1. Kai Gadd-Shefman, Gold Key, Flash Fiction, Running

2. Mat Harvey, Honorable Mention, Dramatic Writing The Play is Safe

3. Violet Barron, Honorable Mention, Short Story, The Last Judgement

4. Skylar Ewing, Honorable Mention, Short Story, The Cloudwatcher

5. Cassia Lee, Honorable Mention, Poetry, I Do

6. Aurora Papas, Silver Key, Critical Essay. A Modern Woman and Modern Feminism

7. Emma Putman, Honorable Mention, Flash Fiction, Sunset at the Beach

8. Brox Rosenfeld, Honorable Mention, Short Story, Interview with the Oldest Man Alive

9. William Saunders, Silver Key, Science Fiction & Fantasy, The Pointless War

10. Charley Schofman, Honorable Mention, Short Story, The 29th of September

11. Renata Shchur, Silver Key, Short Story, The Longest Day

12. Julian Springer-Landry, Gold Key, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Terror at Departure

13. William Tobleman, Gold Key, Short Story, Dear Diary

14. William Tobleman, Silver Key, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Fight, Flight, or Fire

15. William Tobleman, Silver Key, Flash Fiction, St. Elizabeth Ann Seton

16. William Tobleman, Honorable Mention, Critical Essay, The Metamorphosis: How Kafka Uses Characterization to Portray Familial Alienation

17. Zoe Uhlik, Honorable Mention, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Ruiners

18. Jack Vars, Honorable Mention, Short Story, The Departure

19. Ava Weatherford, Silver Key, Personal Essay & Memoir, Through The Windows of Barton View

20. Amaya Zesati, Silver Key, Short Story, Talking to the Ocean

The Play is Safe

By Mat Harvey

**Note all characters but Janet and Charles are double casted with another part. Charles’ and Thomas’ clothing will be a hoodie or some more modern article of clothing that covers a white shirt with a vest on. Their pants are plain black. *

*We are in a small room. Charles is sitting on his bed; he wears a simple tank top. On the other side of the room is another bed with another person: Janet Calr sitting on it, typing on her computer. *

Charles: What time is it?

Janet: It’s 5am.

Charles: Shoot, I have to go.

*Charles rushes to put on his backpack. *

Janet: Where are you going?

Charles: I signed up for this theater group that puts on plays in their spare time and we're meeting in 5 minutes!

*Charles rushes out leaving an amused Janet.*

Janet: Break a leg!

*Scene transition: the actors in the theater troupe bring in their chairs while Janet moves away the beds. Reed’s actor also brings Charles a chair. Charles pauses before going to the chairs. The other people are Reed Hollen (a smiling person wearing a tank top), Sarah Smith (a smiling woman wearing a sparkling dress), Wren Thomson (a person wearing fashionable clothes and

looking quite at home in their body) and Thomas Lane (a smiling man who wears a smiling t-shirt). *

Charles (rush, panicked): I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was just crazy.

Reed: (*to Charles*) That’s quite all right. (*to everyone*) Now that everyone is here, why don’t we go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. We can say our names, pronouns and what we do in the theater.

*Thomas sighs dramatically. They all introduce themselves, smiling openly at Charles, going in a circle.*

Reed: I’ll go first. I’m Reed, I use they/them pronouns and I am the director.

Sarah: Right, I’ll go next. I am Sarah and she/her pronouns and I create sets and do lights.

Wren: Wren here! Any pronouns please mix them up and I am the amazing playwright.

Thomas: And I am Thomas, he/they pronouns are the ones that I use and I am a thespian.

*Reed, Sarah and Wren softly laugh before everyone looks at Charles.*

Charles (*softly*): Right, I am Charles. I use he/him pronouns and I act–not well–but I act.

Wren: Oh, thank god! Another actor– you cannot *believe *what it’s like making plays with Thomas as the only actor.

Thomas: I do wonderfully! But yeah, it is great to have another actor.

