� him like that.
oSo you like it?�
NO,�

They had been on the road an hour. The city streets and wo-
ven interstate ramps of Louisville had given way to vast stretches
of lonesome highway, endless miles of old barns and wheat and
other vegetables Stan didnTt recognize. He wasnTt from Louisville.
HeTd lived in St. Louis up until a year ago. Then heTd been offered
a job in Louisville doing mason work for a new bank. He liked the
money, so a few months later he found himself in Louisville, and a
month after that he met Delilah at The Slugger, a downtown bar. She
was 19 at the time, though over the summer sheTd turned 20, which
somehow made him feel better about things, and he liked the way
she looked at him, like he could do anything. Like he knew every-
thing. In all his 32 years he hadnTt felt so good as he did when she
looked at him like that.

Delilah was a senior at ut getting her Ba
in art. She was a fine painter, and sheTd even
painted him a few times. She'd told him
when they first hooked up that she wanted
to move someplace big and sell her art or
maybe get a higher degree and teach art in
a university.

Maybe thatTs what drew Stan to her, that
passion for learning and beauty. Or maybe,
he thought as he checked her out again,

it was those big breasts. She was wearing

16 reBEL

this little dress today, the kind with buttons up the front, and
the top buttons were loose, revealing that beautiful cleavage. He
remembered the sheer will it had taken him the first time they met to
keep his eyes on her eyes and not on those big tits.

oMama cried when I told her we were driving down,� Delilah said.
Stan jerked his eyes back to the road and nodded.

oYeah,� he said, pulling at his collar.

She said I was throwing my life away and that I'd
broken her heart, you know. You remember how I said

my Mama was.�

oYeah.� Stan focused on the dotted lines slipping by. He didnTt
specifically remember, though he thought he recalled her yammer-
ing on and on about how strict her mother was. He didnTt care. He
thought that if he could just watch those lines go past the truck he
could drive on forever without having to talk to Delilah. Or maybe
he could just keep driving without paying attention to the empty
road, just watching those lines whip past the truck, under his wheels.
He'd heard of that thing before, being hypnotized by the road lines.
His Grandma had suffered from that and finally had to stop driving
altogether because she'd just drive on and on past wherever she was
meant to go. Once sheTd even been in a wreck, and thatTs what made
the state finally take away her license.

oBut she cried,� Delilah said again. oShe got me at it, and by the
end of the conversation Mama hung up and my phone was all wet.�
She twisted her ring as she spoke, this cubic zirconium thing sheTd
picked up two days before they left. SheTd said, oIf you wonTt get me
one, I can get one for myself.� Pissed him off, the way she always
rubbed that in. Not like he'd planned things this way. Not like he had
money to get her a ring. HeTd said, oIvTll turn your finger green,� and
it had, but she still wore it.

oYeah,� Stan said, still not looking at her.

oAve you listening?�

Delilah whacked him gently on the arm, but he turned suddenly,
nearly veering the truck off the road. Delilah let out this little yelp.
He grabbed her hand in mid-air and held it tight, though not crushing.
oGoddamn it, donTt hit me again,� he said. oITm listening.� Delilah
nodded and he let go. She rubbed her wrist a little and sniffled.

oDidn't have to grab me,� she said.

oDidn't have to hit me,� he said.

Delilah kept rubbing her wrist, though Stan knew he hadn't
grabbed her that hard, and she said, oMama said we could stay at
their house if we wanted. Said she wanted to meet you.�

oTd rather stay in a hotel, if itTs all the same to you.� Stan passed a
slow-moving Buick, this time without bothering to signal.

oThat's fine, too,� she said. oI only wanted you to know Mama
invited us.� Stan could see her looking out the window, out at the
passing fields. Another reddish barn, the worn-out kind that looked
like no one had used it for years, passed by. Kentucky was full of those
barns, just sitting on the side of the roads all lonesome like.

oYou donTt think ITm throwing my life away, do you?� Delilah said.
Stan could feel her turn back to look at him.

oYou do what you feel is right.�

oBut do you think we're doing the right thing? I mean, not just
me, but you too?�

oITm doing what I feel is right,� he said. oAnd so are you.� His tone
didnTt change much, and he kept his eyes on the road. He wanted to
get lost on this highway, away from Louisville and Delilah and her
Mama waiting for them in Huntsville. He wanted to stop the truck
and run out into the high golden grass and hide.

oYou donTt love me,� Delilah said, and Stan clenched his teeth.
His dentist told him he must grind his teeth in his sleep, the way his
molars were worn down.

oGoddamn it, why do you always have to start on that?�

oWell sometimes I wonder,� she said. Her voice sounded strong,
but sheTd pulled back against the door, cornered. Her dress had
pulled up high on her thighs, revealing creamy white. Stan looked
away. oYou donTt show it much,� she said.

oWhat the hell would you call this?� He waved his hand at the road.

oObligation!� she said. She surprised Stan by yelling, and he
didnTt say anything. She looked down at her lap again, then rubbed
her belly. Stan wanted to grab her arm and make her stop.

oTTm sorry,� she said. oHormones, I guess.�

oItTs fine,� he said, his voice deep and gravelly. He wanted a
cigarette, but Delilah wouldn't let him. By now they were reach-
ing the Kentucky/ Tennessee border and the fields had given way to
rockier terrain and more towns and cities. Normally Stan would drive
through Nashville to get to Alabama, but today heTd decided to avoid
the rush hour traffic and take back roads.

oIt sure is hot,� Delilah said. StanTs A/C was broken, and it was
an unusually warm Oétober. She rolled down her window and the
cool air rushed in, blowing her hair all over. Stan could hardly see her

lou dont love m

reBEL

é,

17

18

reBEL

face with all that dark hair. She fought with it as it whipped around
her face, into her eyes and mouth. Finally she pulled it all back and
tied it up with a hair band she kept twisted around her wrist for just
such an occasion.

oWas it much trouble to get off work?� Delilah pulled a strand of
hair out of her bun and chewed on the end. Stan wanted to say some-
thing about it, but decided against it. He was too tired to argue.

oNot reall oNot really,� he said. oJust gotta make up the work.� That was
a simplified statement; his boss had told him to hurry the hell up
in Alabama or heTd be taking the work out of his ass. No time for a
honeymoon, he reckoned.

oThatTs good.� She still chewed on the hair, and Stan couldnTt look
at her while she did that. oI'd hate to be any trouble.�

oYou aren't any trouble,� he said, though he didnTt sound like he
believed it. And really, he wasnTt sure he did. It wasnTt his idea to get
married, not like this anyway. He could admit heTd thought about it
in the last few months, proposing to Delilah. But in the future, and

because he wanted to. Not like this.

oI suppose I am,� she said. She picked at her nail again, and Stan
wanted to say something about that too, but he didnTt. oBut you're
good to not say so.�

Sometimes she could be so goddamned melodramatic, like every
day of their lives were episodes in that Guiding Light show she
watched all the time. For being such a smart girl, Stan thought some-
times Delilah aéted like she had no sense.

oITm not being good,� he said, teeth clenched again. Like East-
wood, he thought. He wondered, what would Clint do in this situa-
tion? Probably shoot someone. Probably not the best way to handle
things, not these days, anyway.

Another hour passed and then Delilah said, oI gotta pee.� She
had turned on the radio since she couldnTt seem to stand the silence
and Stan had resisted the urge to switch it off. She had been singing
along with the oldies station, and now Only You came on. He hated
those old songs, all about love and angels with simple lyrics not worth
a damn. Give him good old songs by Johnny Cash. Now that was a
singer. But Delilah loved those oldies, could listen to them for hours,
knew every damn song on those stations and sang with every tune.

oYou canTt wait?� He looked at the time on the digital radio. 4:15.

oIv ll be dark soon, and I'd like to get there before it gets too late.�
oT canTt wait,� she said. oYou know how I donTt like to hold it.�

LS

\-

She crossed her arms again, all huffy. Stan did know. She never hesi-
tated to tell him the dangers of oholding it� too long "bladder infec-
tions, kidney problems, or worse"ereétile dysfunction. He never
knew whether to believe her or not; she had a tendency to exag-
gerate at times.

oFine,� he said. He breathed out heavy. oYou'll have to wait till we
get to a gas station or something.�

oWell hurry up,� she said, squirming in the seat. He thought she
acted just like a child, all fidgety.

oIT canTt make a gas station just appear,� he said, his tone rais-
ing a notch.

oDonTt get all mad at me,� she said. oJust cause you're in a bad
mood doesnTt mean you should take it out on me. I canTt help it ITve
got to pee. You know how it is with women in my situation. We have
to urinate more frequently.�

oT know that, but itTs only been two months.�

oTt doesnTt matter,� she said. oI still have to pee.�

oFine, thereTs a station in three miles, if you can wait.� They passed
a sign indicating the food and gas locations. oIt'll just take a minute.�

oGood,� she said. oAnd ITm hungry.�

Stan flipped on his blinker when the exit appeared. Delilah kept
squirming, and when she saw the ramp she said, oThank God. I was
about to wet the seat.�

oBetter not,� Stan said, but Delilah rolled her eyes at him. He saw
that, though she didnTt know it. She was always doing things like that,
when she thought he didnTt see, but usually he did. Pissed him off,
her thinking she was better than him somehow, pulling something
over on him.

He rolled into the Shell station and parked right in front of the
electric sliding doors. Delilah nearly leaped from the truck, even be-
fore Stan was able to turn off the ignition, and she hurried through
the door that jerked open with a whoosh.

oDamn woman,� Stan muttered. He locked the doors and fol-
lowed Delilah inside. She stood outside the ladies room, her arms
crossed and her legs sort of dancing. He always did like her legs, long
with slender ankles. She tapped her fingers on her arm.

oSomeone's in there,� she said to him as he walked down a snack
aisle. He nodded at her like he cared, but he was more interested in
the food. He was pretty hungry, too. He looked over the chip selec-
tion before deciding on Doritos, and he picked up a Milky Way on
his way to the drink coolers.

oGet me something, too,� Delilah said just as the bathroom
door opened. She sighed heavily as a thin woman with a little girl
pushed by, like they'd been making her wait on purpose. Stan

reBEL

19

20

reBEL

said, oWhat do you want?� but by then Delilah had run into the
bathroom. He shrugged.

oGet it your own self,� he said to the cold drinks lined up behind
cool glass doors near the back of the store. He pulled out a Mountain
Dew and let the door close with a suction noise.

He had to wait in line because another man was in front of him
paying for gas. The clerk was some skinny white guy with pimples
and glasses, a classic nerd type, Stan thought. Had to suck working
at some gas station. Couldn't be good for the social life, definitely
bad for the reputation. But Stan admired him for his work ethic. He
had to want to work pretty bad to work at a gas station. He was just
another guy doing what he had to do, and Stan empathized.

oWill that be all, sir?� The man paying for gas left through the
sliding doors, letting a whoosh of warm air blow in to the severely air
conditioned store. Stan stepped up and put his items on the counter.

oSure is,� he said. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket.

o$5.53,� the clerk boy said, and Stan pulled a gio bill from the
worn leather. He had a picture of Delilah in his wallet, and her happy
image smiled back at him from the hazy plastic covering. It was one of
her high school graduation pictures, the professional kind with good
lighting and a garden background. Stan didnTt smile back at her.

oHereTs your change and have a great day,� the clerk said.

oWish I could,� Stan said, stuffing the money in his wallet and the
wallet into his back pocket again.

Stan walked through the sliding doors and back to the truck.
He opened the door and sat down, his legs still hanging out over the
side. He opened the Mountain Dew and took a long pull, then
checked his watch. What was she doing in there, anyway? It'd been
ten minutes, at least.

Then he saw her head emerge from the bathroom and for a split
second he wanted to bolt. To just turn on the truck, hit reverse and
tear out of the parking lot before she could catch him. He wanted
to barrel down the highway back to Louisville, or better, back to
St. Louis or someplace new, different, away from here and away
from Delilah. But even as he thought it he didnTt move.

He just sat there as Delilah came outside and watched him take
another swig from the Mountain Dew bottle. She crossed her arms
again and tapped her fingers.

oYou didnTt get me anything?�

oI didnTt know what you wanted,� he said. She sighed.

oYou know the kinds of things I like,� she said. oYou couldn't just
pick something out?�

oT didnTt want to get the wrong thing,� he said. oI usually do.�

oFine,� she said, uncrossing her arms. He hated that because with
her arms crossed her cleavage pushed up and out of that unbuttoned

n

a ae

"_" i |

top. oDonTt do anything to help me out. I'll do it all myself.� Stan
rolled his eyes and Delilah sighed again. Then she said, oCan I at least
have some money, then?�

He pulled out his wallet and held out a sto bill, but he pulled it
back and said, oDonTt you have your own money?�

oItTs packed,� she said as she grabbed the money, turned and
walked back inside, but he knew her purse was in the back seat and
more than likely money was inside.

Stan pulled his legs inside the truck and started the ignition. He
listened to the engine idle, the dull hum, soothing him. He took
another swallow of Mountain Dew and set the bottle in the cup
holder. The radio was still on with that awful oldies stuff, and he
switched it off. He could at least have a little silence, for now.

He watched DelilahTs head as she perused aisle after aisle, taking
another ten minutes to make a decision. Then she had to wait in line

while some teenagers bought smokes with fake IDs.

reBEL

As he watched her, he realized he hated her a little bit, hated her for
tying him down before he wanted. He hated she had always refused

to take the pill because she said it would make her fat, hated her

because she didnTt let him smoke, hated her because it took her half-

a-fucking-hour to use the bathroom. He hated that sheTd probably

come out with a diet drink and Wow potato chips and then eat half

his Milky Way. And he thought again how easy it would be to just

throw the truck into reverse and drive away.

He could imagine Delilah coming out of the store, her chips and
drink in hand, ready to head on to her MamaTs in Huntsville, to find
the parking lot empty. He could imagine her getting angry at first,
probably crossing her arms and showing off that cleavage. Then he
could see her getting worried, upset, maybe even crying. He smiled a
little, thinking of how he could escape and sheTd never know where
or how to find him. He smiled at that.

But then he waited too long, and DelilahTs head came through the
sliding doors and she hopped into the seat next to him. She placed her
Diet Pepsi between her legs and said, oWhoooee, thatTs cold.�

oPut it in the cup holder,� Stan said, and she did. She pulled
her seat belt around, squishing her breast flat again, and she said,

oAre we ready?�

oYeah,� Stan said, and he pulled out of the station and back onto

the highway.

21

didactic Ain tR, 5, 7, Ol, 18

jocularity B.) 3: 10,46, 16;6; 14, 2

legging c.) 4.9,4,1,3,9,20,3

commend p.)\823 8, 18,4870. 44-7

lemming By JO. te O02 2o. O5

Which word and numerical string are

most similar?

ay

O38 8 0 Ch Se
onnrnrounr &© WD

n

No*«* @daqa

Mark your response in the f

answer space above.

