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EditorTs Note:Rebels with a cause:in search of poetic and artistic truthOn the second floor of the Publications Building, in an office as confiningas grandma's girdle, the creative voices representing over three decades ofstudent expression swell and resound"still demanding, even now, to beheard. The din is, at times, overwhelming, but when we consider theprocess that each artist struggled through, purging him or herself of thatineffable something that drives each of us to that electric moment whenwe communicate our thoughts to others so well that they, in turn,reevaluate their perceptions, the din wanes. Indeed, it transforms into aserenity omore tranquil than the curve of eggs?.We at the Rebel are proud of our heritage, from its rawest beginnings to itsmost successful triumphs. Through the years, the magazine has beennationally recognized repeatedly for its excellence"winning several All-American ratings as well as the coveted Pacemaker Award in 1985 and1986. Still, the Rebel staff has never been one to rest on its laurels; wecontinuously strive to represent those students who may otherwise haveno outlet for expression. It is a unique opportunity.Take pride in it.Joseph CampbellEditorThis yearTs cover art is by Scott Eagle, a graduate student in Painting.The Rebel is published for and by the students of East Carolina University. Offices are located in the Publications Center on the campus of ECU. This issue, Volume 31, andits contents are copyrighted © 1989 by the Rebel. All rights revert to the individual writers and artists upon publication. Contents may not be reproduced by any means, nor mayany part be stored in any information retrieval system without the written permission of the author or artistThe Rebel invites all students, faculty, and alumni to voice their opinions and/or make contributions. Inquiries should be addressed to the Rebel, Mendenhall Student Cen-ter, East Carolina University, Greenville, North Carolina 27858-4353.

Michelle McDevitt Untitled ISPRING/FALL 1

Doug Johnson, oThe Dimming Effect? 9illustration by Scott EagleGreg Christensen, oEmpty Cans? 16illustrations by Steven Reid, Jr.Joseph Campbell, John OTConnor, & DA Swanson,oStream of Consciousness? 46Rita Rogers, oThe Sacrifice? 69illustrations by David CherryTonya Batizy, oSwimming In Space? 5illustration by Jessica MurphyH. Kermit Leggett III, oPetrarchan Sonnet III? 14illustration by Scot BuckRita Rogers, oTouring Carl Sandburg? 19illustration by Jacqui HughesMary Joyce McCallum, oThe ITs Have It? 20illustration by Tony NicholsRita Rogers, oSarahTs Hymn? 24Lynne Rupp, oMother and Child Photo? 25Melissa Gray, oMagnolia Leaves andPine Blossoms? 26H. Kermit Leggett III, oTarot? 28illustration by Rick BurgessBrett Hursey, oThe Master Architect? 33illustration by Robert GwynChristopher Gallagher, oThe Simplicity of it All(A VampireTs Confession)? 34Joseph Campbell, oOh, Bod!? 35Robert Flanagan, oHooverville Request? 36illustration by Paul GlanklerMarshall S. Moore, oNow I Understand? 39illustration by David StanleyRobin Ayers, oTo Say Good-bye? 44illustration by John OTConnorMarshall S. Moore, oRequiem for theMarquis de Sade 66illustration by Shari BoydJoseph Campbell, oBreakdown? 73Michelle McDevitt, UntitledCCE Walker, UntitledTim McClanahan, The Witch and the RainbowGalleryAllen SoveloveAmanda Jarrell, Kiss Me RubyCraig OTBrien, Light FormsRay Puckett, Mr. Champion's PierLisa Brantley, UntitledBill Bailey, RingCarol Torrell, BasketChris Hill, Porcelain KnobScott Eagle, The AnnunciationMichael McCreery, My SteelCarol Torrell, Ginko PlateErik Johnson, Pumping IronLeesa Hartley, The Chain of Family AbuseDavid Stanley, Breaking the Cycleof Family AbuseAndrea Ross, La SophistiqueScott Eagle, The Genius of DiseaseSteven Reid, Jr., Just ArtSteven Reid, Jr., Turbo PrintLeigh Miner, Portrait of a Friend's HouseMelissa Iverson, CathedralDavid Cherry, Mission in Outer SpaceAlex Marsh, UntitledPhotographyAlex MarshAlex MarshTina ShawAlex MarshJohn OTConnorJohn OTConnorRenée RiceStacy HamiltonJeff CampagnaRenée Rice12134850515253545454555555256at58a606162636465233031404142432 REBEL'89

Art AwardsBest-in-Show: Craig OTBrien, Light FormsCeramics: Carol Torrell, Basket rT ys vsDesign: Craig OTBrien, Light Forms Y EN ee Be eeDrawing: Lisa Brantley, UntitledIllustration: Leesa Hartley,The Chain of Family AbuseMixed Media: Bill Bailey, RingPainting: Melissa Iverson, CathedralPhotography: Alex Marsh, UntitledPrintmaking: CCE Walker, Untitled STA rrSculpture: Michael McCreery, My SteelEditorLiterary Awards Joseph CampbellPoetry i1st"Rita Rogers, oTouring Carl Sandburg? Art Director2nd"Christopher Gallagher, oThe Simplicity of it John T. OTConnorAll (A VampireTs Confession)?3rd"Marshall Moore, oNow I Understand? Associate EditorProse DA Swanson1st"Rita Rogers, oThe Sacrifice?2nd"Doug Johnson, oThe Dimming Effect? Poetry Editor3rd"Greg Christensen, oEmpty Cans? Lynne RuppACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: The Rebel staff wishes tothank those individuals who helped to make the magazinepossible: Ms. Julie Fay, Dr. Patrick Bizarro, Mr. WilliamHallberg, and Mr. Luke Whisnant of the ECU EnglishDepartment for judging this yearTs literary contests; Mr. J U DG ESBob Rasch, Mr. Russell Gordon, and Mr. RobertEdmisten for judging the art contest; Ms. Jessica Stanleyfor assistance with the literature contest; Mrs. Yvonne ARTMoye, Media Board Secretary, for her unlimited supportand guidance; Mr. Kevin McCloskey and his classes fortheir continued support; the writers and artists of East Mr. Bob RaschCarolina University for their contributions; Mr. Henry Mr. Russell GordonStindt for his superior photography; Mr. Leonard Veillette :ee ie Mr. Robert Edmistenfor his professional advice; and Mr. Nick Honeycutt andMs. Sherry Davis of Theo. Davis Sons, Inc. for their unre-lenting patience, among other things.The Rebel staff would also like to extend its gratitudeto the university and community members who provided LITERATUREsupport and financial assistance during publication: Ms.Carol Hartsog, Ms. Julie Campbell, Ms. Meredith Camp- ;bell, and Ms. Hilda Campbell for their assisting with the Ms. Julie Fayart showTs reception; Mr. David Walser Yarbrough for his Dr. Patrick Bizzarohelp in hanging the art show; Mendenhall Student Center :Sor the iaas of eis tactidad: Wie Resid Dal Mr. Luke Whisnantthe entire Expressions staff for the use of their office; Mr. Mr. William HallbergMichael o ~ITll sue; so help me, ITll sue!T ? Daughtry for hisconstant nagging; and the Buccaneer staff for the use oftheir couch.SPRING/FALL 3

Jessica Murphy4 REBEL '89

Swimming In SpaceoThe stars have opened up for you, my love,Walk in and bathe in their healing lights,?Sang Mother Gaia, afloat in the heavens.| was in the stars last night,Their astral lights soothing, like the oceanWaters that revive the fish a fishermanThrew back after putting on ice.Melting in the sun and salty air,The floating fish lulls in a dazeAs Mother OceanTs womb moistensChapped gills, and fins splash franticallyAs the misplaced fish swims, floating on side.Sporadic movement erodes to feathered fans,Sending into flight his fins,Like wings; through the water he fliesAway from baited lines, despite appetite.His true love, the sea, warmsWith soothing salts, a vacuumed swayingOf watery space the fish calls home.Tonya BatizySPRING/FALL 5