Charles: So you write the plays?

Wren: I do. Is there any character you're good at playing or prefer?

Charles: I can do anything, just not any female parts, please. I’m still too early in my transition to be comfortable with that.

Wren: Of course. This is a safe place.

Charles: Thank you.

*Reed stands up*

Reed: Right! We'll meet again next month to read Wren’s play. See you guys then!

Sarah: Oh I can’t wait!

*Black out.*

*We move back to the bedroom with Janet plus Edwin (played by the actor who plays Thomas.) Charles enters.*

Edwin: Oh, hey Charles, nice to see you again.

Charles: (*softly*) Hey Edwin.

Janet: How's the theater thing?

Charles: Good, good… it’s a new two person play, though I haven’t read it yet.

Janet: Ooo another actor. Is he handsome?

Charles: Well… Yes.

Edwin: Do you have a crush on him, Charles?

Charles: Well… maybe a little.

*Scene Transition: back to the theater group with the actors bringing out the chairs. Edwin and Janet moving the bed back. Edwin’s outfit should just be a piece of clothing that can be easily removed so he can seamlessly become Thomas. *

Charles: I’m so sorry I’m late again – I promise it won’t happen every time!

Reed: It’s fine, Charles.

Sarah: Don’t worry, you were only five minutes late.

*Wren takes out his backpack and pulls out five scripts *

Wren: And now that we're all here…

Sarah: Oooh what’s it about?

*Wren hands out the scripts and tells the story in a dramatic manner. *

Wren: It’s a romance about two gay detectives in Victorian times. Laurie Lovely, a charming, morally gray detective who will always break the rules to solve crimes and his partner Christopher Cane who is a no–nonsense detective who hates the world. Thomas, you will be playing Laurie, and Charles, you are Christopher.

*Wren sits down. Thomas pulls a highlighter out of his pocket and starts to highlight his script. He turns to Charles. *

Thomas: You have a highlighter?

Charles: No.

Thomas: Here, I always have an extra.

Charles: Thank you.

*Thomas pulls out a highlighter and hands it to Charles. *

Reed: Right, while the actors are highlighting, Wren, can you show Sarah what lights and sound you need?

Wren: Right, so I want for the stage something simple so that you can move from scene to scene easily.

*Sarah pulls out a pen and starts writing this down. *

Wren: For lights I want something grand – like a spotlight when a character’s talking.

*A spotlight falls on Wren *

Wren: When a character gets killed the spotlight should turn red.

*The spotlight does so *

Sarah: Right, what if the spotlight follows the sounds so when a new character speaks–

*The spotlight hits her.*

Sarah: –the spotlight goes to them.

Wren: That’s great!

Sarah: Do you think you can come to my place later so we can brainstorm more ideas?

Wren: I would love to!

Reed: Guys, have you finished highlighting?

Thomas: We have.

*Charles gives a thumb up.*

Reed: Right, let’s get this read-through started.

*The chair circle is dim and the front of the stage lights up. The actor for Thomas takes off his trench coat to reveal he is wearing Victorian clothes; the same for Charles when he takes off his hoodie. They are now their characters and they walk to the center of the stage. For the sake of

the script they will still be typed as Charles and Thomas but they are in fact Christopher and Laurie.*

Thomas: Ahh, Mr. Cane, I see that you are also interested in this case.

Charles: What is it to you Mr. Lovely?

Thomas: Please, call me Laurie, there's no need to be so stiff with me. (*He’s Thomas again.*) Wait!

*The chair circle is lit again.*

Wren: What?

Thomas: They're not dating. I thought this was a detective romance?

Wren: They are – it’s a slow burn romance.

Thomas: Oh okay, okay.

*The lights on the circle turn off.*

Charles: I have no time for this. The time spent on your chatter is the time a murderer plans out someone else's death.

Thomas: Well, before you go can I ask you a question?