©
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24 reBEL

rd Place SCULPTURE
3

MOVING IN MANY DIRECTIONS
(SAIL #1)

» Christian Benefiel

y
a
=
E
2
Z
=
-

Swirls, 8 8=6\"e

artistTs MANIFESTO o(Most of the process for this piece went not into construction but into
preparing the wood, which all comes from discarded shipping pallets.
This wood, which is usually of high quality, must be dismantled, sanded
and cleaned to reveal the hidden beauty in what would be refuse. When
I Started this piece in particular, I was more concerned with experiment-
ing with direction and dynamics than I was with a final produd. I
merely followed the wood and let the form take its own place.�

reBEL 25

ond place t PRINTMAKING

UNTITLED

el + Andrea Peterson

artist's MANIFESTO oIn printmaking, I like experimenting with a
variety of markmaking that lends itself to a

iF simple design. I usually incorporate figures in
my work, both outside and inside printmaking,
en : ey tn ¢
é to try to convey humanistic emotions in a
re :

somewhat surreal environment.�

26

reBEL

artist's MANIFESTO

artist's MANIFESTO

oTtalian BicycleT was based on a bike that I rented in Feltre, Italy this

Honorable t DRAWING
Mention

ITALIAN BICYCLE

t Nicole Galardo

summer. I broke the bike down into pieces that I thought were interest-
ing and put them back together to form an abstract object that seems

familiar but foreign at the same time. I wanted to focus on line quality,
composition and various media to help the eye flow more easily. Little
lines made by rubber cement help give the piece more contrast and energy.�

grd Place t GRAPHIC DESIGN

HARDBALL TYPE
FOUNDRY

Kevin Richards

oThe foundation for a healthy design process lies in extensive research.
At the onset of any new project, it is vital to understand the history of
all collateral ideas, media and subject matter. In combination with
fresh concepts and new perspectives, this research is the driving force
behind Strong design.�

reBEL 27



STARTING �"�
LINE-UP o>

o1957

ALL STARGAME
DISPLAY FACES VS TEXT FACES





Bain CHECK
fee oe fetta one -

$8.00 F / o3 SOC tenet) iT

2) Rote en oe
oma "T= Yatuine whinge tre fete Cie eto)
0 6 08 Ba int ad trad:

aaa ae bRO ERICK
~ ote shnigase dy goeness Wert) ext

ale Yossie AH te
se & te DISPLAY FACES VS TEXLFACES @ & ®

Swiss 7;

loa Ya anDay,
Black Extended __ sill ¥ 1957 °° perma,
: "

*
meat DISPLAY Faces ys TEXIFACES @ @ &

t* ® OFFICIAL ~SOUVERIR PROGR,

r CRM a ae

1st Place % PHOTOGRAPHY

DEXTER

% Judson Cowan

artistTs MANIFESTO oIn all things that I do, I Strive for a personal
excellence. While others may measure my work
by their own Standards, if I do not take pride
in a piece, then it is not a success. I cannot say
I do not accept outside influence, one would
have to be raised in solitude in order to reject
influences both positive and negative, but I
do aspire to inject a sense of self"a sense of
originality "into everything I do. Injection
in the Stead of rejection.�

30 reBEL

ond in Show t SCULPTURE

+ Phil Proctor

CENTRIFUGE

oThese sculptures are abstractions and interpretations of the way I
understand the universe around me through science as well as human
intuition. My forms are derived from particular scenarios found in our
physical universe, like movement on a rotational axis and the centrip-
etal forces which occur as a result. The size of my work is an element
intended to trigger a subconscious or intuitive thought process and
bring the viewer to a heightened level of awareness about the human

artist's MANIFESTO _ size relative to the rest of our universe.�

@

detail!

32 reBEL

1st Place t PAINTING

THAT WAS THEN
AND THIS IS NOW

» Erika Kymia Nawabi

artist's MANIFESTO o oThat was then and this is nowT belongs to a series I Started working on
about my family and myself. I feel that each of my paintings is like a
diary entry recording how I feel and how I see things in my past,
present and future.

The most prominent event of my past is my fatherTs death in 1996
which is usually the main focus of my work. However, in this particular
piece I am concerned with"lI am obsessed with the idea of my mother
and sister disappearing from life as well.

I think that time and timing can be the most exhausting ideas to
think about in life. I sometimes feel like certain events happened just

yesterday when it really was six years ago, or how you can wake up

one day and all of a sudden be aware of what you've become, and
then realize how that was then and this is now.�

i

AW

b> \
\
d
\

READ,

36

reBEL

grd Place t NON-FICTION

sister Sunset

+ Allison Hoss

TD LIKE TO THINK THAT I'M NOT ATTACHED TO ANYTHING.
I Desire for materials, expectations, and pleasure has brought me

impermanent happiness, and has proven to be the root of all of
my suffering. Although I am aware of this, I still want to capture and
savor feelings and experiences. I eat food very slowly, I sip wine, I take
the program home with me from shows. ITm that person who buys
the picture of myself on the roller coaster with my mouth wide open,
my eyes popping out of my head, spit flying off my face and my hair
blowing in the wind. I take pictures every time I see something new
or intriguing. If I have a camera during a sunset, I take a picture of it.
Each sunset looks more beautiful than the last. Maybe the sunsets are
getting more beautiful " maybe I am just now understanding how to
fully experience beauty. Either way, I have more sunset pictures than
I have time to look at them. The pictures are never as amazing as the
experience, but I take them anyway.

ItTs my way of trying to materialize and capture
y way ying p

something intangible.

I am becoming like my Nonnie, our Italian-American version of
Nana, which is Italian for grandmother. Every time she comes to visit
she has both of her smooth, elegantly wrinkled arms full of photo
albums from incredible places like Germany, Italy, Mexico, and
Hawaii. My sister, Vicki and I usually look at albums as we each sit on
either side of her on the couch at my motherTs house, or at my AuntTs
house, or wherever she happens to be visiting. Hours pass and still
more pictures of Nonnie and Grandpa Bob wearing ridiculous hats in
exotic places. One picture still resonates in my mind. They were sit-
ting at a table on a cruise somewhere in paradise. The teal-green water
glistened in the sunshine as a backdrop. NonnieTs jet-black, wavy hair
was shining in the sun and slightly tossed by the wind. She squinted

ee "_- BO we ee YV er!

t-

her brown eyes. She was wearing a dress with red, orange, and yellow
flowers. The red hibiscus in her hair highlighted the dress. Dresses
like that are designed for tourists like Nonnie, and she wore it well.
Grandpa Bob was wearing a huge sombrero with plastic, pastel Easter
eggs hanging from the entire rim. His smile was just as big as in all
the other pictures in the other albums.

In NonnieTs photo album the setting changes and the hats
change, but the smiles on their faces are constant. They arenTt forced
osay cheese� smiles either. They both look genuinely happy. Those
Pictures are, in a way, an attempt to freeze a moment"to try to
make an experience eternal. I know this because for that same rea-
son I take pidtures. Even though my life keeps going, the picture
femains the same.

The sun may set and the sky may turn black, but in my photos
the orange-pink sky is an eternal moment. One moment (experi-
ence, photo, feeling) stills lives in me vividly as I pay homage to it
in its bamboo picture frame. It is a picture of two shadows hugging
against a sand dune landscape. The experience was about two years
480 " or maybe three in the beginning of autumn. I was back home
in Carteret County visiting from college for the weekend. I had just
begun to become interested in photography. My sister and I drove
around the coastal community for hours capturing moments and
visions. We went to Fort Macon in Atlantic Beach and ran through
the sand dunes all day. It was exhilarating and peaceful. The dunes
Were massive and secluded compared to the sea-level altitude of the
Test of the area. When we entered them, I felt like I was in a different
world"and at home at the same time. In the depth of the dunes,
Nothing but sand mountains exist. We roamed through piles of shells
Scattered by time with sea oats sprouting out on the orange, dry, rug-
8ed terrain. There were dead Christmas trees scattered every where
that had turned rust red from long, hot, summer days. The dunes
are endangered to erosion, so locals reuse their old Christmas trees
to help hold down the sand and proteét it from wind damage. Skel-
~tons of Christmas past lie dead and bare. Wilted branches once il-
luminated by white lights curl up"lacking ornaments. Their trunks,
dry and frail, aching for water. We stood in the sand surrounded by
the carcasses of impermanent symbols for jovial festivity. I began
to think of the Christmas tree and Christ and these dead symbols
that will once again be resurrected in December. Next January fresh
8feen trees will be added to the collection and by this time, they too,
Will be shriveled.

Hot and fine grains slid through my toes. The sky was a solid shade
of what can only be described as baby blue. Clouds were absent, and
I could hear the ocean rumbling and slapping the shore. Within the

Those pictures are, in

a way, an attempt to
freeze a moment"to try
to make an experience
eternal. I know this
because for that same
reason I take pl tures.

Even though my life
keeps going, the picture

remains tie same.

38

reBEL

dunes I could not see it. Vicki and I were in a desert, and the ocean
was merely a mirage. To me, the presence of the ocean was similar to
that of God. It is a force that is there but invisible. I could smell the
sweet sea salt which made my skin feel both soft and sticky. I could
feel the wind being pushed by the ocean as tiny shards of sand blew
across my skin and sea oats swayed. Engulfed in the dunes I could not
see the ocean. As I am engulfed in the material world, I cannot see
God. It reminded me of an anonymous English mystic who wrote The
Cloud of Unknowing. The idea behind it is that God can be loved, but
not thought. We can feel, but not see. Only in darkness there is light.
Only in the dunes can I find the ocean.

Growing up on the beach, ITve spent the majority of my life sit-
ting in front of the constantly moving body of blue water. I have
contemplated it, absorbed it, and stared at it for hours" feeling every
emotion possible.

On this day, from inside the dunes, where I could no longer see the

ocean, I truly felt its presence. Somehow not seeing it heightened

my awareness of it.

Vicki and I continued to explore the jagged, peaked dunes, every-
thing was tan and orange. VickiTs spirit ran free as she lightly skip-
ped around"her long wavy brown hair dancing in the wind. Her
green-blue eyes were accented by the blue sky in contrast to the
bleak dunes. Her smile reminded me of our mother and myself. I felt
so close to her.

We stopped suddenly as we approached an orange monarch but-
terfly which was hanging on a sea oat swaying. The tan sea oat stood
tall and its fragile leaves shimmered in the wind. The butterflyTs wings
were radiant in comparison to the landscape"orange had never
looked so lively. We both got very quiet as I tried to take a picture of
it from a distance. I wanted to get closer, but I did not want to scare
it away. I could tell that Vicki wanted to get closer too. We slowly
moved closer after admiring it from afar. The monarch began to pose
for us, slowly opening its wings, invitingly. I took another picture and
then got even closer.

We got so close to the butterfly; I almost couldnTt believe that it
was real. The intricate black pattern on its wings was truly a work of
art. Experiencing it so closely was also an art. Vicki took a picture of
me standing next to it, and I took one of her. But, that wasnTt enough.
I wanted to get deeper into the experience that we shared with the
butterfly. I held my hand underneath his wings as I guided it on my
palm. I was holding the butterfly as it perched on my index finger.

if Vicki took a picture seconds before he flew away. Bright orange wings

to flapped into the blue sky as it left us in awe.
hie I noticed that the sun was going to set, and I had only one picture
Id left. The rest of my film was in the car. We were deep into the dunes.
ni I realized we would have to run if we wanted to get the film and make
ot it to the top of the highest peak before dark. We started to run up
en dunes and dive back down them on a race against time. I stopped for a
he moment, and so did Vicki. Our shadows stood on the sand below us.
ut We had taken pictures of each other, but we had no pictures of the two
ht. of us together. I put my arm around her and took the last photo of us
in the form of a shadow. To this day, this is my favorite photo"our
sit- shadows serving as proof of our existence in that moment.
ve

ry § It reminds me how it felt to be there, then. I know that ITm the one
on the left only because my arm is held up in the air where I held
the camera up to my eye. My arm is draped around Vicki. I canTt
see our smiles, I can feel them in the shadows projected on the

sand dune. That moment will always be with me. Just as my

ry own shadow is right now.

ip-

ler After that piéture, we started running again and finally made

the it to the car to get more film and water. We raced back into the

ralt dunes" chasing the sunset. Not a second too soon we arrived and
Sat on the top of the highest dune gasping for air as we inhaled big

ute gulps of ocean mist. The sun began to set. From up there we could

od See everything that the land had to offer: inlets, marshes, sand, the

1gs Ocean"and of course the sunset. The fiery orange ball slid behind

ver the ocean. The baby blue sky turned pink, orange, and purple"then

of black. I photographed every minute of it. Sitting high above every-

are thing, our day had come to an end. Stars filled the sky, waves still

wly Crashed on the shore. I wondered where the monarch was in the midst

ose of all of this, and where did our shadows go?

ind

t it as

of

> of

igh.

the

my

ger.

Q / fe The color you are most drawn to is:

TURN TO PAGE 147 FOR AN ANALYSIS.

Mark your response in the t

answer space above.

>

42 reBEL

1st Place t TEXTILE DESIGN

UNTITLED

» Kelly Phillips

artistTs MANIFESTO o(My graduate work has been based on exploring open space and
layering effects using hand-woven and/or hand-dyed fabrics. With this
piece, ~Untitled,T I used fiber-etch, discharge, potato dextrin and procion
dyes on devore satin. The material used is a rayon/silk blend. Devore
is a process in which you burn out the rayon fibers leaving only the silk
behind which gives a transparent look. This allows those ~open spacesT
to see through. Light can pass through each layer to the one behind or
simply allow areas behind each piece to be seen. To get the crackle or

wrinkled look I used potato dextrin which when dried creates a series
of cracks through which thickened dye can seep. Discharge will simply

remove color from dyed areas.�

reBEL 43

ond Place t CERAMICS

TEA SET #1

* Maryann McGrain

artistTs MANIFESTO oI enjoy the formal, social and functional aspects of ceramics, and this tea
set is a good example of these qualities. It brought my friends together in
the creation and firing of it and it will bring others together in its use.
The process of wood-firing ceramic pieces is a combined effort that can
be highly enjoyable. It reminds us that the arts donTt have to be removed
from our everyday lives as much as some people desire them to be. It is
possible to have fun with your art, both during and after its creation.�

44

reBEL

1st Place t METAL DESIGN

LOVE SEAT

+ Adrienne M. Grafton-Kanazawa

artist's MANIFESTO oA love seat is a common piece of furniture ina living room set.
With my interest in creating visual play on words in my metalwork,
this living room item became an inspiration for the ring entitled
~Love Seat.T I layered copper and silver and used hollowform
construction to fabricate ~Love Seat.T�

»

grd Place t PAINTING

CANTT BUY ME LOVE

» Will Jackson

artistTs MANIFESTO

oBeing an artist, you want to create images that are pleasing to the
viewer but also convey a concept or idea that will be lasting. In this
piece, I Started with a simple black and white abstract image and from
there, it grew by adding color and other media. This is a reflection of my
personal experiences with love and the opposite sex, while also trying to
maintain an aesthetically pleasing image. Form, function, movement
and totality are what we try to achieve as artists, and in doing that
we allow the viewer easily into our world. I hope this piece allows

you to do the same.�

grd Place t POETRY

At Harris Hilton

»% Amy Simpson

His garden began beside the porch "
Carefully ereéted beams supported concords
And scuppernongs that dripped from vines.
The best tree frogs were always to be found
In the crevices where wood and wire meshed.

The tops of painted white bricks lined

Dirt footpaths mingled with oyster shells.

Neatly lettered signs on Popsicle sticks
Bore the names artemisia, parsley,
Southernwood, lemon balm, thyme, rosemary,
Basil, fennel, chives, and Bible-leaf"
Whose real name was costmary, Grandpa said.
Placed within the pages of our Bibles

Its balsam-like smell would keep the bugs away.

GrandpaTs fingers softly encouraged growth
As droplets of sweat from his stained t-shirt
Added the weathered old man to the earth.
HeTd sit on an overturned red milk crate
Drinking pony MillerTs through the long day

And gently watering his herb garden.

rit

*

#
5

|

= 9

form

icon +

reBEL 49

Q / 8 ; Which icon is the sum of the equation to the left?