Alex Marsh6 REBEL '89

CF~KkaAlex MarshSPRING/FALL 7

a¥¥~73 a~ . Wa# |és}Scott Eagle8 REBEL '89oway

GeePOI fh airby Doug JohnsonSPRING/FALL 9

[ was an oppressively hot day, notunlike many of the days that hadcome and gone in the last few weeks.Jimmy pulled a stained handkerchieffrom his pocket and drug it across hisface. Running his fingers through hishair, he was surprised to find it so hot tothe touch.The dry-cleaners that he worked at satat the corner of Pollock and 7th Streets,in the center of downtown. He wasconsidered to be a maintenance manthere, although he probably couldnTt fix aflat tire. HeTd never tried. Actually, hedid little more than sweep, cut grass, andwash the huge pane windows that ran onthree sides of the lobby, which juttedforward from the section of the buildingthat housed the cleaning and pressingequipment, not to mention the evermysterious oOne-Hour Martinizing?apparatus. Jimmy wondered whatoMartinizing? entailed, and wascompelled by curiosity to venture aquery on the subject, only to berewarded by a distant oWho the hellcares?? by Phyllis, the heavy-set redheadwho waited on the customers when theycame in, and took their money whenthey left, performing both of these taskswith the same flippancy. As a matter offact, he felt that it justified one of hisfavorite time consuming activities.Jimmy liked to take a song and changethe lyrics to suit his own fancy. Hedelighted in making up lyrics aboutPhyllis, amusing himself at her expense.His favorite to date was a little ditty thathe sang to the tune of an obscure songthat he had heard years before calledoBlack Betty.? He didnTt remember thewords, but the chorus had a man singing,Who-oa Black BettyBam-a-lamWhoa-oa Black BettyBam-a-lamIn JimmyTs version, he substituted oFatPhyllis? in the place of oBlack Betty,?thus getting,Who-oa Fat PhyllisBam-a-lamWhoa-oa Fat PhyllisBam-a-lamand so on.10 REBEL '89When he came to work, Phyllis hadtold him a little too happily, he thought,that today he could have the pleasure ofwashing all of the windows in the lobby,inside and out. She had folded her fleshyold lady,? Jimmy mumbled, screwing hisface up in a distasteful grimace. Jimmydropped his rag and lay the Windex bot-tle onto the concrete. He puffed hischeeks out, and pulled down the cornersHe grinned at Jimmy and stuck out atongue stained purple by the ~Now &LatersT that jutted from his shirt pocket.arms on the counter, and leaned forwardwith a smirk on her face. oBetter get towork, if you want to get finished todaysometime.?oNo problem,? Jimmy replied simply,but when Phyllis turned to get him thethings he would need, he puffed out hischeeks and raised his arms out a littleways from his sides in a mockery of her.As she turned back he dropped thestance quickly.He decided to start on the outside, sothat he could joke Phyllis and just screwaround in general without being over-heard. Setting the nozzle on the econo-sized bottle of Windex to ~spray,T Jimmytriggered some onto the window. Theglass was so hot that the liquid driedalmost as quickly as he could wipe it off,leaving long streaks on the glass wherehe pulled his rag across it. Jimmy gradu-ally came up to one of the two long glassdoors that stood at either end of thelobby, and ran his rag across it, obliterat-ing hundreds of small, oval fingerprintsthat looked to Jimmy like a group oftiny faces peering into the closeness ofthe humid interior of the cleaners.As Jimmy worked his way across thefirst window, he noticed an old bull-doggish looking woman enter the clean-ers. She wore an ill-fitting black dressthat bulged in places over an abundanceof flesh. Her grey, stringy hair protrudedfrom under a worn black hat thatresembled a hub cap perched precar-iously upon her head. The skin on thebacks of her arms was sagging andwrinkled, and liver spots stained herwrists and hands. Her short, fleshy legsprotruded from the knee length hem ofher dress, and she wore knee-highs thatended long before crawling above hervein-laced calves. oJesus, what an uglyof his eyes, pushing up his nose at thesame time. oI'd like tuh pick up muhdawg blanket,? Jimmy mimicked in alow, gruff, huffy voice, oand I'd like tuhhave muh studded collar dry-cleaned,?he added with a giggle.The old lady exited through the doornext to Jimmy, and he barked at her.She turned to Jimmy , and saw his dis-torted but strangely familiar imitativemask. Her face reddened, and she shooka gnarled, root-like fist at him, the looseskin on the back of her arm swinging toand fro, before continuing on to her car,muttering to herself on the way.Jimmy laughed, and turned back tohis work. When he looked through thewindow again, he noticed a small blackchild standing by his motherTs side as shestood talking to Fat Phyllis. As Jimmylooked, the child turned around andstared at him, his mouth worrying over apiece of candy. He grinned at Jimmy,revealing a pair of protruding front teeth.oMan, I bet you could eat corn through abarbed-wire fence,? Jimmy laughed tothe window, sticking his own front teethout in an exaggerated imitation of thesmall boy. The child walked over to thewindow, looked directly at Jimmy, hissmall brown eyes into JimmyTs narrowedblues, and planted his sticky, candy-streaked palms firmly upon the window.He grinned at Jimmy, and stuck out atongue stained purple by the ~Now &LatersT that jutted from his shirt pocket.Jimmy looked around, then thrust hismiddle finger against the window in thelittle boyTs face. The child leaped back,his grin widening, and scurried back tohis motherTs side, occasionally glancingback over his shoulder at Jimmy. Jimmybegan to sing,

Who-oa bucked-tooth black boyBam-a-lamWhoa-oa bucked-tooth black boyBam-a-lamand he laughed aloud at his witty lyricalability. He caught himself, and glancedquickly around to see if anyone hadheard him. A pretty young woman whohad been walking by on the walk threwhim a sidewards look, and he laughedharder. She shook her head and keptwalking.Jimmy returned to work, passing timeand cleaning the windows as best hecould. The shadows were beginning tolengthen when he heard the slow, shuf-fling footsteps of someone making hisway slowly along the sidewalk. Jimmypaid them no attention, as people passedhim frequently. The foot fallsapproached, and stopped right behindhim. His curiosity aroused, he turned, hismuscles tightening involuntarily. Beforehim stood a nondescript old man ofaverage height, staring at him in abemused sort of way. JimmyTs glancetook in the manTs shabby clothing, hisstained and frayed pants that were shinyon the knees from wear, and his plaidflannel shirt, its tail out and its sleevesunbuttoned and rolled up over scarredforearms. He clutched a white plastic bagwith oRite-Aid? written in bold lettersacross it in his veiny right hand. oHowTsit goinT,? Jimmy said.The old man stared at him from odd,lead colored eyes a moment longerbefore answering. oFine, just fine I am,?he said, following the words with a grin.oFine weather weTve had lately.?oYessir, it shore has been,? Jimmyreplied, letting his muscles slowly relax,although he wasnTt conscious of theaction.The old manTs gaze held JimmyTs amoment longer, and then he lifted hisgrey stubbled face up and looked at thebright orb above. oA little cool, though,?he said.Jimmy looked at the old man, andglanced down at his own sweat-stainedtee-shirt. A brief whiff would have toldhim that his deodorant really didnTt work24 hours, he was sure. oCould becooler,? he commented, punctuating theremark with a short laugh.oTtTll get cooler,? the old man saidwith a sigh of certainty and resignation,ocooler, and darker, too.?Jimmy said nothing, but a look ofconfusion began to inch across his face, alook that was not wasted on the oldman.oThe sun, boy, the sun is what ITm talk-inT about,? the old man said in amanner that implied that what he wastalking about was as plain as the substan-tial nose on his face, oits fadinT.?oYou mean itTs going down,? Jimmysaid, the confusion on his features mak-ing its way into his voice.oNo, boy, no,? the old man began inan exasperated tone, throwing his freehand up in a frustrated gesture andscrunching up his face, oI mean ... aw,hell, forget it.? His hand dropped, and hisfeatures relaxed. He looked at Jimmy fora moment without saying anything, thenhis right hand raised the white bag, andhe reached into it with the other. Jimmytook an involuntary step backward, hismind spewing a list of things that the oldguy might pull from the bag.What he saw in the old manTs handwhen it withdrew from the bag wasnowhere on that list.Clutched between the old manTs dirtyfingers was a candle.oT see you've metCrazy Harold;T shesaid, her heavyjowls quiveringwith laughter.It was a short, squat red candle,Jimmy saw, the kind that his mother hadat home, the ones she would put on themantle during Christmas, surroundingthem with that plastic holly with theplastic red berries. You could pick themup at RoseTs for $.69, his mind told him.The old man looked up into the sun,and then back down at Jimmy. Heextended the candle towards Jimmy witha slightly quivering hand, as though heheld some sacred trinket, and said with agentleness and sincerity that touchedJimmy deep within the recesses of hisheart, oTake this, son. This is for whenthe lights go out.? JimmyTs hand reachedout, and he took the candle gingerly. Itwas not a new candle, Jimmy noticed.Rather, it was malformed and sweatyfrom the heat and closeness of the bag,and it began to cool in the open air. Itwas streaked with wax, resembling asmall volcano that had erupted, sendingmolten lava streaming down its smoothsides.Jimmy glanced up through thewindow into the cleaners. Looking backat him were a half dozen laughing faces,Phyllis and Jenny, the girl who did thepressing, and Molly, the old lady that didall of the sewing repairs, and the others.They were all laughing. Jimmy could seetheir faces through the window, and atthe same time he could see his ownreflection in the glass, superimposedupon the others. His reflection was notsmiling back at him. Rather, it harboreda confused, almost hurt look, like it hadwhen he had discovered that, NoVirginia, we were really just pulling yourleg, there is no Santa Claus.A movement brought him out of thewindow, and he looked back at the oldman. He had turned, and his missioncompleted, he continued down the side-walk, his shuffling gait eventually takinghim around the corner out of sight. Henever looked back.Jimmy watched the man until he wasgone, then glanced back down at thecandle that he was turning over in hishands. A tap on the window brought hishead up, and he saw Phyllis motioningfor him to come inside. He walked to thedoor, and swung it open. The oppressiveair hit him, but he pressed on, letting thedoor swing silently shut behind him. oIsee youTve met Crazy Harold,? she said,her heavy jowls quivering with laughter.The rest of the women added theircomments, their laughs, following theirwords, but Jimmy scarcely heard them.His ears were filled with a fuzzywhooshing sound, making it hard to hearall of the remarks and jokes that thewomen made about the old man. PhyllisTlaughter penetrated the winds in hishead, and became an almost physicalthing. He could feel it drilling at histemples, burrowing its way to the centerof his brain: He raised his hands to hisContinued on page 72SPRING/FALL 11