Charles: Alright.

Thomas: Are you a fairy? (*Thomas again.*) Wait hold on–

*Lights are back on the circle. *

Wren: What now?

Thomas: Was that term a term back then?

Sarah: I’ll check.

*She pulls out her phone.*

Thomas: Shouldn’t we have someone who checks these things?

Reed: We can’t afford a dramaturg, and unless you want to do it we have no time. Besides, this is what phones are for.

Sarah: Right, soo the term fairy started being used in the 1970s and Victorian era ended in 1901.

Wren: Oh shoot, when did they start to use homosexual?

Sarah: Uhh… 17th century.

Reed: Right, change fairy to homosexual.

*The lights go off in the circle again.*

Thomas: Are you a homosexual?

Charles: What?

Thomas: Are you a Homosexual Christopher?

Charles: What no why would I do something so ghastly.

Thomas: That’s a shame because I am.

*Lights out *

*Scene up on Charles in a book shop the setting is simple with just a thick table that Charles is behind it. Charles has a he/him badge. The actors who play Wren, Sarah walk in and they wear different clothing. They will be called Theodore, Emily. They are goofing around. Theodore holds a book.*

Theodore: Excuse Me Miss?

*Charles doesn’t answers *

Theodore: Miss?

Emily: The girl at the book stand!

Charles: Are you talking to me?

Theodore: Who else would we be talking to? I want to check out this book.

Charles: Oh… okay.

*Transition. Charles takes off his pronoun pin and takes off his hoodie to show the Victorian clothing. Thomas is in the same clothing. The actor playing Wren takes the table away and the actress who plays Sarah leaves. During this scene the other actors quickly enter the back of the stage black.*

Thomas: Oh Mr. Cane I didn’t see you there.

Charles: If I must call you Laurie you can do me the favor of calling me Christopher.

Thomas: Very well Christopher may I ask how you are finding the murders.

*Charles laugh*

Thomas: Why do you laugh at me?

Charles: You ask me how murder is like it’s the weather. You’re very droll

Thomas: Well if you find me droll as you do indeed appear to I have a proposition for you.

Charles: What is that if I may ask.

Thomas: We solve the murders together.

*The lights in the back stage go off and all the other actors are clapping *

Reed: Very good you guys that was great!

Thomas: Yeah you were amazing.

Charles: Thank you. You were Stunning.

Thomas: I do try.

*The chairs move and the actor who plays Charles moves a chair to the front. The actress who plays Janet dressed as a waitress brings in a small table and puts it in front of him. Wren actor is also dressed as a waitress*

Waitress1: And what do you want today sweetie?

Charles: Oh I would love a tea.

Waitress1: Right away sweetheart.

*Charles sighs reading his book*

Waitress1:See that person over there

Waitress2: I do.

Waitress1: That’s one of those trans people.

Waitress2: It’s a shame I’m sure she would have made a beautiful woman if she just tried such a shame.

*Charles walks to the front all the stage is black but him he takes off his hoodie*

Charles: I don’t know what’s worse, the time and effort some put into people like me or the people who refuse to see me as human. The people who look at me and are an object to be mocked and hated not because of true hatred but because they were told to.

*Thomas step forward from the stage old fashion clothes *

Thomas: There are some people Christoper who think we are human, some people who believe they don’t have to control our lives.

Charles: It shouldn’t have to be some (*as Charles*) I’m sorry line

*Light up on the chair circle *

Reed: It’s “no one should think my life is there, it’s only mine.”

Charles: Right thank you sorry

Thomas: Don’t be, it's really impressive that you have this much memorized.

Charles: Thank you

*Black out*

*Charles is on the phone on the other side of the stage is the actor who plays wren in a different costume playing Jake. *

Jake: Char, they're our parents.

Charles: I have never denied that.

Jake: All they are asking is a little patience.

Charles: No, all they are asking is excuses. I was out of the closet since I was 14 I am 24 years old now they have had a decade Jake.