Mark your response in the

answer space above

1st Place t FICTION

Nightshade

* Brandon R. Evans

ARGARET SAT AT HER SCARRED KITCHEN TABLE, SWATTING
flies with a damp dish towel, when someone knocked at
the door. She crushed her cigarette to death in a pea green
ashtray, and without waddling to the door, she yelled, oWho is it?�
oItTs Roger,� a voice called back, oRoger Harrison.�
She reached for a flattened pack of cigarettes, worked one out, and
lit it before returning her attention to the door.
oWhat do you want?� She asked. oWhat do you want?�
oWe talked on the phone a few days ago,� Roger replied.
Margaret eyed the door suspiciously. Cigarette smoke hung in a
Swathe around the light above the table. It was a dim fixture hooded
' multicolored glass.
oThen come in,� she said.
She heard the screen door yawn open, the doorknob twitch, and
Roger stuck his head in. He wore no hat, black suspenders with gold
Clips, and his shirt was severely starched.
oThis will only take a moment,� he said. oThis will only take a
oWell bring your ass in and sit down,� Margaret said, oWhatTs moment,�
"me to me anyway? Just put that damned briefcase on the table and
Start talking.� Roger did so. It was a soft, brown leather briefcase,
Worn at every crease. He put it between himself and Margaret.
oAs you know, Ms. Kelly... ,� Roger started.
oTtTs Mrs. Kelly. Bastard might be dead, but I at least owe him that.
DonTt you think?� Margaret took a final pull off her Slim, and sat up
ftom her folding chair.
oMy apologies,� Roger said.
oYou want a drink?� She walked to the harvest gold refrigerator, oYou want a drink?�
throwing her spent cigarette into the sink as she passed. The fridge
Was blanketed in Polaroids, stuck haphazardly on its door with num-
orand letter magnets. Roger sat eyeing his briefcase.
oThat one there,� Margaret said, pointing to one of the dangling

52 reBEL

oMs. ... Mrs. Kelly, I
want to talk to you
about your son,

David.�

photos, ois my boy, David, on his eighth birthday. It was hot that day.�
She gave Roger a look, which he made his business to avoid. Margaret
opened the freezer, pulled out a corked and label-less bottle, found a
somewhat clean plastic cup on the counter, and filled it right above
the oM� in McDonaldTs, which adorned it. oOr maybe it was his elev-
enth,� she said, before taking a large swallow.

oMs. ... Mrs. Kelly, I want to talk to you about your son, David.�
Roger opened his briefcase reverently. Half a dozen or so colored fold-
ers, some blue, some green, peeked in its opening.

oI know,� Margaret snorted. She put her cup down and leaned
against the kitchen counter. oYou can stop doing that.� A particularly
thick green folder slipped from RogerTs hand, back into the recesses
of the briefcase. oItTs a bit stuffy in here,� Margaret continued. She
walked over to stand behind Roger. oKind of like that shirt. LetTs go
out on the lawn. I need to feed my cat anyway.�

Margaret, not bothering to wait for any kind of reply from the
man who sat at her table, walked to her door, slipped a dingy pair of
periwinkle bedroom slippers onto her feet, and stepped out. She left it
open, but let the screen door close with a snap. oAnd leave that fuck-
ing briefcase,� she called back.

When Roger got up enough nerve, he found Margaret meandet-
ing through her tall grass, which grew up in patches, sucking kisses
through her pursed lips.

oHere, kitty, kitty.�

oWhat's the rush?
HeTs not going
anywhere.�

She looked around to see if Roger followed, then pointed up at an
ancient oak tree, its branches thatched and kindled with age. It was
the only tree in the immense yard. oDamn catTs always hiding. Loves
that tree. Some days, he climbs all the way up it. Never gets stuck
though. Not that I can remember anyway. Damnest thing.� Marga-
ret turns once more to Roger, who is still standing stoically on the
cinder block stoop. oDid you know David always talked about being
a fireman? Of course, I told him that was silly. He was meant to be
either a priest or an astronaut.� Margaret counted the occupations
out on her fingers. oITm his mother; I would know. But he just loved
the color red.�

oMrs. Kelly. Margaret. We really need to get through this. Just
come on inside and we'll sit at the table again, and ITll be in and out
before you know it. Really.�

oWhatTs the rush? HeTs not going anywhere.� She waved him away:

oI suppose not,� Roger said.

Margaret walked to the edge of her yard, right up to the road, and
turned. oCome on out here. Take a look at my land. I donTt think
you've taken it all in yet.�

reBEL 53

vy.� From the elevated stoop, Roger saw Margaret asymmetrically
~et framed in a riot of objeéts. A traffic light, with no life in it, crowned
la her; an aluminum mailbox, on a rusted green pole, rose near her right
ve hip, the one she limped on; a stop sign pockmarked with buckshot
ey nd defaced with a scrawling black oNO� rested at the intersection;
Shards of glass, a spark plug, a limp grocery bag, and an arm from a
da Miniature action figure lie chewed at her feet. Margaret stuck out her
Id- arms to otake it all in,� causing her sitting dress to billow like a sail.
oNot much to look at, I know. But itTs home. And itTs mine,� she
ol Said. Margaret waited at roadside for Roger to join her. When he real-
rly ized sheTd stand there all day if she had to, he did so. oMakes you want
es to cry and yawn at the same time, donTt it?�
he oIs this all your land, Mrs. Kelly?� Roger asked, looking across
g0 the road, away from the house. There was nothing around MargaretTs
Property. Her closest neighbor lived some three miles away.
he ol ainTt facing that way, am I?� She said. oDonTt know who owns
off all that. DonTt care. Hell, ITve been living here so long it might be
it Mine.� She about-faced Roger towards her home. oNope, this is my
ck land.� Out of respeét, he took the time to look.

i S All of the surrounding land, MargaretTs or not, was a deserted and

s lonely place, happily ignored by vacation bound drivers. This land sat
in a place where dogs roamed freely, panting their way across drainage
ditches and weather-blasted parking lots alike. A place where cars

in__-Often lay still and died in front lawns.

as

eS MargaretTs mobile home sat within an island of tall grasses like

ck 4 stick of sagging margarine. The mobile home had been once a soft

ya- Yellow, the color of a honeysuckle filament, but now had the tinge of

he obacco-endowed phlegm. A swing set minus the swings stood like a

ng Slant carpenterTs horse in the backyard, its shadow creeping across the

be lawn. A line of blackbirds sat atop its crossbar, as though they hoped

ns to fly away with the monstrosity. A washing machine sat near it.

ed ; oItTs nice,� Roger said. MargaretTs yard was nothing more thana foot-
Print, crushed into the sea of forest and brambles. oIs that your cat?�

ist oNightshade?� Margaret asked.

ut Nightshade, a great puff of a cat, lay swaddled in the discarded

Washing machine. Roger noticed that it was an infantTs blanket that
ay: Cushioned the feline. The blanket spilled out of the opening of the
Machine, It was torn into tufts in places, but Roger could still make
id uta fire truck print.
nk oOh, thereTs that damned cat,� Margaret said. oI should have

ART Ue PORTS TEP SE hie

known he was in there. Come here, kitty, kitty, kitty.� Nightshade
Perked his head slightly, gave Margaret a bored look, and revealed the
Pink spear of his tongue with a yawn. He wore a small silver bell on a
collar around his neck. Quickly, he resumed his settled state, hiding his
head under his forepaws. Roger thought that must be how David was
lying tight now, curled up on a blue and white pinstripe mattress, be-
hind bars in Robeson County Penitentiary. The thought irritated him.

oHe doesnTt look hungry to me. Suppose heTs been giving hell to
the local sparrows again. Damn cat,� she said.

oHeTs nice,� Roger said.

David raised that cat from when it was kitten. Named it too,�

she said, oI hated that cat. Now heTs all I got since Bonnie Stopped
bringing the kids over.�

oYes. David told me about that. It must be hard on you,� Roger said.

oHumph. I'd feed her to that devil cat if I could. Keeping my
8tandchildren from me. SheTs got a lot of nerve. If David were around,
he'd put a stop to it. That I know.� Margaret turned to Roger, facing
him for the first time. oIs David alright, Mr. Harrison? I just hope
he's alright,� Margaret said, more to herself. oWell, of course heTs
alright,� she finished. oHeTs a survivor.�

oDavid would like to see you, Mrs. Kelly. HeTs requested it.
ThereTs not much time, you know,� Roger said. He made a move back
toward the mobile home, toward his briefcase. Margaret felt it before

�,� even trembled a nerve.

~Tm telling you, leave that damned case alone. We're just talking
here, Why do you want to go and ruin it?� Margaret grumbled. She
Taised a crooked finger at him. oA man just like you came years back,
toting a case just like the one you got. Nothing but trouble. Told
Me RichardTs life insurance was voided. Found alcohol in his blood
Stteam or something. Just came right in, said how do you do? Your
husbandTs dead and you're dead broke. Worst day of my life.�

oTm sorry,� Roger said.

oOh, donTt worry. David was the only good thing that came out of
that wreck. DonTt miss him a bit really. That money could have helped.
Bur,� she sighed, oyou could never keep a Kelly from his booze. You
of all people should know that by now. Poor Richard. I suppose if I

ad to drive a bus all day, I'd take a pull now and again too. Wouldn't
you?� She asked candidly. oLike father, like son I suppose.�

oT realize what you must be going through, Mrs. Kelly...�

oDo you now, Roger,� Margaret said. oThat's interesting. I suppose
I should be grateful.� She spat. Nightshade suddenly came pouncing

56 reBEL
~Oh, I canTt do tha
Mr. Har om. H

out of the washing machine and bounded across the lawn and road.
The bell around his neck jingled. He narrowly missed an oncoming
car, before disappearing into the brush of the adjacent field. Marga-
ret eyed the passing car, which neither slowed nor swerved. A young
man was driving, bobbing his head to unheard music. oDamned cat.
Picked up that habit from David.�

oYou know, Mr. Harrison. I was beautiful once, though I know you
donTt believe it. Slim and trim.� Margaret ran her large hands down
her hips, across the flowered imprint of her sitting dress, ending the
movement with a slap to her buttocks. oNever did have trouble find-
ing men. And I suppose that was my trouble,� she reflected. oA man is
how I ended up here. What do you want anyway, Mr. Harrison?�

Roger should have been relieved by the sudden turn to business.
He wasnTt. oA signature. I only need your signature,� he said, oDavid
would like to see you.�

oOh, I canTt do that, Mr. Harrison. He knows that,� she said. She
took her turn in avoiding RogerTs look.

oHe can only have one family member. He wants you to be there,�
Roger said.

oOne. Why just one?� She asked.

oThatTs the rules, Mrs. Kelly.�

oWell, why doesnTt he ask that damned Bonnie to be there. SheTs
his wife. Or used to be anyway. SheTs the mother of his children. She
should be there,� Margaret debated.

oHe wants you,� Roger said.

oWell, I've needed him these past couple of years. WhereTs he
been? You ask him that.�

oI can leave the form on your table, Mrs. Kelly. You can sign it
when you're ready. But you only have four days. ITll write my number
down so you can call me when you decide.� Roger started to shuffle
back up to the mobile home.

oAnd what they're going to do to him, will it hurt?�

Margaret asked.

oNo. The first injection will anesthetize him. He wonTt feel
anything,� Roger said levelly.

oWhat will happen if I donTt sign? If I donTt go?�

Roger turned to her. oTheyTll let 13 media persons in instead of 12.�

oAnd David? What will he do?� she said.

oDavid canTt do anything, Mrs. Kelly.� Roger began his march
toward the house once again.

When Margaret finally went inside, Roger had left her a note;
neatly printed below his telephone number. It read:

reBEL 57

ad. SODIUM THIOPENTAL CAUSES UNCONSCIOUSNESS.
ng

PANCURONIUM BROMIDE STOPS RESPIRATION.
ga-
ng POTASSIUM CHLORIDE STOPS HEART.
at.

Five days later, Margaret sat in a booth at an all-night breakfast
ou diner. A few pennies lay near an empty coffee cup, and she moved
vn them around the table with her pointer finger. Elvis played quietly on
he the intercom. She looked at her watch. 8:15.

id- oWould you like me to refill your coffee, maTam?� A waitress asked.
is She wasnTt chewing gum.

oNo, thank you,� Margaret replied. oITm fine.�

SS. The store bell jingled from the doorjamb as someone entered. It

id was Roger. He approached Margaret from behind.
oMrs. Kelly. Sorry ITm late,� he said.
he oBetter late then never,� she said, staring into her coffee cup. She
had lined the pennies at the edge of the table, which Roger disrupted
ey With his briefcase.
oHave you ordered already?� Roger asked.
oI didnTt come here to eat.� Margaret said.
The waitress was now hovering over the table. Roger put his menu
e's down and shook his head. oITll just have a water.�
he Margaret lit a cigarette with a turquoise and pewter encased
lighter. She let it fall to the table. oGot that from an Indian,� she said.
Traded him my motherTs false teeth. No shit.� She let the smoke
he trickle out of her nose.
oTm sorry?� Roger asked.
it oI was a Girl Scout and we were collecting goods for a local tribe
er of Shawnees. Blankets, clothes, canned food. That kind of thing.�
He Margaret said.
oAnd your motherTs teeth?� Roger prodded.
oWell, I overheard one them Indians say something about this old
Man, his grandfather I think. Said he couldn't eat anything because
his gums were so bad off. So I asked my mother if sheTd donate her
teeth.� Roger waited with raised eyebrows. Margaret huffed more
Smoke. oOf course, she said no, so I stole them. I never did find out
if they fit or not. My mother had a big mouth.� Margaret stood the
Cigarette lighter up on its end. oAnyway, the guy gave me this lighter
,. Case as a gift. I think his name was Little Turtle or something.�
The waitress came back with RogerTs water and left without asking

ch Margaret for a refill. She was now chewing gum.
i oTTs kind of funny when you think about it,� Margaret continued.
te, ItTs the only thing I have from my childhood. One of the only things

still remember from childhood, and itTs helping me achieve cancer.

58 reBEL

oWhat are you to my
David anyway, Mr.

Harrison?�

oT want you to have this.�

Margaret ground her cigarette out in the disposable, gold tin ash-
tray. oI think that says something about something, but ITm not sure
what.� Roger shuffled a bit in his booth and took a delicate sip from
his ice water. oI have some things to give you,� he finally said. He
unclasped his briefcase, reached past the blue and green folders, and
went straight to the bottom. He came up with a bundle of letters and
a couple of photographs. oDavid wanted you to have these,� he said.

oWhat are you to my David anyway, Mr. Harrison?� Margaret
asked suddenly. Roger placed the items on the table in front of her.
She went back to shuffling the pennies around the table.

oI was his court appointed lawyer,� Roger said.

oTs that all?� Margaret asked.

oYes.� Roger answered, oThatTs all.�

oDavid always had trouble finding friends,� Margaret said.

oThose are letters he sent you,� Roger said, pointing to the bundle,

oAnd thereTs some photographs of Ben and John. He thought you
might want them since Bonnie stopped bringing the children by.�

Margaret grabbed the bundle, right around its thick, red rubber
band. oThese are all letters he sent me?� She asked.

oYes. But you donTt have a mailbox and you stopped paying to
keep your Po box. They never reached you, so they got sent back to
him,� Roger said.

oBut he wrote so many,� Margaret said.

oT suppose it helped him, regardless of whether you got them or not.�

Margaret looked up at Roger. She looked as though she was about
to weep. oWell I got them now,� she said, stifling her emotion. A
single tear rolled down her face, stopping at the chain of her crucifix
that she wore around her neck. She gathered the bundle and photo-
graphs and placed them into her purse. oThank you,� she said.

oT should be going,� Roger said. oITm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Kelly.�

oWait, I have something for you.� Margaret reached into her
purse and pulled out a small, brown leather collar. A tiny silver bell
hung from it. oI want you to have this.� She extended it to Roger,
who took it.

oWhatTs this?� Roger asked.

oTt was NightshadeTs. I found him on the road this morning, when
I was leaving to come here.�

Roger closed his fist around it. oThank you,� he said.

That evening, Margaret crouched in her backyard, underneath
the swingless swing set, near the washing machine, beside a freshly
dug hole. She wore a black blouse with impossibly large buttons. She

es

lowered a shoebox into the hole and filled it with a sweeping of her

bare feet. Nightshade lay inside the shoebox, wrapped gently in the
infantTs blanket he slept on. Margaret had picked him off the side of
the road earlier and carried him to her yard. Before he was struck,
Nightshade had killed a sparrow. He was in the middle of the road
When the car came. When the grave was finally filled, Margaret
Placed her address rock on the edge of the mound.

Night was falling quickly, and the yard grew cold, the damp grass

chilly, Margaret stood up from a silent prayer, found her flattened
Pack of cigarettes, lit one with her turquoise and pewter lighter, and
Kissed her crucifix. She walked back to her mobile home alone, hum-
Ming Heart Break Hotel as she went.