CCE Walker Untitled12 REBEL '89

Tim McClanahan The Witch and the RainbowSPRING/FALL 13

14 REBEL '89Petrarchan Sonnet IIIAs Heaven's passing fades across my face,| think | see a stormcloud in the West.You know, that is the only vestige leftOf what | thought was coming from that place;But what | thought has never been the case,Nor could it ever truly be expressed.My gray reflection, crazy or possessed,Confronts me now and mocks the rites of chase.As my face turns toward the pounded pane,The lights go out, foreshadowing a nightOf stale depression, soaked with sudden rain.And she will come, or must | yet inviteMore tension than this prison can containAs Heaven's shadow passes from my sight?H. Kermit Leggett II

Illustrations by Steven Reid, Jr.REBEL '89

id, Jr.H: was settinT on his porch as Iwalked over. RockinT, like he waslistening to music or somethinT. His threeteeth, yellow as the sun, and his hair,white as the clouds. Sometimes I canTtreally understand him; when he gets tomumblinT, I usually ask him what he saidonce, and if I doesnTt understand by then,I just nod my head and he keeps ontalkinT.I sat down in the chair next to him; itwasnTt a rocker no more. The chairwas his wifeTs, she died awhile back. When I was akid, a little kid, 1 rememberthem rockinT together, helooked just as old as he doesnow. She used to love therocker until one night shehad sipped a bit too muchmoonshine. The porch isreal hard. Never saw tworockers there again.oHot.?oAlways is this time ofyear,? Blueblood said.oAirTs coming up straightfrom hell, sometimes it car-ries the screams up too.?His name is Bluebloodbecause he says heTs thegreat great grandson of aKing somewhere in Africa.ThatTs what he says andmost people believe him "I donTt know, it donTtmatter to me. His real nameis Willie Nixon, but hedonTt tell many people that.Me and Bluebloodalways talks. HeTs the smart-est person I ever met.Maybe the smartest I everwill. Says heTs so smartbecause he got royal bloodin him.oSaid good-bye to mygirl. WasnTt bad.? He knewit was.oNever is easy ... sayinTgood-bye.? Blueblood was like an oldrace horse; youTd have to warm him up,but then heTd run. Like a machine. Like atime machine. oGuess you're here to saygood-bye to me.?oGuess so.?oLast war I said good-bye to lots ofboys, said good-bye to my sons. Never iseasy, sayinT good-bye.? I didnTt know hissons, both died in the war. Before thewar one of the sons had a kid though.Never knew him, moved up north awhile back.oAin't told nobody . . . ITm sortascared, Blueblood.?oShould be, warTs scary, ainTt no placefor a kid.?Blueblood knew I was just a kid, butI guess even my pa was a kid to Blue-blood. If it werenTt for Blueblood, Imight have hid somewheres, donTt knowHis name is Bluebloodbecause he says heTs the greatgreat grandson of a Kingsomewhere in Africa. His realname is Willie Nixon, but hedonTt tell many people that.where, but somewheres. Told me I'donly be hiding from myself, and you cannever lose yourself.oHowTd you stay alive, I means, in thewar??oDifferent war. WasnTt things like~aero-planesT and bombs. All there was torely on was smarts " thatTs how I did it,smarts. But that ainTt gonna help you, notin these new wars, ainTt the same. DidnTthelp my boys, lost two of ~em, youknow.? I knew.oYou scarinT me Blueblood, I knowITll live, I gots to live. My girlTs waitingfor me, you waiting for me.oAinTt waitinT for no boy to comehome from no war.? I knew heTd bewaiting for me, had to.oHowTd you use your smarts to stayalive? I thinks I gots enough smarts tostay alive.?oGots to think differentthan most people. Thinkhard, all the time. People saythat if you think too hard toolong your headTll blow, like apot on the stove that nobodylets the air out of. Well, thatainTt the truth. The truth is theoppTsit, whatTs inside the potis your thoughts, and if theyainTt let out, by thinkinT, thenitll blow.?oYou seen a head blowfrom not thinknT??oOld as I am, I seen lots.You gotta think different.Gotta remember that we livein the past, and everythinTgoes by too fast. We onlyknow what has happened; wedonTt know nothinT ~boutwhat is happninT, or what willhappen. Only thing to do islook back and think, decidefor you whatTs gonna happen,then do it, for you. When youin the Army you ainTt got nochoice but to listen to certainpeople and do what they say" but you gots to think,think ~bout everythinT.?Blueblood looked up at thesky and took a deep breath,like he always does when heTsthinkinT, rememberinT aboutthe past. Like the sky gotsome power that runs thismachine. Guess his timemachine runs on the night sky.oWe was fightTn on the edge of thewoods, and they was just cominT over ahill right in front of us. They couldnTt seeus SO we was just droppinT em, likeempty cans. There was about forty of us,more of them. A lot more, I knew. We'dContinued on page 72SPRING/FALL 17

sauntervasNWP ES& BYODHTTC UnsJacqui Hughes18 REBEL '89

Touring Carl SandburgThe guide led us through your lived-in quarters,Connemara, a name you chose not to change whenthe land changed people.Here and there, bits of you, a cigar and ashes,your hat, sweater, paper in a typewriter (| long to touchthe keys), letters, boxes, files of letters, a calender on thewall, June 1957, old magazines, LIFE, a plaque from the NAACP,a cap.In your bedroom, clothes laid out for you to slip into,old shoes, pants, a flannel shirt. And in your bed,a hollowed-out dent which matches well your contours.(| see you have just risen from your napand walked over to the window where the sun floats dustin even lighted lines and it goes through you.)The guide says oNo? to my question, obut it is arrangedas closely as possible to the way it was " one of thedaughters confirmed us on that.?So, it was then, all arranged, the cigar smoke hastilyby a face-making guide who let the ashes fall andthe cigar smolder, and leaving some of the ashes connected,placed it counterclockwise at 6 o'clock,and the sweater, thinned in the right places, was lifted outof an old trunk and placed nicely on the back of theocorrespondence chair? and the chair was pulled out slightly.Letters scattered just so.The clutter you never attempted to straighten, straightenedand re-clutteredAnd, naturally, up in the bedroom, a carefully arranged dentin the bedspread, a guide on a slow day slipped in for a napand on his way out, opened wide the curtainsto let the rays pierce the soul of Carl Sandburg.Flat Rock, N.C.1976Rita RogersSPRING/FALL 19