Jake: Yes but at their age-

Charles: Don’t at their age me if they can’t understand a changing of a name they shouldn’t have jobs

Jake: They were born in a different time Char

Charles: I know many people from that time who fully understand that trans people are real. Why do you always give excuses for them?

Jake: They’re our parents

*Blake out *

*Charles and Thomas again in their old fashion clothes*.

Charles: Love? You think the killer killed these women for love?

Thomas: Love is a powerful motivator it motivates us all.

*Charles snorts*

Thomas: Come one you never had a lover?

Charles: That’s a crime.

Thomas: I had a lover. His name was Jim and we loved each other more than

anything.

Charles: What happened?

Thomas: He was arrested because of it. And I will tell you something, Laurie he never once told anyone that the man he was with was me. Why do you think he did that?

*Silence *

Thomas: Out of love he did it out of love.

*Another black out*

*The stage is empty now and we hear the sound of rain. Charles is shivering. Thomas enters he’s protecting himself with an umbrella and sees Charles he puts the umbrella over him. *

Thomas: Hey Charles!

Charles: Oh hey Thomas! How are you?

Thomas: Good, good what are you doing out here?

Charles: Oh my roommate is having her boyfriend over so I decided to let them have some alone time.

Thomas: In this weather don’t you have anyone to stay with?

Charles: No, they're all busy.

Thomas: Well… my house is close by and I do need help memorizing my lines if you're available.

Charles: I think I have some spare time.

*They move in and Thomas ' actor brings out one bed they sit on it together. Thomas pulls out a script. *

Thomas: I have to say you are one amazing actor.

Charles: You really think so.

Thomas: Please one can’t help but fall in love with you.

Charles: and you are a very charming devil

Thomas: I am guilty of that.

Charles: What scene do you need help with?

*Thomas points at a page.*

Thomas: That one.

Charles: Okay act away.

Thomas: The problem with you Christopher is you hate them as much. Yes I won’t deny that you have better reasons too but can’t you let sleeping devils lie.

*Charles stands up as Thomas is moved away on the bed. Charles takes center stage.*

Charles: If I let sleeping devils lie then I am giving up going away forever. I will let sleeping devils lie when they stop murdering people in their sleep but I don’t think that they will.

*Janet brings in the other bed. Thomas’s actor is now dressed as Edwin Charles walks into the scene.*

Charles: Oh sorry I didn't know you would be here Edwin.

Edwin: It’s fine I’m leaving now see you later bro.

*He leaves *

Janet: Soo you were gone all night.

Charles: I was.

Janet: Who did you stay with?

Charles: Thomas.

Janet: oooo your handsome actor friend

Charles: Yes.

Janet: Well that's a positive sign, do you think he likes you back?

Charles: I don’t think so. He's gay.

Janet: Yeah and you're a man.

Charles: A trans man Janet and not a handsome one at that.

Janet: Oh please, you're plenty handsome.

Charles: Well he did ask me to come back to his house and run lines with him.

Janet: See he likes you.

*Scene transition Janet moves her bed out. Thomas and Charles move the other bed to the middle of the room. They pull out scripts *

Thomas: What scene do you want to practice?

Charles: I don’t know

Thomas: What about the I love you scene?

Charles: Okay. (*becoming Christopher*) I believe I’m falling in love with you Laurie. No know I love you and yet just saying that I love you is too small just a spec to my true understanding. I love you more than air, I love you more than fire. And it doesn’t matter that the world is wrong. The world cannot control my life. The only person who can own my life is you. It is yours now Laurie and you can do with it whatever you want. Kill it, mock it, savor it whatever it is for now and always.