STE TT RLS TT

s ARE YOU A SHEEP?

You conform:

always

never

You are easily tricked

You are completely oblivious to the world around you

no

yes

Your thoughts and decisions are always influenced by the actions of others

no

yes

You have no control over your emotions.

false

true

You form opinions based on what is popular

no

yes

Someone could readily take advantage of you without your knowledge

Mark your response in the

answer space above.

detail!

artistTs MANIFESTO



June 26, 1934. E. J. WITCHGER 1,964,260

"ig. 1 is a perspective viev o e ti.pe oe
~ the Lia~ enstion, the ccver of the sasing being HL
saoyed ac ~he ~ave pertiy ext: iced. _

oIn my work, I want to make people ask questions. A lot of times I like










3rd in Show t ILLUSTRATION

IN TH e G E N ES * Robert Witchger

~APE MEASURE
Filed Feb. 19, 1932

6

*

i



Zi
Za
a)

£ i

ah

�"�=

val

to frustrate people by not giving out the answers. But since you've read
past the firs sentence, here you go: This piece (executed in pencil, acrylic,
watercolor, and xerox transfer) is a portrait of my great grandfather
Eugene Witchger, an inventor, who holds the patent for the tape measure.�

Joan 26. 1934.

E. J WIcHGeR 1,964,200
APl KEASUAZ
Filed Feb. 49, 1932

"a. 1 & & pers; ects ve wv
tm the Ly evdon, the o«
rersoved @a ~he ane pa rti-

64 reBEL

Honorable % PHOTOGRAPHY
Mention

TOYS

* Jonathan Cain

artistTs MANIFESTO oCropping in closer to the dolls and playthings
seems to give them more Stature and importance.
The nostalgia of mid-century toys also lends
itself to making them more Statuesque.�

reBEL 65

ond Place t METAL DESIGN

| AM WASTING MINE

% Erika Kymia Nawabi

artist's MANIFESTO oThis piece is a self-portrait dealing with the idea of not being good
enough; being a ~bad eggT. I feel that I have wasted so much of my time
worrying about measuring up in so many ways that I also find myself
obsessing over the goal of just doing it all differently tomorrow.�

ond Place * GRAPHIC DESIGN

» Brantley Barefoot

artist's MANIFESTO oJ was given the assignment to compose an
alphabet book with an appropriate theme.
I felt I could use sign language to break away
from type while ill supporting the letters of
the alphabet. Using bold color combined with
the strong form of hands, I ~felt I could com-

municate the vibrant nature of sign language.�

reBEL

Cover

MAC@minag finge

While Pointing index, to make "P".
\J

F and thump together

Spread

:
r
is
g

MEM UR STIR apnoea streamer

artistTs MANIFESTO

Honorable t ILLUSTRATION
Mention

SPANISH SUMMER

» Joey Ellis

| wouldn't recommend what | d:
ot Eost Carolina University
groduoting with o BA to

RUSH Ration p
C on By
SOMONE tice ow ,
languoges and words. However |, be
thot | om decided to put off oll 4 sem�

until the very end

oThis was a piece I did while I worked for Rolling Stone magazine back in

1984. The article was about REO Speedwagon joining forces with Wham!
to became WhamWagon REO and I decided to draw myself in front of
the TV playing video games with goop squirting out of my ear. I was later
fired from Rolling Stone, due to the fact that my image had nothing to do
with anything and also because I was only five years old.�

>. a ea poe eee

reBEL 69

1st Place t PRINTMAKING

BAD TRIP

* Brian Reed

= artist's MANIFESTO oIf itTs not fun, why do it? If your work is draining, then what keeps

1) you working? Is it because of your profs or because you gotta make
the grade? You do the work because itTs fun, itTs supposed to be. If

= its not, then you should really Stop. This monotype is a tribute to

Fi having fun with your media. Quick and painless. You can use just

about anything to create texture or line with a monotype. Simple
wire tools leave clean marks, mat board squares leave featured swipes.
Throwing mineral spirits "defiantly fun. You always put yourself
into a piece, even with serious pieces. Be sure to keep the element of
fun an important ingredient.�

72 reBEL

ond Place t* PHOTOGRAPHY

CHRISTINATS WORLD

* Jonathan Cain

artistTs MANIFESTO oCWy primary goal was to make a narrative

piece that had a sense of timelessness.�

Honorable % FICTION
Mention

Dawn

» Millie E. Johnson

LOOKED OUT OF THE DINER'S FRONT WINDOW AT THE POOLS OF
[ water that had accumulated in the parking lot. Pushing a chair

under, I pretended to wash a dirty spot on a relatively clean table
so I could draw closer to the window to stare up at the night sky. The
rain had stopped for now, but I could not see the stars because the
cloud cover was so thick. Thirty minutes were left on my 10-hour
shift, and I did not look forward to walking home in the rain.

As I pulled away from the window, I caught a glimpse of my
reflection. My hair was in its usual state of dishevelment, and my
pale bubble-gum pink uniform clung tightly to all of the wrong
places. I was at that awkward point between fat and thin where it
would have looked better to have been either one, but as it was, I
could never get my uniform to lay quite right. It had been three years
since I graduated from high school, but the diner still reminded me
of a smaller version of the school cafeteria, and how I had to sit at the
corner table huddled together with the other outsiders that had less
than ideal bodies and pimply faces trying to pretend that we had
anything in common besides our obvious social dysfunction. I did
Not receive many tips.

The phone rang as I finished my self-evaluation. It startled me and
I jumped, then looked up at Patty with fearful eyes. My heart began
to beat faster, and a lump formed in my throat, making it hard to
breathe or swallow. Patty wiped the black rotary-dial phone that sat
on the counter with a dishrag as she spoke into it.

oYes, Pll tell her. Umm-hmm. Good-bye.�

I felt my feet getting wet. At first I thought that the window was leak-
ing rain, but then I realized that I was holding the dishrag so tightly
in my hands that water was dripping onto my shoes and the floor.

oIt was your mom. Sounds like sheTs been at it again,� was all Patty
Said as she cleaned the phone and the surrounding counter. She did
not even look up at me as she continued with her work. Surely, the

reBEL

73

customary phone call had become part of her nightly ritual even as
taking out the trash or cleaning the grease traps had.









§ My mother was a heavy drinker, and over the past few months it had
gotten worse. She would call an hour or two before my shift ended
almost every night and ask if I would come to her house before I went
home to my apartment. Frankie, my boss, and Patty would tell me
not to go" oDon't give in to her,� they would say, but she would just
keep calling and bothering us until I would give in. I once asked if we
could take the phone off the hook. Frankie had come to the window
between the kitchen and the front counter and said no very firmly.

oThe phone never goes off the hook for any reason. Do you understand
me?� he asked as he pointed a spatula at me. I shrank a few sizes as I
stood there and nodded my head in shock.

oWhatTs his problem?� I had asked Patty as he went back into the
kitchen banging pots and pans around and slamming things together.

Patty motioned me over to the corner near the jukebox. oPretend
you're cleaning that table.� Then she began to whisper. oHave you
ever wondered why you were hired? I mean, I love you honey, but letTs
be honest"the customers donTt like you so well. ItTs not that you're a
bad girl. But you have to lighten up. Smile. Show off your breasts.�

oT donTt have any breasts, Patty.�

oIt donTt matter honey. My breasts ainTt that big either, but that
ainTt the point. You have to walk around like you have the biggest
chest in the world. Flaunt them bad boys.�

oPatty, what does any of this have to do with why Frankie is angry?�

oTt donTt, sweetie. I was just making some observations and sug-
gestions. The reason you were hired, Sugar, is because ten years ago
Frankie's wife left him and took their eleven-year-old daughter with
her. His wife was just tired of living in a coastal town with a man
that didnTt seem to understand that the family income was direétly
affected by whether or not it was tourist season. He went home one
day, and they were gone. He never heard from them again. ThatTs
why he keeps that old ugly rotary-dial phone. It was the phone that
he had when they left. Sugar, it was a pitiful sight when that phone
would ring right after they hit the road. Frankie just kept looking up
hopefully " expecting it to be his little girlTs voice on the other end of
the line. I always answered the phone after the first couple of months.

reBEL 75

Frankie asked me to, but it nearly breaks his heart every time that I
do. Even when my back is to him, I can feel his eyes staring hopefully
at that phone like itTs going to give him some kind of magical answer.
Sophia would be your age now, and from what ITve seen of her pic-
tures, yall have a lot of the same features.�

oT was hired because I look like FrankieTs daughter?�

oYes, Sugar, thatTs what I said.�

I was always very tender and positive when I had dealings with
Frankie after that. He never let it show. He always pretended to be a
big grouch, but I think that the extra attention pleased him.

But lately he had become more and more irritated when my
mother would call. Patty said that he was worried about me, but even
beyond that he never cut my hours even in the off-season; and it was !
unappreciative to keep leaving early. I was sure Frankie had heard the
phone ring, and PattyTs announcement that my mom sounded like
she had been drinking. I was uneasy about what Frankie was going to
say when I asked him if I could leave early again.

I didnTt have to wonder long. Frankie pushed the swinging door
between the kitchen and the front counter open, and the door hit
the wall behind it with a thud. The 250-pound man emerged wiping
a frying pan clean with his dishcloth. A stained white t-shirt clung
tightly to his large belly. There was rage in his eyes.

I cringed as I heard the sound of FrankieTs booming voice: oIf you
leave early one more time, Christina, consider yourself fired!�

I responded to the news in a calm and accepting way. oI under-
stand,� I said to Frankie softly, oand I donTt blame you.�

I could tell that my lack of anger surprised him. He shifted his
weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. His eyes
softened and he licked his lips as though he were about to say some-
thing. Please say something kind. I pleaded inwardly. I havenTt heard
kind words from anyone in a long, long time.

The glare returned to FrankieTs eyes as quickly as it had left, and
he said only, oTell her I said that she needs to go ahead and drink her-

self into the grave if sheTs going to and leave the rest of the world
the hell alone.�

I sighed as I reached for my hoodless dark green windbreaker. I
left my dishrag on the table I had been cleaning. As I opened the door
to leave, I looked over my shoulder. Frankie had already disappeared
into the kitchen, and Patty continued to wipe down tables and chairs
without even looking at me. We had been an odd band of misfits.
My only two friends felt betrayed. I felt small and empty. I thought
of how stupid I was for letting this place mean so much to me. My
only friends were a single middle-aged woman who kept people at a

safe distance despite her friendliness and a man that only loved me

because I looked like his daughter. They were the only things I had in
the world but not anymore. Now, I had nothing.

As I walked, it began to drizzle, and my eyes caught sight of
a billboard that read: oDo you want to be like Jimmy? Be Strong.
Drink Milk.� The sign was black with white lettering, and I suddenly
remembered what my high school art teacher had once said...

oWhite is the reflection of all light while black is the absorption of
all light. They are not... 1 repeat... they are not colors!�

Mr. SalinskiTs voice echoed in my head as I read the sign again.
I considered the word ostrong.� What does that word really mean? |
thought. Is strength a way of handling your emotions, or is it a lack of
emotion? Does being strong mean you have no light? Inseéts danced in
the green glow of lights at the base of the illuminated sign. They all
seemed to be fighting each other to get closer to the light. J wonder
what they are all searching for?

As my motherTs house came into sight, I could make out a silhou-
ette against the blinds. I wished with all my heart at that moment
that as I approached the blue vinyl-sided house that it would be
someone elseTs mother in there and not mine. My knees were weak
and my heartbeat quickened. As my blood began to flow swiftly
through my veins, I looked around to find a moment of reprieve. Not
ten yards away, across the street, stood the all-night drugstore. The
harsh fluorescent lighting looked almost inviting, and I began to walk
towards the entrance.

There was a rush of light, and my tired sensitive eyes began to
water as they adjusted. Near the entrance, a very bored looking sales
clerk talked on the phone as she filed her dark red nails.

I headed towards the card aisle. Yes, I thought bitterly, Dl just send
her a greeting card.

So sorry about your tired, screwed up life.





Love Always,
Your Loyal Daughter.

The rain dripped from my clothes to the floor, causing me to leave
a small trail as I walked. The clerk looked up from her nails long
enough to catch a glimpse of the pools of water I had left behind. She
heaved a monstrous sigh, rolled her eyes, and kept talking. I had no
idea why the water would bother her so much. She did not seem like a
person driven by a good sense of work ethic. I was sure she would not
be mopping it up. The water would dry.

As I continued up the card aisle, the words and colors blurred
together. On the right side of me were boxes of candy wrapped in

red cellophane and decorated with words written in gold lettering.
The severity of the fluorescent lighting added to the artificialness
of everything around me. Suddenly, I felt as though I were living in
a plastic world.

I heard the sound of small footsteps, and I quickly turned to see
who was following me. A tiny young girl stood looking through an
imaginary magnifying glass at the raindrops I had tracked through
the store. She could not have been more than five years old, and she
had medium-brown chestnut skin. The highlights from her skin
seemed to come from an internal source that radiated to the surface.
She was the only thing that looked real in the entire store, and yet,
she was the one thing I felt the need to touch to make sure she was
truly there. She put her imaginary magnifying glass away and with
hands lying perfeétly still by her side, she looked up at me, leaning
over on her tiptoes to ensure that I would hear her. oI have a secret,�
she whispered and then began to smile a sly knowing smile.

oWhat's your secret?� I asked, leaning over resting my hands on
my knees. I couldnTt help but return her smile.

oCharlie is a spy,� she said.

Suspeéting that Charlie was probably as imaginary as the childTs
magnifying glass, I asked, oWhere is Charlie?�

The little girl pointed from the direétion that she had just come
from to the end of the aisle. All I saw were boxes of candy and
greeting cards.

oOh, I see Charlie. He is very tall.�

The girl began to snicker and clapped her two hands over her
mouth as she laughed. oCharlie isnTt tall. Charlie is very short,� and
she began to indicate with her tiny hand how tall Charlie was. Her
hand stopped a few inches beneath her own height.

oWell... yeah. I knew that. I was just seeing if you were listening.
Of course Charlie is short. To be a good spy you need to be close to
the ground so you can see what is happening.�

The girl stood looking at me and smiling. Then she grabbed my
hand and said, oCome on.� I let her lead me to the front doors, and
she pointed to the rain outside. oMy sister said that when it rains
GodTs crying.�

I looked through the glass as I leaned slightly on the door. I
tried to look at anything else, but my eyes kept coming back to my
motherTs house. I felt an immense amount of guilt.

oWhy is God sad?� the little girl continued. She looked up at me
with expectant eyes thinking perhaps that unlike her and Charlie I
was tall and that maybe because of my height I was somehow closer
to GodTs secrets. It was difficult to answer a child who was so sure I
was some kind of magical giant.

ol have a secret,�

oCome on

reBEL

ka d

""

$I donTt know, Sweetie,� | said looking down at her. oMaybe if we

are both very good then God won't cry anymore.� How good must I be?
I thought. I continued to stare across the street at the house that
had held such an empty life for me in my childhood. How much

do you expect, God?

The girl drew me out of my thoughts as she tugged at my sleeve.
oThatTs my Mama,� she said as she pointed to a woman that had just
approached the counter with a magazine, and q-tips. What could
have prompted the necessity of these things during the middle of a school
night? | wondered. It was midnight. The little girl should have been
in bed. I noticed the woman was a little unsteady when she looked up
at the sales clerk, and her eyes seemed unfocused. They were glazed
and bloodshot. I knew from experience that long shifts at the diner,
especially after sleep-deprived nights spent with Mama, put me into
much the same state. I was unsure if the woman was extremely tired
or if she was drunk. I followed the child a few steps towards her
mother. When we were three or four feet away I could smell alcohol. I
could tell she had been a beautiful woman once, but at that moment,

in the fluorescent light with her ill-fitting clothes and her unkempt
appearance, she looked like a flower when it first begins to wilt. I
knew instinétively that she was much younger than she appeared.