20 REBEL '89The ITs Have ItDays pass like puddles,evaporating magicallyinto forgotten nothingness,indistinguishable,| watch through the iron bars,a gilt colored parrot withno tongue to protestimprisonment.The free denounce me,| am a oCallous criminal,?a oMarblehearted malefactor,?oimmoral.?But what do they know ofmy heart which beatsin tune with their own,identical.A jury of my peers blewGabriel's horn, redefiningthe boundaries of my life,incarceratingme, removing a blemish.| have appealed, | nowhave no concourse left,their judgement stands, theI'shave it. | am impotent,helpless, not heartless.| am blamed, exiled, yetinnocent.| fell through a hole |in the system into achasm of yellowed despair,indicted.| see the leaves falloutside my cell,knowing that never will|feel the seasons change.Mary Joyce McCallum

Tony NicholsN4iawOoZziraa.oa ee& Aa? iTAN

Tina Shaw22 REBEL '89

Alex MarshSPRING/FALL 23

SarahTs Hymn(Genesis 21-22)I laughed when first He stirred me from my sleep:o| who am so old to have a child!?But laughter grew in me and we named you, our first-born,Laughter.Oh how fast you grew! (and | knew but did not dare believethe time would come)Do you rememberyour first trip with your father?How excited you were with your little face tuned upward toquestion, question, oBut Papa, where is the lamb??And the silence. And the look, the lookoThe Lord will provide,? he answered and you believed butHow hard it was to keep from running running to bring you backto me. My arms ached empty.| waited, waitedWaited for dust to rise from small sandalsWashed out your white white clothes on rocks, they dried coarseand stiff, then on the limbs of willows and waited for softeningbreeze. But there was no wind.No wind, no rain in desertlands. It was too too long and whenyou returned at last, at last, | cried. | cried and pulled youclose and smelled your baby hair. You, puzzled, little handsembraced my moumful face: oBut, Mama, | am here.?You are. You areLaughter.Rita Rogers

Mother and Child PhotooWish | could have known you thenstill full of that fat fertility glow,screaming bundle in your arms, red faced,blood filled balloon about to burst.You held me up, proud sculptor.But labor followed my birth;on your brow the marks,only chisels carve marble so deep,shadows from nights with no sleepcast beneath biting stonecoldness, your eyes.What weight hung so heavyround your neck, bendingproud posture into brutal broken back?Has some horrible hunger suckedfull cheeks gaunt from within?Now you appear always gasping for air.Years ago when the cord between us split| thought | saw it fall andshrivel like sloughed off skin;| never dreamed you'd pick it up,entwine it round your throat and choke.Lynne RuppSPRING/FALL 25_eeeeeeeeeeC~isC

Magnolia Leaves and Pine NeedlesWhen | see magnolia leaves and pine needles,| think of you.You were nine,| was ten,life was fun.We were friends at a time when,oMama, can | go outside and play??was the only question in our lives.The anticipation was overwhelmingwhen Sundays and Summerscame ~round.Sitting in Grandmother's den,staring out the window,Anxious to see you run into yourGrandmother's house.Thinking all the while,oCome on, Shannon, itTs time to play.?Seeing you brought a smile,a hurried and impatientoMom, can | go out??With a yes, a race with my brother would beginout the door,jump the ditch,ring the bell.oCan Shannon play??What fun we had!Days playing Army, tag, hide ~nT go seek,or making a house out ofmagnolia leaves and pine needles.Moments of playful arguments overwho was older,and who was taller.As quickly as they started,they stopped and we were playing again.26 REBEL '89

""neat. feinThoughts of the endnever crossed our minds,the fun would last forever.Then, suddenly, | moved,missing you the most.Wondering,what if | had stayed?Now, remembering only the good times,the showing off,the giggling,there is warmth and smiles.You weremy first playmate,my first friend,my first crush.| cared so much about you,though | could never say it,did you know?| wish | could tell you now,| canTtyou're gone.Somehow,| know you know.Yet, | keep finding myself wanting to ask,oMama, can | go outside and play??one last time,to saygoodbye. . .Melissa Lynn GraySPRING/FALL 27

TAROT| was in the forestAnd a tree fell.NobodyHeard.Later on, | met a hermitOn a lonely pilgrimage and He said,oLet's put this poem on the rack, see what it hasTo say.?oWell,? | said, oit could be made longer,But it really couldn't sayMuch more.?But the poem was stretched, and it said:From phantom tempest on the deepTo silken, sodden shore,In fearful haste, the wind gives chaseThen blows that way no more!oBAD OMENS IN THE VERSE!? the hermit cried,oBEWARE THE IDES OF THE OCEAN!?Lost in the light of His lamp,He went His wayAnd | was left aloneWith this rackbroken poemWhich whispered reassuringlyOf doom.HLK. Legget28 REBEL '89

\\\ \\ aNA YN y~ \Wy Va tONC © ace:Rick BurgessSPRING/FALL 29

pnTs, 2 ee"=John OTConnor30 REBEL T89

John OTConnorSPRING/FALL 31

Soe ayRobert Gwyn32 REBEL '89

The Master ArchitectUpon a field of thistles standsA single lily, tall and white.The Bloom about the Thorns commands a view of wild, untendedLandsNewly thawed from Winter's blight.The deeds that Men have bought and soldTo flower, thorns and virgin groundAre stored in Coffers, stark and cold " The yellow parchmentSprouting Mold;A hardy, healthy crop abounds.Do grass and weeds grow by Design?And shrubs and trees of every kind?Who plans the way the ivy twines and twists around the WitheredSpineOf a rotten apple rind?Do Lawyers write the rules for rain?Do Priests and Prophets own the wind?What text was written that explains the proper nesting time toCranes,When Winter fails and Spring begins?And deep within the lily white,A spider's spun her silken web.And when a Monarch stopped his flight to sip the Nectar, sheWrapped him tightIn her sticky, silken thread.But men don't like to look in Blooms,That stand alone in distant fields,Where Death and Life share common rooms and stately flowers areFragrant TombsThat Carpenters can never build.Brett HurseySPRING/FALL 33

34 REBEL '89The Simplicity of it All(A VampireTs Confession)I am repelled by the darkness,Her frigid fingers tenderly touchThe frame of my body.Warmth is suckled and weaned away.| no longer believe in what | used to beFor the temptation is greater than the belief,Creating an eruption of hungerTWISTING, SPIRALING, RIPPING, TEARINGPast a hollow hole where a soul once lay.| ensue the craving,Yearning to bite soft, tender fleshPliable, but filled with enough tenacityTo resist briefly my wants,my needs,my desire,Until finally breaking with a gentle snap.| endure an immortalized sensationAs | have for an imperishable number of times.Drinking in the simplicity of it all,| allow carmine droplets to slide down my face,Land upon my arm,Fall onto the floor.The continuing drip,drip,drip, of each dropPricks at my ears,Arousing a frenzy f no longer control.| know | am evil.The darkness is a constant reminderAnd that is what sickens me.PO nomen elias

Oh, Bod!Come, mein frau, mon fiddle-stick,Heave high those heathen hurdies from that vanity.Don't fiddle with rouge, those cheeks are perfect,Oh, just ponder the passion we'll miss!(I'll blush you deeper with just a kiss!)My Hunnish desires make me perspireAs does that smirking archaic smile.Fiddlesticks! you say? Well, fiddle-dee-dee"Fiddle you may " (yet of sticks,| have but one.)Put away that clew, you mustDiscard the thimble.| promise the prick you receiveWill not make you spew.(Unless you want it to.)This linen is plush, you " a scrumptiousSultry-poultry, sculpted flesh in your whiteTight teddy: an odiferous odalisqueFor my paltry emotions.(Even Ingres would blush.)Oh, my concupiscible concubine, goFetch me my slippers, my robe.We'll shower for an hour,Then bask in the afterglow,All wrinkled and spent.Joseph CampbellSPRING/FALL 35