*Thomas is very close to Charles now a touch away*

Thomas (*as Laurie*): I would never kill your love Christopher for it is the most beautiful thing in the world. I would never mock you because I mock life itself. I would like to do more than savor it my dear. I want to offer you something. You have given me your love and I want to give you mine. Sure it might not be as beautiful as yours but it will save you, protect you and never let you go. I give you my love

*Thomas ups his hands on Charles face*

Thomas: Please take my love. For if you reject it my world might shatter (*as Thomas*) I really want to kiss you right now Charles may I?

Charles: Yes

*They kiss before Charles moves back *

Charles: Wait do you love me?

Thomas: I wouldn’t have if I hadn't kissed you. Do you love me?

Charles: Yes

*Thomas goes in for another kiss *

Charles: Wait, it really doesn’t matter to you that I’m trans?

Thomas: Why would it. I’m a guy, you're a guy and I want to date you and love you. Will you let me?

Charles: Yes, Yes I will.

*They kiss each other black out. We are back from the chair circle but the chairs are flushed against the wall. Everyone sitting there but Thomas and Charles. They are in old fashioned clothes. Charles and Thomas are still kissing then Thomas leaves sitting down on the chair. Charles is staring at the audience. He takes the hoodie off for the last time.*

Charles: The world hates us and it always will. History has taught us that. And in return we hate the world because that is all we know . But there are places where we can love for once, for a little. We can just be us and the world does not reject us or deny us then because this is our world and this world will never betray us. And so for once we do not reject the world but love it.

The Last Judgement

By Violet Barron

“In the name of the Father, Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,” he raises his hand to make a cross with eerily practiced perfection.

The stillness of the booth is broken as he uses his right hand to hover over his forehead, the middle of his chest, his left shoulder, then his right. His words ring out through the booth, absorbed by the dark, chestnut walls before falling silent again.

The statement causes a feeling of dread to gather in the pit of my stomach, acidic and churning as it gnaws its way from my stomach throughout the rest of my body. I feel the sting of heat as my cheeks flush bright red in embarrassment, and I can only imagine the ugly color. Pathetic. Pathetic is the right word to describe my state. My whole body sags with the weight of guilt pathetically and my cheeks burn a pathetic red.

I’ve done this time and time again, so why do I feel the same every time?

I make sure to bow my head, avoiding eye contact as I mirror his movements. Using my right hand to hover over my forehead, the middle of my chest, my left shoulder, then my right. Echoing back, “Amen.”

“May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you know your sins and trust in his mercy.”

“Amen,” I respond once more, a word that I don't have to be told to use, I just do. Especially in the presence of people like him. I glance up at him nervously, and immediately regret it. His cold, sharp eyes are the only thing I can see boring down at me, unmoving and judgemental. He doesn’t bother to move, speak, or even smile, the only proof of him actually being alive is when he blinks, slowly and far apart. A singular fly is perched on top of his shoulder, silent and still, as if He’s not really there. I didn’t notice Him fly into the room, I guess He might always be present.

After a moment of sitting there frozen, I realize he’s waiting on something. I panic, my perfectly practiced lines fleeing my mind momentarily as I realize he's waiting on me to speak. I nearly choke on the weight of my words. Sputtering out a cough and taking in a measly breath as I glue my eyes to my hands folded in front of me. My mind scrambles through countless hours of lectures and masses. I know what to do, what to say, but at this moment, the words elude me. After what feels like an eternity of me pointlessly fumbling for words, and him still staring down at me, I am finally able to grasp onto words, a practiced phrase.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one month ago,” I mutter out weakly, with contempt and fear laced in my voice. I hate confession. I really do. And for a moment, I wonder if that itself is a sin.

A month's worth of venial sins bubble from inside my stomach; a hot, acidic mixture of shame and guilt and confusion and anger surges into my throat, threatening to spill under the pressure of his gaze. I have to press my lips into a thin line, sealing my errs inside me, if only momentarily, where he cannot judge my failures.

Begrudgingly, I decide it’s best to spill, if only for the false sense of relief I so desperately cling to. “Um, I’ve said the Lord’s name in vain. And I’ve used profanity, like, I’ve cursed,” I speak quietly, a small, foolish part of me hopes he won’t hear me, but I know he will.