I stepped away from the child and stood at the corner of the card
aisle where we had just been. The girl played with things around
the counter as her mother made the purchase. The young oneTs back
had been facing her mother as the woman had turned to leave. A
good mother would have called out to her child, but there was no
need. Instinétively, the girl stopped her play and ran to catch up with
her. I had seen a dog follow his owner in a park once in much the

Same way. I did not realize what I was doing as I followed them out
into the rain.

I saw the woman take the keys from her pocket and lunge at her
car. I wanted to call out to some invisible timekeeper to stop the
Movement of all things. I needed time to think, and everything was
Moving too fast. As I had no car, offering them a ride home was
impossible. I could not drive them home in their own car because I
had no license, and the woman might think I was being too forward
if | were to ask her if I could drive her home in her own car anyway.
Society has rules about that. As all of my possibilities disappeared, I
watched the small, sweet, beautiful child climb into the front seat of
an old gray Buick. Can I walk you home? What? Five miles from here?
! donTt mind walking you home in the rain. Why take a car when we

80

reBEL

can walk? The words tore through my mind,

traveled through my quickly moving blood

and lodged themselves in my middle. I felt

as though someone had punched me hard in
the stomach. The child stuck her head out of the window and smiled
at me, showing two rows of pearly white baby teeth. She hasnTt lost
her innocence yet, I thought. I had this urgent need to grab her out of
the car and run past my motherTs house, up over the bridge and out of
town until we found a place we could call home.

As tears streamed down my face, I offered the only words I knew
to say, oCharlie said for you to buckle-up.�

I could not help but think as they drove away that the glaze across
her motherTs eyes would aét as a wall throughout the childTs life,
keeping her from ever feeling loved and killing all of her dreams. I
knew all too well that there would be optimists with their good-for-
tune-seeking natures and analysts with their well-meant programs
who would say I was wrong in condemning the child"in limiting
her future with my own preconceived ideas about truth and reality.
Sometimes I could not help but wonder if those people were really
interested in helping the world or if they simply didnTt want to believe
that their own good-fortunes in life had not been totally earned, but
at least in part, had been allotted to them by a blind and often unfair
fate. Guilt is a horrible feeling. I knew from experience something
that none of the optimists or analysts knew... somewhere written in
the cosmos was a mathematical formula that would be difficult if not
impossible for the little girl to defy, and I knew that she would need
a strong spirit to even try. It seemed unfair to ask so much of one so
tiny and innocent. Would she one day face a tiny version of herself and
be powerless to change her destiny?

I watched the car until it disappeared, then I turned towards my
motherTs house and slowly began to cross the street. A heaviness came
over me at that moment. I was suddenly very aware of the weight of

my own limbs. Tired in a way that went far
beyond just being sleepy, I climbed the steps
and tried to pull myself to my full height and
steady my churning stomach.

I slowly opened the door and went in. My
mother sat in an old dark brown recliner in
the corner of the living room asleep. A small
lamp was the only source of light and created
an eerie affect against my motherTs sleeping
form"leaving a small portion of her in the
light and the other two thirds in darkness.
She wore a white terry-cloth bathrobe and

reBEL 81

~T could not help but think as they drove away that
the glaze across her motherTs eyes would adt as a wall
throughout the childTs life, keeping her from ever
feeling loved and killing all of her dreams.�

82

reBEL

clutched a nearly empty bottle of vodka close to her chest. She had
long since given up the impracticality of a glass. The door closing
behind me woke her.

oChristina?� she asked, confused.

Ironically, the light from the lamp blinded her and was the very
reason she could not see me.

oChristina?� she repeated.

oYes, Mama, " itTs me,� I said softly.

As I walked towards her, I thought of bending down to kiss her
but the thought of it made me nauseous. There were dark shadows
where her eyes should have been. Her cheeks were sunken and hollow.
From head to foot her body looked like a corpse. I reached down to
brush a few of the salt and peppered ringlets away from her forehead
instead. oCome on, Mama. ItTs time to go to bed.�

How many times have I said these words? 1 thought. How many times
must I relive this night?

I took the vodka bottle from my mother and sat it gently on the
floor beside her chair. Putting my left arm around my motherTs waist,
I scooped her into a standing position. We made the long walk from
her chair to her bed in the next room. Slide, shuffle. Slide, shuffle. By
the time I deposited my mother beneath the covers my left shoulder
had begun to throb.

I left my motherTs bedroom, reentered the living room, and went
to the bathroom down the hall. Grabbing a dark green hand towel, I
started to soak up the droplets of rain that had accumulated on my
face. When I looked up I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I
pulled in my breath so rapidly it caused me to choke on my own saliva.
Trying to regain my composure, | stared into the mirror once more.
There under each eye were those same ghastly circles I had just seen on
my momTs face. Here and there scattered across my reflection "in my
hair and face shape, in my freckles and mouth, were the early traces of
the woman I would become. I released my breath in a long slow hiss
and reached with one finger to gingerly touch the mirror as though
my hand would go right through.

How odd it is, 1 thought in awe, that one can be haunted by their
own face.

I suddenly realized that my existence was being defined along
some linear timeline not unlike my motherTs.

reBEL 83

Girl becomes waitress.

Girl takes care of alcoholic parent.

Girl meets boy.

Girl falls in love and gets pregnant. Boy leaves girl.

Girl gives up hope.

I began to look back into the mirror defiantly. J wonder how good

1am at math, | thought and began to smile. I pulled my face in closer
to the mirror and started to wipe~at the dark circles reflected back at
me. oYou're stronger than that,� I whispered. I turned out the light
and stepped out into the hallway closing the door softly behind me.
I walked towards the same front door that had let me in and out of
that house my entire life leaving behind the unwashed clothes, the
unwashed dishes, the unemptied ashtrays, and the pools of vomit that
had continuously marred my momTs beautiful pale blue carpet. My
mother was going to learn how to take care of herself.

I slammed the door behind me as I stepped out into the brisk night "/ s/ammed the door

air" not in anger... not to wake my sleeping mother but ina sudden "be/ind me as 1
burst of freedom. I felt as though my skin were not big enough to "_Sfepped out into the
Contain all of me"as though the entire world was trapped within " brisk night air-
my body and was trying to burst forth. It had stopped raining and
the world seemed brighter. The smell of the ocean air mingled with
the scent of the small patch of wet grass in my motherTs front yard.
Street lamps shone brightly down showing me things I had never seen
before. I felt as though someone had given me a pair of glasses. The
smell of night calmed my raging storms and soothed my seemingly
endless fears. I walked the remaining four blocks to my apartment
pulling my dark green windbreaker tighter to my chest even as the
night air seemed to hug me. The whole world was a promise.

When I reached my apartment I opened the door and went in. I
did not turn on the light. I no longer needed the light. I moved like
a cat through my dark living room and into the bedroom. Frankie
and Patty would receive a call from me tomorrow. I was determined
Frankie would not have a second daughter causing him to hate a black
rotary-dial phone. Stripping off my wet clothes, I crawled into bed,
and the next morning when I awoke it was to the warmth of the sun
breathing life against my face.

Circle two words in each series that relate most to
each other or are the exact opposite of each other.

traditional, banal, mellifluous. diagnostic, orthod®
incisive, ridicule, irascible, obtuse, hamlet

cryptic, ponder, covert, prompt, avarice

grovel, vex, evoke, artifice, disenchant

agitate, concord, lachrymose, enigma, conundru!
roguish, proficient, clandestine, inept, confound

flock, insurrection, infer, erroneous, conform

What do the following words have in common?

Lstere):4 test control mind

free thought question rebel

Mark your response in the }

answer space above.

Mark your response in the i

answer space above.

86 reBEL

3rd Place t PRINTMAKING

SELF-PORTRAIT » Adrienne Raxter

artist's MANIFESTO oThe creative process of this piece evolved from two previous works, a
large scale self-portrait painting and a semi-blind contour self-portrait
drawing. In the self-portrait painting, I dropped the light source low
under my chin to enhance the effect of ~ghoulT lighting. In the self-
portrait drawing, I first drew a semi-blind contour self-portrait and

Hy! then rendered ten percent. For this piece, I combined both the dramat-

ically low light source and contour lines with selective rendering. The

full-frontal self-portrait emulates a Strong light source with a variety
of line and values.�

reBEL 87

ond Place % NON-FICTION

Hierarchy

+ Brian C. Bost

Y FRIENDS AND I WEREN'T SUBMITTING OURSELVES TO
\ / the clash of overly-dressed college students crammed in

and struggling to get drunk amidst a stage of disgusting
floors and bathrooms housed by the cheap bars located adjacent to
my college and my neighborhood overrun with student housing, not
that night. Greenville, NC has long been known as a party town, and
it was reiterated in the September atmosphere of shouts and honks
anticipating toxicity throughout this particular SaturdayTs late eve-
ning. I drove to the Stop Shop convenient store just between the bars
and the University to pick up some beer for the five of us so we could

head back home to drink, until the bars closed and unleashed the late
night party goers into intently sought-out congregations, which we
would join as well.

I walked across the overly-congested parking lot to the Stop Shop
Convenient store gold mine dodging cars and people, doing all I
could to appear deaf to the familiar nameless beggars lining the store
window sill; nameless except for Gus, who donned a scaled down,
half-rotten guitar with a couple of strings and an extra hole in the
wood, which always hung from his neck by the black strap, always
resting on his back, because he couldnTt really play, ITm almost sure
of it. Passing through the thirty year-old threshold, I accepted the
dirty-yellow hue my skin absorbed from the aged crayon-yellow sign
glowing above the door, a relic from the seventies. There is no room in
this place. How they fit a Wal-Mart into a bricked bedroom with two
cash registers is beyond me, but every inch of this place from floor to
ceiling seems to have something available for purchase; yet squeezing
through the line to the back of the store, I briefly noticed the com-
mon bond between the huddled patrons: beer and cigarettes. Camels,
Budweiser, Marlboros, Michelob, Rolling Rock, Winstons, Coors,
Basics, Southpaw; all ready to be consumed in moments to come.

I quickly decided on a case of Busch and hurried to the back of
the line, which ended at the back of the store, so nobody else would

88 reBEL

add to my wait behind what was already at least a bakerTs dozen. Two
cash registers in a store this small would seem ridiculous during any
daylight hours, but I wished they had a few more clerks as I checked
my watch and fed my impatience. I passed the minutes by staring at
the red-orange tiled floor, odd-shaped tiles dotted with dirty-black
gum throughout. Suddenly, a revelation overwhelmed my personal
space: Suzi Dalon! The stubbly, pale, twenty-something in front of
me holding an old Budweiser box containing six 22-ounce MikeTs
Hard Lemonades and two 40-ounce Colt 45s had a ghostly appear-
ance enhanced by the strings of fluorescent bulbs stretched across the
length of cracked drop-ceiling tiles above. He had noticed the sandy-
blonde woman in front of him wrapped in the arm of her preppy,
stocky boyfriend was someone he knew from years before, and had
waited until the right moment" just when she happened to turn back
and make a blue-eyed affirmation of who she was"to awaken her
memories of him.

§ Unfortunately, this was not a high school reunion and there were

no name tags, so in a split-second attempt to recall his name, she

remembered, oHey, how are you doing?� Suzi, figured the smile and

oITm so happy to see you� tone would feign she remembered his name,
but oHey� didnTt buy it.

Blindsided by the

untargete d shot below
the belt, Hey didnTt
know what or how

to respond.

Hanging his head toward his worn-out leather work boots to
avoid staring at SuziTs buxom breasts, accented by her black and
white striped knit, I followed HeyTs line-of-sight and noticed he had
no laces as he answered oPretty good.�

With nothing to continue the awkward conversation, and know-
ing she still had to commune with this familiar stranger for the rest
of the wait in line, Suzi jumped on the first subjeé that startled to her
attention, sympathetically inquiring, oWhat happened to your eyes?�
as she rubbed her indices along her lower eyelids to indicate exactly
what she recognized was different about him.

Blindsided by the untargeted shot below the belt, Hey didnTt
know what or how to respond. Nothing had happened to his eyes
that he could think of, so he gave a slight laugh at the bad joke he
didnTt get and then, oOh, uh.� It hit him! Something had happened to
his eyes, something that he and his friends had not seen, as one never

notices the sun crossing the sky, or peers growing and aging, until the

moment is compared with a memory.

She did remember him, and forced to reckon with the shadows beneath
his eyes and about his life, he glanced up and gave her the answer she

realized he was about to say, oDrugs.�

She regretted having made him confess, but had no apology, no
consoling words, nothing to say at all.

oAre you still working at Lonestar?� The only thing Hey could
mutter out to ease both of their pain failed.

oNo, ITm teaching now.� She could hardly keep the smile up any
longer, but she held her flawless, tanned cheeks back hoping her
bright white smile might convince Hey that she found no fault in the
direétion his life had turned.

Hey returned a dirty smile before turning away to end what was
going nowhere. Suzi faced her boyfriend and rolled her eyes up with
a silent call of oLetTs get out of here.� Hey finally saw himself from
another personTs viewpoint, from when he had potential, from before
the sun had set, and the two former coworkers had to live out the rest
of the line knowing exaétly what each other was thinking. With her
gold bracelets and necklace shining in the fluorescents, and her high
heels tapping with each step, Suzi and her well-kempt companion
Paid for their lights and ultra-lights and headed out to her new black
Acura; Hey carried his box of beer out of the store and headed some-

where on foot; and I left for home to get drunk and avoid pondering

my flaws that I have yet to see.

at saath

92 reBEL

1st Place * DRAWING

SELF-PORTRAIT

artistTs MANIFESTO

% Will Jardine

oProcess, process, process. The piece began as a vine charcoal line drawing

with spots of a medium-grade charcoal pencil in select areas. After the
initial drawing was completed, and all of the major shapes were blocked
in, rough patches of value were filled in to give myself an idea as to

how to handle further rendering and to establish the planes of the

head. Using a paper towel, the paper was toned and the line drawing
ghosted by diffusing the charcoal image out evenly onto the page"

this is a good method to combat the heavy texture of the Lennon paper.
Using a kneaded and white plastic eraser to pull out lighter values and
more vine charcoal, the image was refined and polished until it was

appropriately resolved.�

1st Place t SCULPTURE

OBJECT AT REST

artistTs MANIFESTO

+ Phil Proctor

~Tt is time to open the eyes of our civilization. We shall no longer be
intellectually confined to the narrow visions of everyday systematic
drudgery. There is a new.movement whose members understand
that we are all part of something bigger, something that reaches far
past the highest wisp of air. We are a part of a universe whose
materials, reactions and compositions are in our grasp of under-
Standing and control. Together we can build a society of people who
are not only able but also willing to adopt the rest of our universe as
our world, our home.�

reBEL

93

94

reBEL

3rd Place % PHOTOGRAPHY

THE 5 SENSES OF
A MR. PAUL W. COENEN

artistTs MANIFESTO

» Joey Ellis

~Tm not sure what to say here, except for the fact that this is a digital
collage using found imagery and photographs of my friend Paul Coenen,
world-famous printmaker. The year was 1912 and I was perusing the
Streets of Paris when I came across a homeless man who drew portraits
of monkeys on the sidewalks with broken Sticks and ketchup. I said,

~Good God man, you're filthy! And where are your pants?T The man
looked at me with a blank Stare and said, ~ITm Paul W. Coenen.T
gave the man a bit of cheese from my pocket, and from that day
forward we were the best of friends.�

ond Place t TEXTILE DESIGN

* Jenny Hatlestad

NATURE SERIES |

artist's MANIFESTO oThe inspiration for my work reflects my fascination with natural forms
and texture. By creating felted sculptures and collage series, I combine
abstratted sections of seeds, pods, rocks, plants and bark. I incorporate
different textile techniques, such as even and uneven dyed fabrics,
felting and hand and machine sewing.�

reBEL 97

Honorable t PRINTMAKING
Mention

DROP SHOT

» Patrick Leger

artist's MANIFESTO oSince woodcuts only have two values, I tried to compose ~Drop ShotT by
alternating between black and white for the foreground, middleground
and background. I also used the repetition of the railing in the fore-
ground and the pictures on the wall in the background to divide the
spaces and to unify the piece as a whole. I used this same idea within
the figure, using pointilism to create a middle value to separate not
only the parts of the figure but the shadows and highlights from other
parts of the picture.�

98

reBEL

nite:

Q7.4s:

Qi iA:

Qhake:

Which of the following is the odd one out?