Hooverville RequestTaking the time to paint some shoeswhere the plaid bucket dips the deepwater.Let the three of us leave our separate setsof keys in the dish " avoiding thefloroscope.Nose, ears, mouth, all in the proper spaceabove the corkscrew humorously boringinto the meeting of foreigners:ThatTs my talent!and those who donTt laugh, | can't speak withunless we press in a unificationchamber.Collected feathers chip a cheap Moranoglass.A girl waving a red scarf to a gorillacomments:oLook, a mouse!?the rodent limps silently across the dresser.Now, let me go eat my Jello and cookies downwhere the plaid bucket dips the deep water.Robert Flanagan36 REBEL '89aaa

a aa anes Paul GlanklerSPRING/FALL 37

David Stanley38 REBEL '89bei nr42404 acamoas:re ee ee ee

a ee""Now I Understanda confusing assortment of tedious challengesvex me and hex me, don't cease to perplex mei manage to acquire them in tottering heapswhich at any moment look ready to collapseand relieve me of my head.pessimistically optimistic or optimistically pessimisticdistinction too insignificant to warrant clarificationimpressing both young and age simultaneouslyrequires so much meaningless expostulationor so much mental masturbationinstant impersonal gratificationi'll scribble instead.useless consternation over topics at best obscure and irrelevantto tire me and stress me, guaranteed to depress mefor the sake of conversation i achieve an educationi'd rather stay in bed.marshall s. mooreSPRING/FALL 39

ee ee i ee i ee Meal eal Eeee ee» Pe OR ae oe ae eyRenée Rice40 REBELT89

"_otee +ne ete.Stacy HamiltonSPRING/FALL 41

"" a a """-"- ~ = > |7 ee """"" oo a ee een mi a ? sa Maenae I . ~ Zzagrees ",;-+.".- "- ooo > ng a ee =f " = 5 = = = : = =.ak i. ke tie Se : es. bP _- - = a A eee 7 af > e = = . . a ?"? ,ohit enas ~ _" sen pee ig Sy ON, a en i a ee eee eeJeff Campagna42 REBEL '89

Renée RiceSPRING/FALL 43

To Say Good-byeFirst time, with pineand scarlet dogwood, that afternoonof the fall | reached for the lightin your eyes and found a beginning.Longleaf and leafless woodprotected our intimacyunder sharp winter sun "because we only knewof warm love.Rain, without reliefbent white dogwoodand camouflaged what fellfrom our eyes " the painof endings.Your city, my innocence "they seemed reason enoughfor intervention, and bloodstainedtears left behindour youth.So many years, and miles aparthave since made their waybetween what we sharedand all that was leftof love.| just wanted you to knowabout belief in natureTs progression,of births and all beginnings "that endings become tomorrowsand love.Robin Ayersa ses Sut

John OTConnorSPRING/FALL 45

Consciousnessby the 3 caballeros AfAnd in the beginning it was adark and stormy night andthere we were"faced with astark, white, clean, brilliant,spotless, unadulteratedspread (of pages that is, anda computer screen...sometimes). And sufferingintensely humanizes thewhole universe, by Mina.-- it's a jungle out there!St r i a mM O f WTA Word Processing an}7 items 18,079K in disk 1,231K availa\,SILI MU fib Pagemker 3.0MaclliieSf ffThe time limit for completing all credit(including transfer credit)in non-doctoral programs is6 years; for two year programsnine years...--ECU Bulletin 1986-1988 Graduate CatalogueGeorge! George! George!JETSONFlotsam! Flotsam!Daughter Judy46 REBEL 'S9 :ASTRO! META!! Football...Raymond Lau--as distorted by DA SwansonCrickets like music from a bad horror movie.

Rationalists, wearing square hats,Think, in square rooms,Looking at the floor,Looking at the ceiling.They confine themselvesTo right-angled triangles.If they try rhomboids,Cones, waving lines, ellipses--As, for example, the elipse of the half-moon--Rationalists would wear sombreros.--Wallace StevensApple Computer Co.-- as distorted by DA SwansonCellular Neurophysiology* (3)Prerequisites: Calculus, Physical Chemistry, & Consent of instructor.Development of theoretical and experimental evidence underlying modern con-cepts of bioelectric phenomenon. Current concepts of membrane structure,metabolism, resting and action potentials, ionic fluxes, and techniques utilized inelectrophysiological research. Seminars with emphasis on the critical evaluationof pertinent original research papers.: qe --ECU Bulletin 1986-1988 Graduate CatalogueOf man's first disobedience, and the fruitOf that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste. ; TEae Brought death into the world, and all our woe,The Werewolf ae With loss of Eden, till one greater Man. Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,Sing, Heavenly Muse--MiltonThat we're all just on some cosmic treadmill on our way to some doomfuldoom? Is truth really painless? or is it just beautiful. But what does beautymean without some sacrifice to it? The sacrifice, the stigmata, the gap, thegap, landscapish, architectonic, poetic and prosey, syllabics, sound quality,composition, the desire to produce, stick it out! 9SPRING/FALL 47

The Wonder, The SplendorSPRING/FALL 49

Amanda Jarrell Kiss Me Ruby50 REBEL '89

if - | sy eeMuminating the forms of ictlight |?Wore (5)!Craig OTBrien Light FormsSPRING/FALL 51

MadRay Puckett52 REBEL '89Mr. ChampionTs Pier

SPRING/FALL 53

Bill BaileyChris Hill54 REBEL ~89Porcelain KnobCarol Torrell Basket

Carroll Torrell Ginko PlateScott Eagle The AnnunciationErik Johnson Pumping Iron Michael McCreery My SteelSPRING/FALL 55

56 REBEL '89Leesa HartleyThe Chain of Family Abuse

Breaking the Cycle of Family AbuseDavid StanleySPRING/FALL 57

The Genius of DiseaseScott EagleSPRING/FALL 59

Steven Reid, Jr. Just Art60 REBEL '89

Steven Reid, Jr. Turbo PrintSPRING/FALL 61

Leigh Miner Portrait of a FriendTs House62 REBEL '89

CathedralMelissa IversonSPRING/FALL 63

yinAlex MarshUntitledSPRING/FALL 65

66 REBEL '89Requiem for the Marquis de SadeOnce enough people like meI'll allow myself the luxury of hating some of them.| swallow the pins and tacksLike you suggestedBut didnTt find any answers in them.My best traits and my worst onesAre the same;It depends on who I'm talking to.The mirror never tells me anything| haven't heard before| put hooks through my eyesSo you could drag me along.Who and what am |?You said you'd tell meAlthough | never asked.Given the chance,You would carve out and classify all my secrets.| wouldn't kill me, but all | ever wantedWas the death of definition.Trying to weigh your guilt against my innocenceOnly showed me the depths of the gravesWe've dug for ourselves.Marshall S. Moore

y é ty, hf > a SAsal T oy * ~ > Ss Tf whet J yt Stag NS Xf a ay fs f| 2 it i NN SS yoo.ee =oBie Re Gan Paoats ei aRAS th oll ty * .LOBES |o4vw> *angiePET atei aR ag..Al

Illustrations by David Cherry68 REBEL '89

ine...acrificeYoungsters wouldstop by on theirNEWCO BIleComre)get ice-cream, oron their wayback, and thenext morningAlice would mopoff the stickydrippings fromthe porch steps.he preacherTs wife found the bundlelate that afternoon in the left cornerof the closet, fitted snugly betweensweaters and wool skirts. She motionedto her husband, oJohn, here,?then got up from herknees and walkedcarefully to give the bloodtime to circulate in hershaky legs, holding ontothe chair, then desk anddresser top until shereached the openwindow. The house feltairless. Outside dogsbarked, at Harry BlakeTsred pickup, she could seenow. They chased the oldDodge clear around thecorner, then chased eachother back to wait formore slow-moving traffic.Dogs. Last week fourdogs had dug up underher duck pen. They hadchewed up her beautifulducks like they were oldthrown-out slippers. Bythe time she had reachedthem, there was not muchleft other than mangledbits of feathers, meat andblood. In one corner shesaw a fat mallard squirmeven as a dog bit deepinto hisbreast. She had stoodthere beating the dog hardwith her fists, then with a stick until thestick split into splinters and still heignored everything, her screams, herkicking, and ran with the duck in hismouth, its limp body bouncing back andforth like a childTs balloon-on-a-stick.AliceTs arms and back still felt stiff fromthe effort.She felt almost as much anger towardthe palefaced girl curled up on the couchin the front room. oJohn, ITm goinghome. You donTt need me here, do you??oNo, honey, go on. Try to rest.?Alice didnTt remember walking homeor passing the two small brick houses,then crossing the bridge which archedover only mud during this very low tide.The muddy marsh gradually merged intoa rather shallow creek where only thesmaller boats could safely go. The par-sonage that she and John had lived in foralmost 11 years was the second houseafter the bridge. It was white, one-story,two bedroom. She had loved it for itsporch.Summer nights, when theyTd firstmoved there, she and John would dragout chairs from the dining room tableand sit out on their porch. Youngsterswould stop by on their way to TildenTsto get ice-cream, or on their way back,and the next morning Alice would mopoff the sticky drippings from the porchsteps. She hadnTt minded. She wasnTt par-ticular as most childless women aboutneatness. Every summer until a few yearsago she had taught the Vacation BibleSchool. Her favorite activities werefinger-painting and play dough. Her classwas one of the most popular because shelet them be as messy as they liked.The porch had a porch swing nowand a set of matching lawn chairs, butsince the building committee hadinstalled air conditioning they no longerused the porch. No one walked downthis road anymore except heart patientsby Rita RogersSPRING/FALL 69