“...”

Silence. I’m met with silence. Because he knows. I know he knows. And he knows I know. And we both have the mutual understanding that we both know. We both know that isn’t all.

“And, I’m angry, so angry.”

“...”

“Like, at the church. I’m angry at the church.” I want to tell him, tell him that I’m angry at him. I’m angry at him and God and the church. I’m angry because I’m a girl and he’s him and God’s God. A bright red type of anger, the type of anger that comes from my Mother, and my Mother’s Mother, and her sisters, and the hundreds of women that came before me in the church. And I want to tell him. But I can’t. Because I’m utterly pathetic, and would prefer to recite lines that have been drilled into my mind by the very people I hate than voice my pathetic, embarrassing emotions to him.

I swallow my words, bottling them up for a supposed different time where maybe I will have some miraculous influx of courage. My words form a lump as they creep down my throat; scratching and clawing until they’re finally suppressed.

I take a deep, defeated breath, muttering out with my head hung low, “This is all I can remember, I am sorry for these and all of my sins.”

“...”

I glance up at him, hoping to gadge some sort of reaction. But he doesn’t speak or move, I guess I shouldn’t have expected him to. But I wish he did. Anything to escape the painful stillness that settles over the booth. It feels as if time has stopped. Clocks have stopped ticking and the dust that was once suspended in the air, illuminated by rays of sunlight, has settled, creating a thin layer coating the booth, even on him. Everything and everyone is still except for me, because my heart beats vigorously against my chest, so vigorously I’m afraid it might break a rib. It aches in my chest as it expands and contracts, pumping scorching blood through my veins, spreading it throughout my body. My head pounds in a rhythmic beat that matches the strenuous beat of my heart; the increasing pressure against the back of my eyes makes me feel like I’m going to combust, reduced to nothing but a pathetic puddle of patheticness.

And amidst the stillness and the movement, I am suddenly excruciatingly aware of the Fly. He's silent and still but I swear I can hear buzzing. His buzzing emits from inside of my own head, soft and melodic. The sound is barely there, nothing but a quiet whisper in the back of my mind, but it cannot be ignored, especially not now, not here. He speaks to me in a language I cannot understand, but it feels like I should. Maybe He would listen to me, to the harrowing, pathetic woes of my anger, but I think He already knows. And somehow, that makes it worse.

He waits, and waits, and waits, until the silence has been stretched impossibly long. Finally, his voice booms through the booth; his words coming out strong and absolute, as if he has made his final decision about me, “For your penance, you shall pray The Hail Mary until your anger subsides.”

As his words ring through the air, the Fly’s wings begin to flutter, as if He has seen enough. They beat furiously until they hoist Him into the air; He so effortlessly floats up, hovering idly in the space between us. I can only assume He’s looking at me, though, I cannot pinpoint exactly where his five eyes are bouncing between. In my mind, He’s boring down at me, but it doesn’t feel judgemental or scrutinizing, I guess He’s just… there. He’s there and He’s looking at me. And before I can think anything of it, he flies away, and His whispering softens to a close.

I suddenly feel alone, not an aching, longing type of alone, but a panicked, sharp, fearful alone. And as the Fly leaves, I’m alone. I’m alone with him, and with all of his staring and stillness. I cannot get out of this booth fast enough.

With a newfound sense of urgency, my mind clambers for words, clumsily bunching together the words I’ve been taught to use. “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy.”

As I speak, my leg bounces rapidly, so rapidly I can only imagine the booth must be shaking, crumbling under the weight of my fear. I try my best to conceal it, hoping that maybe, if he doesn’t see it, everything might be alright. And almost as he can sense my anxiety he speaks slowly, so slowly I almost think it’s just to spite me. “God, the Father of mercies…  through the death and the resurrection of His Son has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins…through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace… and I absolve you from your sins… in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

I make sure to bow my head, avoiding eye contact as I mirror his movements. Using my right hand to hover over my forehead, the middle of my chest, my left shoulder, then my right.