A.) 45, 90, 70, 32 C2 18, 14, 19, 62

B.) 84, 57, 28, 25 D.) 44, 29, 11, 31

Which of the following is the odd one out?

A.) 22, 46, 81 c;) 40, 13, 18

B.) 55.34, '70 D.) 58, 17, 28

In which of the following is the odd one out?

A.) 84; 78, 92,12 cy TG, 18; 36, 22

B.) 54, 60, 49, 86 D.) 42, 16, 71, 30

Remove the appropriate letters to solve the puzzle

TABHLMPQIRSNKJKOOP
NMUTDESFGCDIDVWEKL
THIHFGEPQBSTOX

Mark your response in the

answer space above.

f

RESULTS

AIRPORT

INSOMNIA

SPARTAN

ENDOWED |

TEQUILA

HUMIDOR

ENCODED

FORFEIT

) ASSUME 9

a IGNORES

LAZIEST

CHOOSE FROM THE OPTIONS ABOVE TO DETERMINE
THE APPROPRIATE RESULT.

OFFICIAL

voobDoo

EMBRYO

REMARK

boy

reBEL

Honorable t POETRY
Mention

t Fred Bowen

oBOY, go rake the yard, I better not see one leaf left. Then when

youre done with that, come and help me in the barn. After we're
done with that, I need you to walk to the store and pick us up some
bread for supper. When you come back, meet me behind the house,
ITmah take a switch and whip your behind for these grades on your
report card I got today. You will study and you won't watch Tv and
you better improve on them. No son of mines is going to end up
like me. You're going to be somebody and better than me, and
better than yourself. Although you may think that I ainTt done the
same, you better improve on these grades or ITm gonna whip your
behind some more. If you need to talk to somebody, if you need
advice, or you need a break, go and talk to your mother, now go

and get that rake.�

101

reBEL 103

1st Place * NON-FICTION

Coffin

% M. Laura Rymer

¢ 4 DONTT HAVE TO GO TO WORK TODAY.� THAT WAS MY FIRST THOUGHT !
I when she tells me. I am a little bit happy. She is hysterical, with
salt and black makeup running on her face, and she wails down
the hallway.
oDonTt leave.�
I have my keys in my hand, on my way to work, and she has
thrown the phone down on her waterbed.
oYour daddy rolled his car on Route 34 last night and he didnTt
make it.�
She is talking about Grandpa. He is her daddy, and not mine. Until
I realize that isnTt what she said. But I am still a little bit happy. Be-

cause I know I am not going to work today.

§ Waiting for Sarah is strange. Waiting, and knowing news that
changes lives. It is being sick. It is lying on the floor, and bleeding

out onto notebook pages through pencil scratch until you hear her

key in the lock. It is aching to scream a warning through the front
door, DonTt open it! 1 donTt scream, so my sister comes in and goes
upstairs, and I sit and wait. After a few minutes, I get drunk on
her sobs and sit autistic on the living room floor.

Mom comes downstairs with more black smears on her face, my

youngest sister trailing by her leg, with scraggly hair. No one wants a

Slurpee. They think I am insane. I drive to 7-11 too fast. The odds of
flipping my car and bleeding to death are very slim.

I am rolling socks into neat little balls, like Mom. Sweaters. Cordu-
roy pants. T-shirts. Precise edges. Slowly crafted piles, that are ever-so-
even and stacked on my bed, next to the yellow duffle bag he got me
last Christmas. What did I get him last Christmas? | canTt remember.

104 reBEL

| picture an old
brown nag che uo ing
on a red DieHard
and Start laughing
hysterically

oThey're all perfectly folded but none of them match,� I say.

oItTs okay,� Mom says.

It sinks in when Mom tells me to load my bags in the car. It
sinks in when I pass a two-car accident involving a smashed up Ford
Explorer on the highway to West Virginia. Then again when I take
a shower at my grandparentsT house that evening, and become para-
lyzed in the bottom of the tub, with the water beating down on my
back and soap in my eyes.

I think of calling his house and leaving a message. It has only
been twelve hours. I could pretend I donTt know yet. The answering
machine would click on in the dark and I would speak to him. Maybe
he would hear before itTs too late.

I obsess over the barn cats. No one fed them today. I worry about
where will they go with no one on the farm. Maybe we should take
them back to the city with us.

What happens on the day you die? | know he locked up the house,
and double-checked to make sure everything was unplugged. I know
he left that house sitting alone on the hill, in the middle of a one hun-
dred and fifty acre plot of autumn woods. I know it was cold. I know
thin, blue smoke came from Dave PaxtonTs hill, across the hollow. I
want to know more.

The truckTs battery sat in the middle of the field. It flew from un-
der the hood when the truck flipped and hit the oak tree. Mom says
the firemen moved it because the horses would eat it and get sick. I
picture an old brown nag chewing on a red DieHard and start laugh-
ing hysterically.

~The telephone becomes a lifeline to the real world, my old life. I
can feel things when I talk on it. The receiver is a plastic portal out of
the dream where I am trapped. My best friend tells me she cancelled
a date for me when I left yesterday. I am disappointed.

Daddy chopped wood while our old retriever mix lazed on the
porch. He wore red and blue flannel shirts. His sturdy arms would
swing high and come down with loud cracks, until he had enough
kindling to please Mom. He would feed her wood stove while she
worked to feed us, cooking spaghetti and dumping Parmesan cheese
over the whole bowl.

Seven-thirty in the morning and I am in a funeral parlor with
my grandparents. And her. The funeral direétor stands in front of us,
grabbing his left forearm, then his right shoulder, in demonstration.
He says that both of DadTs arms were broken when the truck went
through the telephone pole and over the embankment. The funeral
director is heavy-set and about thirty years old, with broad shoulders
that could never dislocate. I am eighteen years old, with my motherTs
thin arms and bad joints. I wonder how I would fare if I smashed my
car into one of the thick cement stoplight supports back home.

My grandfather's birthday is on Halloween and he spends it at the
funeral home, picking out his sonTs coffin. Later that afternoon I find
him hushed and motionless on the plaid couch in the basement, hold-
ing something between his knees. His birthday card from Dad has
come in the mail. The envelope is postmarked the day Dad flipped his
Toyota Four Runner. Now I know more. I know one of his last day
errands. My father has printed in neat, precise letters, oHAPPY BIRTH-
Day. LOVE, skip.� When I was younger, I asked Mom why he only
wrote in all capitals. She said it was because he was a draftsman.

An obituary runs in the Charleston Gazette. I drive around for
three hours and buy out all of the newspaper boxes in town. Both edi-
tions. I rip the display papers from the windows of the cold boxes. I do
the same the next day because a short story runs under the headline:

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105

106 reBEL

oPutnam County man dies in crash. Leaves behind wife and

daughters.� Wife.

oUH here the pillow

that was in the coffin?�

oWe donTt want

it there,�

oThis is really hard

on her.�

I call different lawyers, picked at random from the phone book. I
ask questions that I shouldnTt know how to ask. oHow do we get into
a safety deposit box? What if there is no will in the deposit box at the
bank?� What I am really asking is, oWhat do we do about her?�

Daddy remarried after Mom left him for Washington, DC. But
he spent the last year of his life having papers drawn up for divorce,
and installing security cameras on the farm. He got a po box in the
city, 50 miles away, instead of using the one at the end of the graveled
main road. He covered all the windows of the house with black gar-
bage bags, and replaced the ones she smashed whenever she broke in.
Today I find out the papers were drawn up, but never signed. There is
also no will in the safety deposit box at the bank.

The funeral is crowded. I stand at the coffin with my grandparents
and greet the people who walk by to view the body.

oItTs not him,� Mom says. oItTs just where he lived.� She is squeez-
ing the blood out of my hand while she greets people.

DadTs real wife is standing beside the coffin, too. She has placed
a small, hideous pink pillow with her name on it in the casket next
to DaddyTs head. I watch her pat his arm through the protective net-
ting that drapes over the open lid. She sighs. I know it is contrived
and long to be smoking Marlboros at the dam back home. Instead I
watch Mom introduce her to DaddyTs wailing great-aunt. I go into
the bathroom and vomit. We sit in the second row at my fatherTs fu-
neral because she and her two sons, my stepbrothers, take up the first
row. A lady from Oak Hill Baptist sings Amazing Grace and All in All
because my sisters and I couldnTt decide what songs to play. When she
finishes, we file into the adjacent room while the coffin is closed.

oWhereTs the pillow that was in the coffin?� I ask the funeral direc-
tor. He looks uncomfortable and tells me that she has requested Dad
be buried with it. I turn to face her and stare, until I am sure my voice
will not crack.

oWe donTt want it there,� I say. She says she doesnTt care. I stare at
her some more, because words havenTt been making sense for a couple
of days. She is still talking.

oT loved your dad very much and I want a keepsake there with him.�

oWe donTt want it there.� I keep staring.

Her oldest son steps towards me. oThis is really hard on her. ItTs
really important. Her mother made that pillow just for today.�

I almost punch him in the face. Crack his nose, black his eye, any-
thing to make him shut up. MomTs clear voice rings out over the room,
crisp over the chaos and the panic that threatens to overtake me.

reBEL 107

oYou can remarry,� she says. oThese girls only have one father. They
don't want to think about your Stupid pillow down there for the
rest of their lives.�

I start to question MomTs choice of words, but the pillow is
plucked from the coffin and stays above ground. |
At the cemetery, my grandparents, my sisters and I sit in the chairs
by the casket. But only because we park our compaét cars faster than

she backs up her suv. She seethes behind me when the reverend
shakes our hands, but forgets to greet her. I gloat at her irritated trill
of oITm SkipTs wife.�

I spend the rest of the week with my grandparents. I think about
the pillow. I think about her sonTs black Blazer cutting off my grand- |
parentsT old Buick, to be the first car in the funeral procession. I think
about the farm. I think about Daddy hanging upside down for four
hours in the field, with frost forming on the battered windshield. The |
numbness scribbles out of my stomach and into my notebook.

Traffic and retail work wait for me back home. My boss insists I
vacation for a couple of weeks, but instead I drop out of community
college and pick up overtime. At the office supplies store, I buy a
stocky brown filing cabinet with locking drawers. I scavenge the
house, ravaging every box and closet, collecting loose, crumpled
paper. Cheap, ragged notebooks are stacked in a forlorn pile. When I
dump everything in the filing cabinet, the metal drawers boom. I lock
them and decide to never use the keys again.

Mom said he wasnTt really drunk. She had seen him drive before,
drunker than he was on that night, when they were younger. Besides,
the hospital said he fell asleep, or maybe had a heart attack. He drove
across the oncoming lane, drove on the side of the road for a couple
hundred yards, they said, through the gravel. He had plenty of time
to jerk the truck back on the road, he couldnTt have been that drunk.

No, he must have been asleep, asleep or already dead. The idea worms
around inside me.

There is sitting when someone dies. In the movies, grieving people
sit and stare at the walls of a dark living room and no one speaks.
They train their eyes on the floor. This much is true. Movies also show
people moving on with their lives. Christmases are only wistful and
nostalgic. Scripts have lines of dialogue like oYour Daddy used to love
that� and oI wish your father could be here.� When daughters are left
behind in movies, relatives say lovely things like oYour father is watch-
ing over you.� Movies donTt tell you that the sitting period continues
forever, and that every holiday is exaétly like the one before it. Movies
donTt tell you that Christmas becomes too cheerful. Laughter is exces-

108 /reBEL

sive. A silent chasm stretches between two generations, with no one es :
to fuse the conversations between the old and young. My sisters and I i
sit at the table in the kitchen, while my grandparents sit in the dining d oye
room. But no one strolls though the kitchen to make cracks about my x

hair color. No one weighs the benefits of the latest John Deere trac-

tor in the dining room with my grandpa. Giggling and joking echo

loudly while gifts are opened.

My grandparents even invited The numbness scribbles out of mY
Aunt Ruth and Uncle Bob. stomach and into my notebook:
But I am not fooled. It serves

to cover up the silence coming from the end of the couch, where he is
supposed to be sitting with his ankles crossed.

§ DaddyTs retirement plan totals a quarter of a million dollars. After
the funeral, she tells us she will be giving it to us for our college ed-
ucation. Later my uncle calls with news that he saw her in Dunbar.
He says her new Lexus is bright red with a sunroof.

We go to church for the one-year anniversary of his death. The /
usher hands me a bulletin with lyrics printed for the worship songs
we will sing. One of them is A// in All, the song we played at DaddyTs
funeral exaétly one year ago.

oOnly Jesus can do things like that,� says Mom.

Sometimes I hug my boyfriend after he gets off from work. He
works at a garage. His jacket is hard canvas shell with soft, warm air
that squeezes out when I hug him. Its sleeves wrap around me, and it
smells of cigarette smoke. I forget that the tag says oMerchant's Auto,�
and not oMonsanto,� for a minute.

The red clay mud around the stable, the bridge on the Boy Scout
trail, and the lone mink by the creek bank are worthless to her. She
hated the farm. If my father took a business trip, the owls would call
in the field and she would drive all the way to the city to stay with her
mother. But it is worth something. The entire first year after DadTs
death we fight for an inheritance we deserve. One hundred and fifty
acres of mountain property bought in 1987, with three daughters in

mind. The money from his retirement plan is gone now and she wants
the only thing left.

DaddyTs insurance policy sends me to back to college. I sit next to
a freshman in Sociology class my second semester. He is one of those
people that talk excessively upon meeting someone new. He tells me
a drunk driver killed his sister last year. He speaks about alcohol with

hot hatred. I think of his little sister with bloody pigtails and I won-
der if he knows.

I open the filing cabinet and sit beside it for a while. Then I grab
the stacks of spiral notebooks from its dark drawers. Loose pages slip
out from between them and glide to the carpet of my apartmentTs liv-
ing room. I drop the stack resolutely on my rug and spend two hours
sorting, trashing, and reading. Finally, I open up Microsoft Word on
my laptop. I canTt breathe, so I write. I have just signed a paper her
lawyer sent to me. It will relinquish the farm of my childhood to my
sisters and me, providing we meet certain conditions. Tomorrow |
will sign another paper with a line that asks for my major. I will take
a pen and write

English. Writing concentration.

on the line as fast as I can. The filing cabinet drawers are still dark
when I reach in. They are bloodstained. Unlocking them unearths
broken bones and scarred oak trees. But the filing cabinet has moved
to the middle of my living room, where it serves as a desk for my lap-

top. We respect each other. I promise to remember, and it doesnTt lurk

in the corner whispering anymore.

Do you notice a pattern?

All of the vowels have been removed from the
following phrase. Remaining letters appear in
their original sequence in groups of five. Insert

the missing vowels to complete the message

DNTLL WYRSL FTBCN

Mark your response in the 4

answer space above.