who had taken their doctorTs adviceseriously. Most people drove even if itwas just a quarter of a mile to TildenTsstore or to their church, Marshall BaptistChurch. It was as if walking were nolonger an option.At home Alice waited for herhusband. Nine oTclock came and she puthis supper on the refrigerator; she shouldhave left a note, but she was too wornout to remember that he would neverfind the food otherwise. She was used tobeing alone at night. During seminary ithad been the library; then at the NewHope church, then Bethany, thenCalvary, now Marshall, there were theparishioners to visit. Early on, Alice hadvisited them with John. But somehow, asthe years passed, she couldnTt do itanymore. Those pastoral calls took somuch out of her, always having to smileand be interested in their children andgrandchildren. All those pastcongregations now blended into onehuge conglomeration of scorning faces:nominating committees, revival services,social committees, too much make-up,not dressy enough, run in your stocking.Do, go, be, they chanted over and over;do, go, be.Not the children though, those sheremembered distinctly and gladly: Toddand Michael at the Bethany church,singing oIf I were a butterfly, T'd thankyou Lord for giving me wings,? andCalvaryTs Belinda and Allyson and Brianat the district Bible Drill, earnestlyflipping the pages of their Bibles, a70 REBEL '89soothing noise like the flapping of wings,and looking up triumphantly when theyfound what they were looking for. Thosechildren and the others were all grownby this time, but she tried not to thinkabout that.And John had told her just last week,a pulpit committee this Sunday willcome to hear him preach. Mt. Tabornear little Washington. Then, as always,would come dinner with the committee,then a session of questions and answers.Then wait for the phone call.Then thetrial sermon.Then thevote. Thenanotherphone call.Alice felttraitorousduring thewaiting.She fellasleep final-ly. Whenshe awak-ened neardawn withJohn therebeside her,his steadybreathing comforted her a little; shegently moved his hand so that it softlystroked her own face. Alice wonderedwhen he came to bed; she was usuallysuch a light sleeper. By the time the sunfiltered through the cracks in the blinds,John had mowedaround a bunch ofthe wild redamaranth. Henever could bear tocut down any ofthe transientflowers...John began to stir. oAre youalready awake?? he askedher.oHowTs Miss Eva?? Sheshifted her pillow as shespoke.oSheTs doing as well ascan be expected. The doctorgave her something.?oThe girl??oDonTt know. TheyTvealready scheduled a hearing.You okay??She closed her eyes andnodded. oWant somebreakfast??oTI just fix myself somecorn flakes.?Alice stretched her legsout across the bed after Johngot up. It felt good, cool.When was the last time shehad changed the sheets, she wondered.Almost one hour later she forcedherself up and went into the kitchen.John was leaving. oI think I ought to goback for awhile. I'll be over at the churchafter that if you need me foranything,? he said.She hesitated before asking, oYouthink I should go back? I could.?oNo, I can handle it all right. Youcould phone Miss Eva later.? As hewalked out the door he said, oDid yousee the flowers??Alice shook her headand walked to the backscreen door. She smiled.John had mowed around abunch of the wild redamaranth. He never couldbear to cut down any ofthe transient flowers thatsometimesspontaneously sprung up intheir back yard, goldenrod,columbine, violets, trumpetvine, hearts-a-busting, allsojourners on their way tosomeplace else. As a result,the lawn often had ablotched appearance.oWhere did they comefrom?? she asked him.oDonTt know. Nice, arenTt they??oYes.? Alice stayed at the dooruntil John had crossed the street.On her way back from gatheringthe sheets Alice passed the bathroom and

noticed the clothes hamper. It wasbulging with dirty laundry, its mouthopened slightly as if it had started to saysomething but had forgotten exactlywhat. She swaddled the damp bundlelike her dough rising slowly in therefrigerator. She punched it a little withher fists as if to knead it into a propersmoothness.While she was loading the washer, achildhood memory suddenly came toher. When she was about seven, thesummer before the second grade, a cathad taken up at their house. There wasnothing symmetrical about the catTsmarkings " a scramble of yellow andbrown and white " except for the bulgingin its sides. She had wanted desperatelyto keep the cat, but her mother hadhastily shooed it away: oThatTs all weneed"a dozen cats around this place!?The animal stayed in spite of her mother.Alice encouraged it with jar lids of milkhidden behind the shrubbery.The kittens came. To AliceTs horror,the mother cat had them right there onthe concrete sidewalk in front of thehouse. Alice had felt sick and wonderedwhy she didnTt go into some corner,somewhere out of view. The catcompletely ignored the births, the lastone came out while she was crossing theyard. Where they fell, she left them"wet, ugly, mouse-like creatures still intheir clinging bags of thin skin. Curling,dried-up cords protruded from theirmiddles.Without thinking really, Alice hadpicked up the cat and pushed a reluctantnose down toward one of the kittens.The cat didnTt even sniff at the poor,squirming creatures, or show any of thecasual curiosity she had exhibited thatmorning pursuing a beetle. Alice hadwatched helplessly as she walked away.Such indifference, such detachmentshe had never seen, until now, this. Shepictured the girl there on the couch, herknee drawn up to her breast.The washer was full, she closed it andset the dial.Another day passed before herneighbor Mildred came. Alice had beenexpecting her, dreading the womanTs wayof making her feel guilty for everything.Alice knew Mildred blamed her whenthe church bake sale didnTt make enoughto send all the children to camp. They allexpected so much of her. She justcouldnTt do it anymore.Mildred came with a fresh flounderwrapped in freezing paper. oThought thepreacher might like this,? she said,smiling. oI know how he loves freshfish.? MildredTs husband owned his ownfishing boat and ran the communityTs fishmarket.Alice smiled back thanks. oJohn doeslove it. HowTs Dave doing now? Heokay??oYeah, heTs guefine. Orneryas ever. Justa spell ofthe flu Iguess. |came to askabout ... youknow.?Alice knew. \She wastrying toask about thegirl.oYou heardanythingelse? Isaw thepolice overthere. Youheard any-more today??Alicelooked downat her own chewed fingernails. Shewants details, she thought. She wants toknow more than who, what, and where.More than the newspaperreporter/receptionist could bring herselfto put in the scrubbed columns of pageone of the Marshall News-Dispatchheadlined: oInfant Found Dead, TeenageMother Questioned.?oNo Mildred, you know as much as Ido.?What more can I tell you, she thought.Can I describe for you the awful way inwhich a dry-cleanerTs plastic bag clingsagainst the wet face of a two-day-oldinfant, clings as if it were a second skin?Should I tell you how the veined eye lidsseem to contain eyes too large for thehead? How the swelling seems to fill thewhole wax-doll face?oT just thought, you being thepreacherTs wife and all.? Mildredhesitated. oDidnTt you find it??oNo,? Alice said.Mildred had been gone for more thanhalf an hour before Alice got upfrom the kitchen table. She smoothed herlimp hair straight back. The bangs fellstubbornly to her forehead. ItTs a sight,she thought. I'll need to wash it fortomorrow, for Sunday. John had beenon his way to take her to the beautyparlor three days ago. They werebacking out of the carport when theycaught sight of Miss Eva walking up,struggling to find a firm hold in thegravel driveway.oPreacher, somethingTswrong with Linda. SheTsfainted.? Miss Eva hadbeen out of breath.They found the girl onthe bathroom floor, asmall stain growing onher terrycloth robe. Theambulance had come totake the girl to thehospital. John and Alicehad followed in their car.After his examination,the doctor took the adultsaside. Alice was stunned.It was as if someone hadhit her from behind, theblow was so jolting.oThatTs impossible,doctor,? she hadsaid.Miss Eva, the girlTsgrandmother, hadwhispered, oSheTs no more than a childherself.?The doctor seemed not to be listening.oThe girl wonTt tell me anything. See ifyou can talk to her. ITm going to have tocall the sheriff.?Where have I been, Alice had thought.This happened so close and I neverknew.She found a bobby pin and fastenedthe strands away from her face. I canTtwash my hair. Maybe Ill miss churchtomorrow. John never minds. The organplayer had taken over most of her choir-leading duties anyway. Probably no onewould hardly notice.She stopped suddenly and walkedover to the sink. That sound! Out thewindow she saw, over near the marshTsedge, two ducks moving in the directionof the pen. She held her breath. Oneyoung drake, and trailing him out of themarsh grass, a dingy-brown female. Theymust be mine, she thought excitedly.Continued on page 72, col. 3SPRING/FALL 71

continued from page.11 continued from page 17 continued from page 71ears and then to his temples. oItTs not funny,?he managed to whisper, dragging the wordsfrom his constricted throat. He drew a breath,and this time shouted as loud as he couldmanage, oGod dammit, shut the hell up, itTs?not funnyThe laughter trickled off as the women sawthe look of anger on JimmyTs face. There wasa short, awkward silence, which was brokenby a cough and mumbled oletTs get back towork,? and the subsequent whisper of leatherand squeaking of rubber on the concretefloor, leaving with a few backward glancesJimmy standing in the middle of the lobbyclutching his rag.Finally, his grip relaxed and he turned andstrode back out the door. He began to rub thewindow in a slow, absent motion. He startedto sing in an effort to make himself feelbetter, oWhoa-oa, Fat Phyllis, Bam-a-lam,Whoa-oa, Fat Phyll ...? he trailed off. ItdidnTt make him feel any better. Somehow itwasnTt funny anymore. He came to thesection of window where the little boy hadleft his prints, as if he were a celebrity in frontof GrumanTs Chinese Theater. The memoryof the little boyTs smile, so filled withinnocence, made him feel a little better, andhe moved on down the window, washing ashe went.When he had finished he went inside andhanded Phyllis the rag and the Windex. oSeeyou tomorrow, Phyllis,? he said to her as heturned toward the exit.oYeah, see yaT,? she replied, looking up athim briefly. He noticed, with a little surprise,that she had pretty blue eyes.Jimmy crossed the floor and pushed thedoor open. He stepped halfway across thethreshold and then stopped. He turned andsaid, to noone in particular, oI wonder if thesun isnTt maybe a little dimmer for a lot ofpeople??oHuh, what did you say?? Phyllis asked.oNothing,? he said, and stepped throughthe door, allowing it to swing closed behindhim. Sg72 REBEL '89seen Tem "bout a week before, campinT, lotTsof em. They stopped cominT over the hill,and we all thoughts we won; but I knewthere was more, more than us at least. Theboss-man " we never called by theyTs armynames, cept to em " he wanted to go overthe hill, I donTt know why, guess I never will.I knew there was lots of Tem waiting, but hewouldnTt listen to me; they never listens to us.Told me I'd better go or heTd have me shot" so I said I would. I smarted him, cause Istayed right there in the woods. Gotta knowwhen to think on your own.?oHe never tried to gets you shot??oSettinT here talkinT with you, ainTt I??Blueblood looked away, probably so IcouldnTt see his face turn soft. He nevertalked *bout wars, hatesTem. I could tell hewas worryinT "bout me; heTll wait.oBusTll be here soon.?oDidnTt have no buses or cars or nothinT,had to walk, walk everywhere. Some of Temhad horses, not us, we walked .... Differentwar.?oITm gonna use my smarts. Gonna think,think all the time. I'll be back. I know ITll beback.?oAinTt waitinT for no boys to come homefrom no war.?oThereTs the bus. Got to be goinT .... beback though, defnantly be back.? Bluebloodjust mumbled that he ainTt waitinT for no boy.Shook his hand; it felt cold, like old leatherworkinT gloves.The bus was dark and lonely lookinT.Pulled myself up into it and didnTt nobodyeven look up at me, but from the looks ontheir faces I could tell. Could tell we weregoinT somewhere far, somewhere I knew IdidnTt wanna go. From my seat I could seeBlueblood, just rockinT, lookinT up at the sky.No one to talk to, no one to ride in his timemachine anymore .... heTs already waitinT. BgSome were saved after all. They must haveflown over the coop when the dogs came andnow theyTve come home.She was nervous. If only I can get themback into the pen, she said to herself. Sheslipped on her flipflops and went outside. Shehad the feed bucket in her hand. oHere,duck,? she said. She filled the feeder trough,ohere, duck.? The two moved in a littlecloser; they were almost in front of theopening. oTT'll have to fill in that hole,? shesaid to herself. oThose dogs might be back.?As she started toward the ducks they madea sharp turn away from the fence and her andheaded instead back toward the marsh.Ducks are such stupid animals, she thought,donTt know itTs for their own good. Shetossed a little feed at them, hoping theyTd turnaround. oHere duck, please,? she said. Theykept going and she watched them. Shewatched their V-shaped ripples they madewhen they entered the water widen andsilently hit the muddy shore.In her anger she picked up the bucket andswung it by its handle, around and aroundlike a pantomime of a baseball pitcherwinding up his fast ball. It made a dull thudwhen it hit the wire pen. oWhat does itmatter,? she said as she took off her apronand wiped duck pen mud from the sides ofher feet. Then she sat down on the coldconcrete steps of the back stoop and tried tocry. So

BreakdownHave you everbrokenyour leg in threeplaces"all at once? Thesuddentwistafterstrenuous living;It's the snapthe snapthat echoesthroughout the body. ItTsthe grindof metal, thecrunchof marrow, the crunch offlesh.It's a soundthat never quiteleaves me. It'sa snare, a trap, a trendtoward enlightenment; a spikein my heel toholdit all together, meshed inneo-Oedipal fashion.When it rains, |Still feel the gritty coarseness. Itpulses, aches,boulder-heavy,a socketfull of Hell that| choose towallow in. It's acrutch of convenience:Adapted.Perfected.Healed.Joseph CampbellSPRING/FALL 73

contributorsRobin Ayers is a senior in English who wonTt answer telephonemessages.Bill oJewelry? Bailey is 26 years old and currently working on a BFAdegree in metal design. His hobbies include oeverything,? and hehopes to own his own jewelry business one day. HeTs a size 9.Tonya D. Batizy is a frisbee-golf playing Dead Head working on a BAin English with a Concentration in Writing. Realistically she wouldlike to teach English and Spanish; but her real love is translatingSpanish poetry into English. SheTs an 8%-B.Sheri Boyd will not be in until 5 pm.Lisa Brantley is a 26 year old April FoolTs baby. Lisa is a graduatestudent in painting who, in her spare time, loves horseback riding,water skiing, and preparing her lectures in the wee hours of themorning at Krispy Kreme. SheTs a 7% AAA.Rick Burgess is 26 years old and currently working on a BFA inCommunication Arts. His hobby, when not working at AccuCopy,is painting. HeTs a 9 narrow.Scot Buck is an illustrator and might have brown hair . . . we really donTtknow. He probably wears a size 15 shoe.Jeff Campagna is 21 years old and working on a BFA degree inCommunication Arts. He enjoys basketball and football. HeTs an11%.Joseph Campbell is 25 years old and seeking, among other things, anMA in English literature; his hobbies include writing, reading, andpainting, and says that he owes all his creative talents to the rich,cultural environment that he grew up in. Of his future plans, heTdlike to forge, in the smithy of his soul, a higher consciousness for thehuman race (ahem). HeTs a 10% medium.David Lee Cherry is 25 (happy birthday), currently seeking an MFA inprintmaking, and was recently converted to Christianity. In hisspare time, he likes collecting and getting rid of garbage. He wears a7? narrow.Greg Christensen is a 22 year old Philosopher who plans to graduate inMay " that is, as long as he determines that all of this does exist. Heenjoys snow skiing and would like to apply his philosophy to acareer in computers. He wears a 10%.Scott Eagle is a 26 year old grad student in the painting department. Heoriginally received a BFA in Communication Arts, but after livingin New York for a year, he decided painting would probably be lesscompetitive. HeTs a 9¥.Robert Flanagan is 24 years old and working on a BFA in theprintmaking department. In his spare time, Robert likes collectinginsects and is currently wanting to add to his collection a Madagas-car Hissing Cockroach. After graduating this summer, Robert plansto move North. His shoe size is otwice my hat size.?Christopher Gallagher, is a Broadcasting major with a minor in Eng-74 REBEL '89lish. He would like to write scripts for tacky T.V. sitcoms aboutangst-ridden artists. Chris is 21, wears a size 10%, and thinks theRebel has a great beat and is easy to dance to.Paul Glankler is a 24 year old illustrator, working on a BFA degree. HeTsgot no hobbies or future plans. But he is a 9% (a 10 in Nike).Melissa Gray will be 21 in May and likes to dance at parties, or so shesays. Her ambitions for the future include completing a BA inWriting which will hopefully lead to a career in publishing. Shewears a size 8 raquetball shoe.Robert Gwyn is a CA BA illus. Sophomore. HeTs also a biker (thatTsmotorcycler), so look out. Other than that heTs just like all of therest of these art students and paints in his spare time. Robert wears asize 9% shoe.Stacy Hamilton is currently working on a BFA in Communication Artsand hopes one day to open her own design studio. This twenty-oneyear old photography enthusiast also wears a size 7 medium shoe.Leesa Hartley is a twenty-one year old skydiver who enjoys lying abouther dress size. A Communication Arts student, she wears a size 7shoe.Jon Christopher Hill is an auto mechanic who doubles as a graduatestudent in Ceramics. He wears a size 8 shoe.Jacqui Hughes is 22 and in the BFA-illustration program. Her mainhobby, she says, is fairies, especially Scandinavian fairies"ofwhich her grandmother was one. Jacqui adds that she lovesmashed potatoes and gravy. And sheTs an 8% B.Brett Hursey, if I remember correctly, is about 23 years old andworking on an English degree in writing. Not only is he anaccomplished playwright, poet, and short story writer, but Brettalso enjoyed acting and drawing caricatures of our drama teacherin high school. HeTs got rather large feet.Melissa Ivereson is 21 years old . . . again... and an INPF. SheTs asenior in the painting department who enjoys Todd Rundgren, theBeatles, and her flirtatious feline, Tasha. When asked of herhobbies, she replied, oWhat hobbies? ITm always working!? Melissahopes to own her own photography studio someday and to paint,paint, paint. SheTs an 8.Amanda Jarrell is studying graphics in the Communication Artsprogram and although she has no hobbies she does have a ~specialinterestT in photography. She hopes to find work in a design studioor ad agency in the Winston-Salem/Greensboro area. SheTs a 6narrow.Doug Johnson graduated this past December and is now living in thethriving metropolis of Garner, North Carolina. He used to write forthe East Carolinian and they described him as a big guy who readsa lot and takes his frustrations out on innocent digital machines.Doug wears a size 12 DDD.