112 reBEL

grd Place t TEXTILE DESIGN

* Megan Greenway

BRINGING HOME THE BACON SERIES

artist's MANIFESTO ooBringing Home the BaconT is about my parentsT dedication to their
professions. The lime green skirt is representative of my mother as a
preschool teacher. The printed images are actual drawings done by
her class of three-year-olds. The burgundy skirt reflects my fatherTs
occupation as a neurological pharmaceutical salesman. The printed
images are of nerve cells and neurons to correspond with his work and
field of Study. These pieces are a tribute to my parents in honor of all

of the hard work they do to support our family.�

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ond Place % DRAWING

% Stephanie Statham

THE OPTIMIST

artist's MANIFESTO oThis piece has two important aspects: on one level, it is about cycles and
the role they play in life. By cycles, I mean the continuous growth, aging,
death and sometimes rebirth brought on by time. The other important
aspect of this drawing is the line work. A lot of my work deals with the
exploration of line and trying to manipulate it in a way that portrays
the maximum amount of information about form while Still retaining

a very expressive quality.�

1st Place t ILLUSTRATION

QUEEN OF BROKEN HEARTS

* Kimberly Bardill

artist's MANIFESTO oI just recently became attached to the idea of creating illustrations that
also reflect my writing. My recent work has included the creation of
a colorful cast of exaggerated figures that in some ways reflects what I
see in myself and in others. This piece in particular is part of a series I
Started for a deck of cards including another queen, a king and a joker.
Overall this piece illustrates the skepticism love causes when love is
returned or completely absent. The ~Queen of Broken HeartsT was also
my inspiration for a short Story, called ~Conveniently Ever After.T�

1st Place %* WOOD DESIGN
WELCOME HOME

% Stephanie Drews

artist's MANIFESTO oThe concept of intertwining homemaking and artmaking in order to
better each part is my goal. The starting point of my work is the home;
the art created for this space functions and conceptually relates to the
home. I Strive for organic shapes that relate to the interior space of the
home and translate into the visual dialogue of gallery space as well.�

115

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artistTs MANIFESTO

1st Place t GRAPHIC DESIGN

DIESEL 8

+ Jamaal Barber

oAs an illustrator, I have an extreme admiration for graphic designers.
To conceive an idea and sit down at a computer for days to make it
happen, is incredible. The whole process of organizing text, choosing
fonts, adding this, shifting that, and communicating to the masses, in
my opinion, is like pulling teeth. I Struggle with it. Yet after you do all
that work, down to the very last detail, you get amazing results. You
can't argue with results.�

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ond Place t PAINTING

ENGINE SYSTEM CYLINDER

t Ryan Davis

artist's MANIFESTO oThe way I see it, people clutter up the good things in this world with a
whole lotta junk. If I can make people want to take some of that junk
home and put it on their walls as art, then maybe I'll help what we

all see out our windows.�

FIND, j

120 reBEL

Honorable % NON-FICTION
Mention

the Snake

» Brian C. Bost

CG . ELL, YOU WANT IT OR NOT?� WAS ALL THE SWEAT-DRENCHED
K | man spit through a cocked grin, holding the snake now
inches from my worried face.

oThank you,� escaped from my wrenching gut as I hid my girlish
desire to run away by grabbing the three-foot black snake taut behind
its head as I learned to do in Scouts. Before today I would have never
expected to feel obligated to graciously accept a living snake from a
stranger's hand, but we got what we were looking for.

Typical June eighty-nine degree humidity took hold of the few of
us that werenTt fortunate to attend the senior week beach-trip rite of
passage immediately following Davie High School graduation, but we

braved the heat on our expedition to find something to do, which is
never easy where ITm from. If you know where Davie County, North
Carolina is, I'd like to know why, and if you donTt know, I assure you
that there is no reason you should; the fifteen-minute-made rural
mixture of rolling farmland and middle-class neighborhoods west
of the Winston-Salem semi-metropolis has no reason to catch the
attention of passers-by, much less stoppers-through. Extra curricular
activities throughout pre-adulthood were concoéted each day by the
imagination of friends sharing boredom and desire to find something
to do in a one-high school county, with none of the basic amenities
that keep kids out of trouble: no Putt-Putt, no movie theatre, no
bowling alley, no mall; just open highways and lots of grass, but back

to the snake...

Ray was a year older than me and in town from his six-foot, six-
inch scholarship to Lewisburg. I had known Ray since I moved to |
Davie in eighth grade. We only lived a short walk from each other
and we became close friends through sharing of goals, religious dis-
cussions, and helping each other grow up. We did what we could to
have fun and I hadnTt seen him for several months, so we were out for
some kind of adventure. He looked like a caricature of Buckwheat
as an NBA star framed against my window: his five-inch afro barely

scrunched-in beneath the roof of my Park Avenue, the blunt smoke

rising thick and weaving through his black Velcro hair, and his arms
hugging his four-hundred dollar Oakley book bag that he bragged
of stealing while away at school that year. We turned left onto
Underpass Road. oMan, what we gonna do,� was his and all Davie
youthTs most common question of the day, of everyday.

~T donTt know.� | hadnTt thought that far, oChat do you want to do?�
As you can probably guess, where ITm from this is the most typical
response to the former question, which I offered with a strained

voice and smoke billowing from my mouth.

We didnTt live far from Winston-Salem, and we occasionally made
the drive, but neither Ray nor I worked at the time. I quit my job
waiting tables a few months earlier so I'd have more time to spend
with my friends before leaving for East Carolina; Ray was hopelessly
lazy when it came to anything other than basketball; so our funds
were limited to allowance our parents gave us, which was minimal.
Winston-Salem always seemed to have a way of stealing our money;
but swimming in the Yadkin at the rope swing in Bermuda Run,
jumping off the trestle down at the Bull Hole in Cooleemee, and
driving up to the Red Room late at night to see the place where a man,
years ago, supposedly chopped-up his family are just a few of the free
benefits of living in DC (as Davie Countians know it).

The blunt smoke waned, and a few more exchanges of no impor-
tance took place before we struck gold: a snake laying in the middle
of the road for our entertainment. Car halted, doors slammed as we
jumped out of A/C and into sweat shirts made so from the sun pun-
ishing 2:00 pM, chasing the serpent toward the shade of some tower-
ing oaks in a well-kempt yard. The yard belonged to a one-story white
brick house, which appeared to be nicely cared for as well, and the
house belonged to the forty-something man who spotted us snooping
in his holly bushes.

oYa'll looking for something,� he cheerfully inquired, dropping
his weed eater and peeling his heavy, soaked t-shirt from his torso.

I knew how dumb I was about to sound, but there was no avoid-
ing me saying oYeah, thereTs a snake in your bush,� but surprisingly
he didnTt bother to ask how we knew that, or why we cared, or what
we wanted to do about it; he did what any country-reared gentleman
would do; he bent down, reached his hand straight into the bush, and
plucked the snake up for display at armTs length.

We made it a country mile up the road before I could quit laughing

122 reBEL

at my arm and how it looked pretty freaky with a snake spiraled
around it from wrist to elbow. I was terrified, but something about
the sheen of the glossy scales, and the tiny white dotted reflections float-
ing deep within the midnight eyes began to hypnotize me, concentrat-
ing on the strangely cold black body flexing, adjusting, squeezing my
tan arm, and becoming comfortable. I had calmed some and glanced
over at Ray who had apparently been laughing throughout my
examination of the specimen. With tears ready to bounce off of the tips
of his eyelashes, Ray asked me what the odd smell was, the odor that
my adrenaline and nervousness had"until mentioned"concealed;
however, from everything I have experienced, no amount of adrenaline
can camouflage the smell of snake piss once you realize it is drain-
ing down your forearm, dripping from your elbow, and collecting in a
fresh yellow pool in the lap of your t-shirt; and that of course is why I
yelled oPull over!�

We were nearly to the Chevron so Ray screeched into the Gas-
martTs lot where kids usually hung-out, when they were in town, but
now it seemed the only person around was a lone brunette pump-
ing gas, who didnTt see me fly out of the passenger door"car still
rolling "to fling the snake across the pavement, probably because it
happened so fast. I noticed the tight blue jeans bent over the trunk
of her teal Firebird"reminiscent of a country music video"only
because the snake slid uncontrollably toward the gas pumps, spinning
three or four times on the trip.

I have no idea what a snake thinks when he travels twenty feet

across rough asphalt and concrete against his will, but I know he

can feel his scales and flesh peeling back and prying off, leaving

behind a trail of broken armor.

The snake came to a rest, stunned and wide open in a quite unnatural
habitat. ThatTs it, end of story; well, it was until about a minute later
when a rumbling, silver Chevron gas tanker pulled in to fill-up the
station. We watched it turn into our lot, we saw its trajectory and
what it was aiming for, and we both anticipated the improbably pos-
sible misfortune of the snake. The serpent must have still been disori-
ented, for the truckTs gigantic, deep-tread tire pressed slowly toward
the snake, camouflaged in the sea of tar, hidden from the driver who
was busy positioning the deafening engine to precise location; and
the snake, like my hand gripping my mouth to hold the excitement in,
did not move as the tire stopped and the engine hushed, giving way to
metal of the door popping and creaking as the driver stepped out of
his cabin and nodded to us on his way to the rear of the truck.

reBEL 123

No snake to be seen, so Ray and I crept around to the engine grill,
bending down to peer beneath the smell of boiling oil and fuel. In
his highest voice, from lips curled out like a megaphone Ray belted,

oDamn boy!� Neither of us could believe the snake had miraculously
been spared by the two inches between him and certain death. oLittle
snake be gettinT lucky!� Little did we know...

Walking to my car from buying a Cheerwine, Ray was leaning on
my trunk, arms crossed, head hung and shaking slowly, with a grin
telling me I'd missed something good. I stepped back to glance under
the truckTs cabin"still unloading fuel"to see the snake was gone.

oWhere'd it go?� I knew Ray couldnTt wait to tell me.

Laughing and pointing to the tire that had so narrowly missed the
snake, he directed my attention to notice the snake had found a safe
haven out of the heat and off of the sun-baked pavement. oWe gotta
wait to see this shit,� was RayTs enthusiastic suggestion.

oMan, thereTs no way.� I figured once the truck started and the en-
gine was rumbling, the snake would surely get the hell off his perch atop
the giant tire, oHeTll move.� Of course we would stick around to see.

Fast-forward fifteen minutes to the blue-collared man withdraw-
ing the elephant trunk hose from the ground and locking it along the
length of the empty tanker, he climbed into his cabin oblivious to the
amount of entertainment he was soon to provide us. Truck rumbling
again, the wheel began to roll forward and, oOh shit!� RayTs and my
voices rang melodically together.

The lower half of the snake had been permanently pressure-
sealed to the pavement in the middle of the Chevron parking
lot, minus the bits and pieces that, ITm sure were trailing on

the out-of-sight tire.

Oh man, was that snake pissed! Hissing, or more like screaming as
audible as it was"a mother with a disgusted look on her face on the
other side of the parking lot heard it clearly, and held her elementary
sonTs hand from running to quench his curiosity"the living whip-
lash machine flailed from side to side, autonomously crashing its skull
into the hard black tar, and it seemed it would never stop. Maybe it
was the pain, or maybe the adrenaline flood caused by losing half
his body and knowing death was imminent caused the neurotic con-
tractions, or maybe he"or now apparent, she "was trying to beat
herself to death due to seeing her eight undeveloped eggs ejected from
and scattered around her body, one coming to rest just feet from me.
I had no idea what the odd, pale-orange, slimy objeéts were, so I went
up to get a closer look at the helpless viétim of our search for fun and

124 reBEL

I saw what looked exactly like wet baby carrots strewn as far as eight
feet from the slender black body; but two lay direétly beside her, one
half-squished along with her inanimate impression.

¢ I made my way back to my car"which Ray had not ventured from,
content to view from the short distance " feeling a bit of regretful
compassion, but still much awe for the events that led to that poor
snakeTs fate. Five whole minutes that snake whipped around in every
position, each thrust hoping the next may peel the feeling from the
pavement and undo it all. At least five minutes we stood watching
people " suits, overalls, t-shirts, jeans "confused and nearly
horrified, but rubbernecking none-the-less to catch a glimpse of
what they had never seen, and might never see again, as the
screaming snake seemed to be as full of life as when we were
chasing him, if not more so.

I hadnTt taken my attention from the snake before I saw what will
never leave my memory, as it leaves me with questions to which I
may never know the answer. The hopeless snake reared her head to
stretch her body completely vertical, and in one swift motion, fully
controlled and planned, as fast and fierce and she might attack her
prey, she folded herself in-half, piercing her fangs direétly into her
own heart, flopping limp to her right, lifeless, dead, and quiet in the
middle of the parking lot once again.

Ray and I looked at each other in disbelief with no need for words,
but in a much quieter, more reverent voice, oOh my God,� was all
that I could say. The station attendant in her pin-stripped shirt and
black shades came from glass doors toward the snake, armed with a
broom and a dustpan, looking in our direétion as if we had been rat-
ted out"probably by that mother with her unruly child"which I
took as our cue to get in the car and leave.

On the ride back to my house we didnTt say much about anything
we had just witnessed. I, for one, was too busy contemplating how the
snake knew exactly where her heart was. If instinét is passed down
from a species repeatedly doing something through generations, and
any snake committing suicide cannot spawn a generation beneath it,
this seems out of the question. Would God approve of euthanasia, and if
so, would he direct a creature in how to accomplish it? 1 never thought it
possible until I witnessed it myself, and it still seems quite unbelievable
that in the heat of nothing to do, a snake committed suicide.

artistTs MANIFESTO

reBEL

3rd place t METAL DESIGN

* Arlissa Hunter Dockery

ANTIQUE FAIRE PENDANT

oThe pendant is sort of reminiscent of a Cinderella-pumpkin fantasy,
and is meant to be playful and fanciful. Its light look is meant to be
complemented by the thin neck wire from which it hangs. Based on
a drawing of split pea pods and organically inspired, it seems appro-
priate that the colors of the enameled focal piece are natural and
overdone. This pendant was modeled after the aged look of jewelry
found in antique Stores and a patina was applied to the silver to
enhance its textural qualities and to give the piece character.�

125

126 reBEL

Oo@ee0
Oeeo

lozeyey |
o000

oeee

e00e Oeeo

e00e

@@0o
0000

oeee
e008

e00e
@00e

@ @ @®
@ @ @
OQ) @ @®

Q f gy. Which circle should replace the question mark?

Mark your response in the 7

answer space above

oO """""""""

reBEL 127

ond place t POETRY

WHEN ROLL EMPTY
FLIP ACCESS DOOR

» Amy Simpson

Overhead, the bulbs sputter,
Flicker, and attempt to stay lit.
Water trickles

From an untended faucet,

And a brown odor
Hangs about the air.
From one of the stalls

A woman is grunting.

I choose the third one from the end "
Squatting to avoid the disease
Mom warned me about,

A steady stream

Of laughter erupts from me.
Even the toilet paper dispenser
Is equipped with a diagram
Instructing users what to do

In case of emergency.

+= ane

i sia 2,
Hehe

see 830

Se ee ee

LP EEO LONE NEL CLEA NE iP



2 iS ets Bi Pi 5 i *

130 reBEL

1st Place * CERAMICS

GEODE SEEDS

Catherine Coulter

artistTs MANIFESTO oI work intuitively, allowing my subconscious to present itself through
the construction of objects. Connections between natural processes and
the development of the human spirit often occur as well as images from
childhood memories of Stories, places and people. Most of my work is
organic in form and working in clay deepens the association between my
concepts and the images they become. ~Geode SeedsT integrates several
themes in my work.�

reBEL 131

grd Place t DRAWING

LEAF STUDY

% William Hooper

artist's MANIFESTO oI began this piece with very loose gesture lines. After the entire page was
covered with gestural lines and shapes, I defined those shapes with value,
using an eraser as a mark-making tool. Lastly, I rendered selected areas
tightly to increase variety in the representation of the leaf shapes. The
point of the work was to explore the process of drawing while creating
a surface rich in value, texture and line.�

132 reBEL

ond Place % SCULPTURE

Michael Cottrell

SOCKET

artist's MANIFESTO o SocketT is one of the latest in a series of pieces, which are based on
abstracted bone Structures. While Steel has the feeling of a fairly rigid
material, I have tried to create a sense of dynamic fluidity of movement

by taking advantage of its natural flexibility as well. Sweeping curves
and lines give the piece an organic quality while retaining a clearly
defined form. I have chosen to make the form as asymmetrical as possible
to enhance the feeling of implied movement, tension and balance, all of
which are the key physical factors by which our skeletal systems function.�

reBEL 133

3rd place t ILLUSTRATION

» Erika Kymia Nawabi

ITTS ALREADY BEEN GOING ON

artistTs MANIFESTO oItTs already been going onT is a piece that I consider part of a series I
have been working on in painting that concentrates on my family.
I think that to some degree almos# everybody is afraid of death, but
for me it became an obsession at a very early age. This phobia grew
ever Stronger after my father passed away and I have just recently
Started to deal with it through my work.�

reBEL 135

1st place t POETRY

Allison Hoss
I do, I did, 1 will again

Wearing your shadow
as a wedding veil

carrying a bouquet
of smiling eyes
my lips reach for you

in an unspoken
ritual of breath

and ceremonial touching

I inhale

your exhale

You touch my senses

I sense your touch

We unite
for better

Kneeled at your altar
I offer myself to you

nude in silken sheets
wrinkled by passion

wet in moisture of your lips
raining into me

filled with light
resurrect my catacomb

roam within me

I drink your soul

from eyelash chalice

This is my body

Take"eat

Do this in remembrance of me

136 reBEL

inside

outside

Honorable t METAL DESIGN
ia} Mention

Kristen Holtvedt

TIME CAPSULE " RECONNECTING

artist's MANIFESTO oCighty-seven years ago my great grandfather emigrated to the US from
Norway, losing touch with the family he left behind. After realizing
there had been no contadt with the distant side of my family for so
many years, I set out to find a connection, to discover who had been
lost and what had become of my Norwegian counterparts. Research led
me to an unexpected connection on a David Bowie web site and to my
cousin Arne Reidar Holtvedt of Oslo, Norway. Our fast friendship and
reconnection inspired this piece. We felt as if we had come full circle,
piecing together the two sides of our familyTs Story that became our own
time capsule across the ocean and across generations.�

reBEL 137



inside

outside

nd place t ILLUSTRATION
2 p

» Grant Sigmon

THE TWO RAVENS

artist's MANIFESTO oCan you tell a scary Story without using blood and gore as crutches? I
think so, which is why I was interested in Staying away from them in
this project. My final composition (I call it the Metallica composition)
combines elements from the previous ones. The wind blows over the
knightTs bones as the wind through a tree and as he screams in sorrow
the ravens scream with delight. I hope these illustrations creep you out
as much as they did my Studio buddies and me.�

USE YOUR PERCEPTIVE SKILLS TO

FILL IN THE GRID.

IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO DO SO, TURN

TO THE FOLLOWING PAGE.

ONCE COMPLETED, TURN TO THE BACK COVER
AND READ ANALYSIS |.

PENCILS
DOWN.

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eo) Cay Coe) ©) 6) ee ae a ee
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[BOO Om OO Oe Se SS SS ee
Be CC Ct) CD) ee CO CO Ce Ce ee ee
ery CC Ce a ea Oo ar ee Cee eee
Mery CC) by Oe CO Oe ee) ee ee
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es Co ee Ce GO Cet) COD Cr ee eee
mss CE Co Oe ee) CO eae ae
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er) Oo Ca oe CG CO Cr eG se eee
Bee CC Ce Oe Co ea CO a ee ae eee eee
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es ees Co 0) ee ae Ge Ce ee ee
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146

reBEL

s GRAPHOLOGY ANALYSIS:

B.

A.

o/ i:

figure-8 g

The completed loop reveals a person who
attempts to exude a higher level of intuition and
humanitarian concern. Most often than not, their
superficial behavior turns away potential friends
and employers.

figure-9 g

When the returning loop is eliminated, it sug-
gests an individual whose intellectual level is
below normal.

figure-3 g¢

This middle ground between figures 8 and 9
illustrate a general unhappiness. It is also quite
difficult for these persons to think either

creatively or logically

QlR2:

t bar even with t base

This formation suggests an inclination to allow
others to lead, no matter what the situation. For
these people, assertiveness is not a strong suit

t bar ahead of the t base

If this occurs, it signifies the person's erratic and
impulsive tendencies. They are often undependable
making them poor friends. Their impatient
personality usually leads them down a road less
traveled, yet almost always results in failure

t bar behind the t base

Laziness is prominent in these individuals. So is
an emotional dependence and lack of intelligence
These people are weak in character and are always
behind their peers

t bar is upward and forward

When the t bar is pointed at an upward angle, it
shows a strong will yet an arrogant, snobbish
personality. They will never realize that
overconfidence is the reason for the lack of

friendship and popularity

oi3:

A.) m with the second point higher

The second point higher formation reveals

an overbearing nature. They tend to have
aggressive outbursts and a pig-headed manner
when dealing with stressful situations

m with the first point higher

This characteristic shows a direct correlation
to oneTs desire for material wealth. These people
are not likely to be humanitarians, and fail to
recognize their lack of quality relationships

Cy

m with the two points equal
The equal nature of the letter formation results
in a quite rigid, stubborn existence. A hermitic

lifestyle is often the result

Q/A4:

forward slant

This angle is a clear indicator of a person too
dependent on the outside world. They feel that
their opinions and feelings are individualistic,
yet usually reflect those of the majority

B.) backward slant

Here, there is a marked level of self-centered-
ness. The leftward slope of the letterforms is
in clear opposition to the rightward angled
paper. The end result is a desire to remain
focused on themselves with no actual progress

in a forward direction

C.) upright slant
The rigid form shows a strong desire to resist
everything within their environment. However,
they never take more than minor steps to
stand out and in the end, will never achieve
more than this

D.) mixture of slants

These people possess dehabilitating
uncertainties regarding their emotions and
place in society. They often think too much

and are unable to arrive at any conclusions

reBEL

s COLOR ANALYSIS:

Q/7:

Red is most often associated with lethargy and laziness
People close to you may worry that you are a passive
person, unable to take a stand on just about anything
Your skills of assertion could probably use some work
Your biggest fault is your lack of character " you donTt
seem to be passionate about anything. ItTs time to set

some goals for yourself.

This color choice is an indication of suppressed rage
You have probably heard friends and family voice their
opinions about your temper more than you care to
mention. Chances are, you will hold a grudge forever
and at times have gone to great lengths in order to
seek revenge over someone who has crossed you. Your

personality type struggles with authority figures

"in
fact, 96% of death row inmates are oblues.� Your
impulsive and sometimes selfish actions will eventually
get you into trouble. Try to listen to others, instead of

feeling the need to control and/or scheme

People who choose yellow tend to be loners. Uncomfortable
in a crowd, this personality type will do anything to avoid
being the center of attention. People often accuse you of
being unsociable, but they just donTt understand your
need to spend time alone. Most oyellow� personalities are

very quiet and shy, and enjoy a career in a scientific or

mechanical field. Loosen up

You are a calm, if not sedate member of society. Terrified
of confrontation, you will do almost anything to maintain
harmony in a group. Your inability to stand up for what
you believe in comes from an urgent need to ofit in.� Your
personality type is the least self-aware, meaning you prob
ably donTt really know who you are. Take some time to do
some self exploration "try to move past your unhealthy.
need to please people. Remember, whatTs right isnTt always

popular, and what's popular is not always right

147

148 reBEL

Q/1-A4:
APPEARING ON PP J0-II

Refer to page 146 for the Graphology Analysis

o¢5;
APPEARING ON P 22
D.) 12, 5, 13, 13, 9, 14, 7
Each letter in the word olemming� represents the corresponding
number from the key on the same page. L=12, E=5, M=13, M=13, I=9,

N=14,G=7

Q/6:

APPEARING ON P 23

12] | 9) |14) |5 31:

a) 7) (Ne ~U

;
Qkhei
APPEARING ON P 41]

Refer to page 147 for the Color Analysis

Q/8:

APPEARING ON PP 48-49

>
B.) ~

Q/9:

APPEARING ON P 84

traditional, orthodox

LS)

incisive, obtuse

cryptic, covert

vex, disenchant

a

enigma, conundrum

proficient, inept

7. flock, conform

Q/10:

APPEARING ON P 84

These words can all be both nouns and verbs

oT is.

APPEARING ON P 85
4
Each number in the center block is the square of the sum of the three

numbers in the opposite block. 0+2+0=2 » 2°=4

reBEL 149

Q/12:

APPEARING ON P 98

D.) 44, 29, 11, 31

All of the other choices contain numbers whose c orresponding words
are in alphabetical order. 44 = forty-four, 29 =twenty-nine, 11 =eleven,

31 =thirty-one

0/13:

APPEARING ON P 98
C.) 40, 13, 18
All of the other choices contain numbers whose cor responding words

have three syllables, oc� has two for * ty, thir* teen, eight * een

Q/14:

APPEARING ON P 98
A.) 34, 78, 92, 12
All of the other choices contain numerical series with an odd

number. In oa� the odd number has been left out

or 18:

APPEARING ON P 98
THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX
This phrase is revealed when the pairs of consecutive letters

are removed

Q/16:

APPEARING ON PIII

DO NOT ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE CONTROLLED

O17:

APPEARING ON P 126

\) Gan)
Nemes

Each row and column of circles contains twelve open and closed

dots. Across the row and column, six of each should appear above

and below the line

LORS) [6

The enclosed cp features the following music winners.

% BEST OVERALL COMPOSITION

Lucian Cobb Blue Truck

% MOST ORIGINAL

James Drake & If You Say
Gregory Mason

% BEST PRODUCTION

Brian C. Bost Heart
%& TRACKS
1. Lucian Cobb Blue Truck
2. James Drake & Gregory Mason If You Say
3. Brian C. Bost Heart
4. Lucian Cobb Breaking Ground
5. Lucian Cobb Get Up
6. Nick Piatt Without You
7. Cicada Hearing is Hard
8. Robert Witchger Any Day Now

9. Jeff Lampson
10. Lucian Cobb

Frost's oOctober�
Hell

154 reBEL

IMAGE BANK

t PHOTOGRAPHERS

Jason Alexander
P 47

Jonathan Cain
PP 90-91

Erica Coker
PP 73, 78, 80-81

Antonio Martinez
PP 102, I0§, 109

Jason Mathis
PP $0; $4, 59

Laura Ryan
PP 128-129, 134

pecial thanks to the judges of the Rebel Ep1TION 45 who
dedicated their time and expertise to jury the many arts
and literary entries submitted by East Carolina University
students during the fall of 2002. Each judge brought his/her own
distiné, trained eye, which yielded the selection of only the highest

quality work featured throughout this magazine.

Alex Albright Non-Fiction
Mary Carroll-Hackert Fiction

Andy Robbins Poetry

Dan Black
Scott Eagle

Jerry Jackson

Carroll Dashiell
Edward Jacobs
D. Clarke Price

156

reBEL

INDEX OF VISUAL ARTS AND

LITERARY WINNERS

Barber, Jamaal
Bardill, Kimberly
Barefoot, Brantley
Benefiel, Christian

Bost, Brian C.

Bowen, Fred

Cain, Jonathan

Coulter, Catherine
Cottrell, Michael
Cowan, Judson
Dockery, Arlissa Hunter
Davis, Ryan

Drews, Stephanie

Ellis, Joey

Evans, Brandon R.

Galardo, Nicole

Grafton-Kanazawa,

Adrienne M.
Greenway, Megan
Hatlestad, Jenny
Holtvedt, Kristen
Hooper, William

Hoss, Allison

Diesel 8

Queen of Broken Hearts

A Book of Sign Language

Moving in Many Direétions (Sail #1)

Hierarchy

The Snake

Boy

ChriftinaTs World

Toys

Geode Seeds

Socket

Dexter

Antique Faire Pendant
Engine SyStem Cylinder
Welcome Home

Spanish Summer

The 5 Senses of a Mr. Paul W. Coenen

Nightshade
Italian Bicycle

Love Seat

Bringing Home the Bacon Series

Nature Series 1

Time Capsule" Reconneting

Leaf Study
I Do, I Did, I Will Again

Sifter Sunset

GRAPHIC DESIGN

ILLUSTRATION

GRAPHIC DESIGN

SCULPTURE

NON-FICTION

NON-FICTION

POETRY

PHOTOGRAPHY

PHOTOGRAPHY

CERAMICS

SCULPTURE

PHOTOGRAPHY

METAL DESIGN

PAINTING

WOOD DESIGN

ILLUSTRATION

PHOTOGRAPHY

FICTION

DRAWING

METAL DESIGN

TEXTILE DESIGN

TEXTILE DESIGN

METAL DESIGN

DRAWING

POETRY

NON-FICTION

116

IIs

7

64

130

132

U5

68

94

44

96

1336

131

135

reBEL 157

Jackson, Will Can't Buy Me Love PAINTING 45
Jardine, Will Self-Portrait DRAWING 92
Johnson, Millie E. Dawn FICTION 73
Leger, Patrick Drop Shot PRINTMAKING 97
Lies, Winters Katy PAINTING not shown
McGrain, Maryann Tea Set #1 CERAMICS 43
McQueen, Jennifer Leaving Louisville FICTION 14
Nawabi, Erika Kymia 1 Am Waiting Mine METAL DESIGN 65

ItTs Already Been Going On ILLUSTRATION 133

That Was Then and This is Now PAINTING 33
Peterson, Andrea Untitled PRINTMAKING 25
Phillips, Kelly Untitled TEXTILE DESIGN 42
Price, Julie Brooks Satellite METAL DESIGN 12-13
Proctor, Phil Centrifuge SCULPTURE 30-31

Objed at Rest SCULPTURE 93
Raxter, Adrienne Self-Portrait PRINTMAKING 86
Reed, Brian Bad Trip PRINTMAKING 69
Richards, Kevin Hardball Type Foundry GRAPHIC DESIGN 27
Rymer, M. Laura Coffin NON-FICTION 103
Sigmon, Grant The Two Ravens ILLUSTRATION 137
Simpson, Amy At Harris Hilton POETRY 46

When Roll Empty Flip Access Door POETRY 127
Statham, Stephanie The Optimist DRAWING 13

Witchger, Robert In the Genes ILLUSTRATION 62-63

158 reBEL

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reBEL

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The Rebel EvITION 45 is produced for and by the students of East Carolina University. Offices are located in the

Student Publications Building. The contents are copyrighted 2003 by the ~Rebel EvITION 4s. All rights revert to the

individual writers and artists upon publication. Contents may not be reproduced by any means, nor stored in any

information retrieval system without the written permission of the writer or the artist. Printed with non-state funds.

159

THE EDUCATION OF A REBEL ANALYSIS I: NON-CONFORMIST LESSONS

You are a leader. You take action and rebel when necessary. You display a high The following are messages you overlooked. They offer advice or question













level of perceptive ability and never accept the standard. Well done. your tendency to conform and failure to perceive. Learn from each instance.
EDITION 45 is a book of subliminal FRONT COVER
Read between the lines to oRebel against mediocrity.�
propaganda; a manual that challenges Pv,

The letterforms in Composition Red & Green spell out oblind?�.

you to reject the ordinary and refuse to PANY AY AS) boas HO meV INGE ER aa ad

Your natural instinct is to oline up,� similar to lemmings.
P 23
Apply the key on page 22 to the matrix to reveal the message oOpen your

fall prey to preconceived notions,

Conformity =ignorance

Ignorance =a lack of perception
eyes to the Rebelution.�

PP 40-41

The color analysis is blatantly inaccurate to distract you from the

A lack of perception = acceptance of the ordinary

yNelels) ole bale Me) Mast melus thet: Sama eeseslebt-belelcm rom nelcM it Baler: hue |

Once educated, you will read between

Compliance to the standard = mediocrity
H overall theme.

PP 48-49
The formula spells out oi conform = a sheep.�
leader isnTt going to make you one. Rebel now. Read the lessons to advance

find freedom from the standard and know P OF

your abilities.

the lines, /ook beyond your assumptions,

Obviously, you are unable to rise above the masses. Thinking you're a
y: 3 By

Your written answers when read downward, spell out obaaaaaa.�
how to rebel against mediocrity. PP 99-100

Use the clue on page 100 to take the first letters of the words
inside the box and read downward. Then continue with the last
letters. The message reads oFAIL TEST.� If you think outside the
box and follow the same instructions, the message reads oRAISE
THE STANDARD.�

ne HD §
Follow the advice in the answer.

P 139
The numbers represent pages. On each of these pages is a hidden,
varnished letter, Fill the letter in the corresponding answer space

to form the message.

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