Erik Johnson is 21 and currently working on a BFA degree in metaldesign. His hobbies include frisbeeing, table tennis, biking, andoany general playing around.? Of his future plans, Erik says heTsgoing to grad school and later pursue a career in academia, adding,oITm gonna be a big man someday.? HeTs 9% and oexceptionallywide.?H. Kermit Leggett, III has moved since getting married, and has nophone.Mary Joyce McCallum is working on a BA in English with aConcentration in Writing and wants to be a lawyer. She enjoysswimming and horseback riding when not dreaming of chasingambulances. Mary wears an 8%.Tim McClanahan is a twenty-eight year old illustrator in the Commu-nication Arts program who is totally dedicated to things artistic. Hecurrently plans to pursue a career as a freelance illustrator. Timwears a size 8% shoe.Michael H. McCreery collects 78Ts when not sculpting masterpieces forhis BFA degree. After completing that he is considering furthering hiseducation with an MFA. This masochistic 21 year old wears a 12.L. Michelle McDevitt studies Fabric Design and also enjoys reading,writing, and photography. Her idea of fun is enrolling at Columbiato study Art History for an MFA. Michelle wears a size 7/4.Alex Marsh is a 21 year old Graphic Design student who also enjoysmusic and film. He wants to be an artist when he grows up. Hewears an 11% wide.Leigh Miner likes to paint. In fact she is working on a BFA in Painting.She also likes to read and walk, but she hates the way she alwaysruns into trees and curbs. For lack of anything better to do she isconsidering grad school after college. Leigh has to special order hersize 4% EE wide shoes.Marshall S. Moore is an 18 year old Psychology major who likes theliterary arts. In fact he would like to publish a book when he growsup. oYou havenTt seen the last of him.? Marshall wears a 10%medium.Jessica Murphy is working as a graphic designer for the USDA thissemester. Although they made her change the funky color and styleof her hair, we will fondly remember her nappy, orange head.Tony Nichols is married to his work as an Illustrator in the Art School.He wants to become an illustrator for a Christian publication. Tonywears an 11.Craig OTBrien is a Graphic Design student who likes to shoot things inhis spare time (basketballs, golfballs, Bambi . . .). He is looking to getinto a design studio or ad agency after finishing his BFA. Craigwears a size 104.John OTConnor is 22 and currently working on a BFA degree ingraphic design. His hobbies include the Rebel (natch), the Rebel,and...er...the Rebel. HeTs a really diverse individual. Someday,he wants to go to California and make really awful, artsy movies.HeTs a size 9% in the UK, but a 10 in the US.Ray Puckett is working on a BFA in Printmaking and dreams of being alithographer some day. This noble fellow also spends time at theBoyTs Club and as a Tepid Lemon Referee (whatever that is). Raywears ~at leastT a 10%.Steven F. Reid Jr. is married. In his spare time he is a graduate studentin Printmaking. His goal is to teach college level art. Steven wears asize 11 hightop.Renee Rice is currently working on a BA in Communication Arts.According to her colleagues, she is a very nice girl, an attractive girl,a good listener, and wears about an 8%.Rita Rogers is a graduate student in Writing and one of the RebelTs mostprolific contributors. Among her other talents are motherhood,scholarship, and teaching freshman composition. We estimate Ritaat about a size 7'.Andrea Ross is a little art student who spilled a lot of Coke on JohnTsstack of resumés. We donTt know how tiny her feet are.Lynne Rupp is a graduate student in English literature currently onsabbatical in Durham. She likes running with her dog, Rogue,really strong coffee, Chinese noodles, and being the RebelTs poetryeditor (even though she was not here for most of the productionwork). Lynne has little feet supporting her tiny athletic frame....Come back, Lynne ...Tina Shaw is an avid reader, photographer, and someone we'd like toget on a racquetball court. SheTs currently working toward a BFAin Graphic Design and would like to someday work in an adagency. She wears an 8.Allen Sovelove is a 23 year old Painting major who fancies himself aguitarist. His unabashed desire in life is fame. But is that possiblewith a size 9 shoe?David Stanley is working towards a BFA in illustration. His favoritemediums are watercolor and pen and ink. He adds, oI get mystrength and talent from the Lord.? He wears a size 10.Dale Swanson hasnTt been in Greenville as long as Joe, but longer thanJohn. HeTs getting married and lives in Frog Level with a zillioncats and a blind dog named Ginger. Dale spends most of his timeplaying computer games and worrying about the papers he hasnTtwritten. He wears a size 9 loafer.Carol Torell is oreally boring? and is totally consumed by her art. She isa graduate student in Ceramics and wears a 7 narrow.CCE Walker is 28, from some British-speaking country, and seeking anMFA in Communication Arts. She has no hobbies, a qualityendemic to seemingly all art students, but does plan to teach and dofreelance work. SheTs a dainty 7.SPRING/FALL 75

KBEG H T:Y RNs EN ER| want to help provide an outlet for artis-tic expression by supporting the Rebel,East Carolina UniversityTs Literary-ArtMagazine.| have enclosed my tax-deductible con-tribution of:__" $250 Benefactor"" $125 Patron"__ $50 Friend"_" OtherName:Address:City:State:Zip:Telephone:Please make checks payable to ECU/Rebel and return to the following address:Rebel, Mendenhall Student Center, EastCarolina University, Greenville, NC 27858-4353.Telephone: (919) 757-6502Ge an bl ae OFigs OS cee Bee BC| want to help provide an outlet for artis-tic expression by supporting the Rebel,East Carolina UniversityTs Literary-ArtMagazine.| have enclosed my tax-deductible con-tribution of:___. $250 Benefactor__" $125 Patron"__ $50 Friendae SeName:Address:THEENDLESSHORIZONSOFWe do not understand all there is to know abouthow color does what it does, but we do know thatcolor enhances your message, gives your sales pitchgreater impact, and insures better return on dollarsyou invest in printing.|lTHEO. DAVIS SONS, INC.PRINTERS - LITHOGRAPHERSP.O. Box 277 « Highway 97 WestTelephone 919/269-7401 ¢ Fax 919/269-5647Zebulon, North Carolina 27597City:State:Zip:Telephone:Please make checks payable to ECU/Rebel and return to the following address:Rebel, Mendenhall Student Center, EastCarolina University, Greenville, NC 27858-4353.Telephone: (919) 757-650276 REBEL T'89