“Amen.”

The 29th of September

By Charley Schofman 

September 29th, 2024

"Why are you telling me this?" 

I look at my hands, my feet swinging down from the roof of my house. The skies are a vivid, orangey-pink hue, and the clouds are white and stretched across the turning skies. I pick at the necklace that likes to lie in the hollow of my neck; every sway and click of the chain is an odd comfort. After a long pause, I finally answer. 

"Because I want you to know my side of the story. There's nothing I hate more than miscommunication. Like the other person has the completely wrong idea, so you're both in your heads, and you're both wrong.”

"You think I'm wrong?" 

"Just listen. Don't leave again."

"I won't. Pinky promise."

August 19th, 2024

I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going. After that late night in June, reality feels like someplace beyond a distant barrier, far away from my grasp. I got the things I wanted: I was accepted onto Mayfield High's cross country team, I got a job at the local book store, and I finally got my driver's license. But the euphoria of these achievements quickly dissolved into a suffocating haze. Now, I don’t even see the world remotely the same; I feel a cold shiver where there used to be warmth. I feel displaced where I used to be at home. Nothing feels real; nothing feels right. 

What I do know is that the one piece of my life that made sense is gone—a whisper of the past that screams to me at night or whenever it gets too quiet in my head. I see you every day at school. I see you in other people. I see you in the bin of your stuff in my room that I need to give back. Do you know how difficult it is to pass someone you cared for so deeply as a mere acquaintance? You must know that because you dodge me in the hallways and shy away from my eye contact. Do you know what it's like to have friends start to roll their eyes at every constant mention of your name? They used to be your friends, too. 

 I've imagined the things I would tell you, or maybe even yell in your face: you're stupid and cruel, and you never fully listened when I spoke, even though in the end, I tried so hard for even a glimpse of attention. But I don’t want to hurt you like you hurt me. So, instead, I bite my tongue until I taste the metallic sting of blood. 

August 11th, 2023

I just blew out the candles on a frosted pink birthday cake, with the number “15” melting off the side. The party hat on my head is purple and doesn't fit quite right, angling off of my face. I look around the room – people obnoxiously cheering, telling me that I have such a life ahead of myself and so much to look forward to. That’s what adults tell us at this age, after all: have the time of your life; these are the years that count. Why wouldn’t we wish ourselves the same? But because it’d sound a little ridiculous coming out of our mouths, lined with braces and glowing with frosting. My eyes cross the room, first seeing my father: a gentle, kind, admirable man. He always made space for me to branch out as me: let me do all the silly hobbies, and play every sport I showed interest in. Slicing the cake, I see my mother, who is as loving as they come. Her presence alone is warm enough to thaw any freeze. Her smile is like winning millions of dollars every day. My little brother is a dork; he picks up the unopened gifts, shaking them as if the presents themselves will say what's inside the nicely wrapped boxes. I like to tease him on a daily basis and call him silly names, but I know when I turn away, he is watching me; I’m his role model. So, I have to play the part. As I watch my friends, their party hats perched on their heads, giggling and joking, a sadness settles over me. Leaving my middle school and the people I’d known since kindergarten was hard, but fresh starts are for the best, my therapist would tell me. 

So, I started high school, and it's what I expected. I knew the movies blew it way out of proportion. It was just another place with more busy work, and teenagers crammed into tiny, humid rooms, lost in thought and daydreaming out the window. But I had to make the best of it, so that’s what I did.

The following Wednesday rolled around, and I walked into my creative writing class. I made eye contact and learned what it felt like to be so sure of something I’d never known before. The realness was so wholesome, yet so terrifying. It was fated that we were partnered up for the first assignment. We shared giggles and awkward pauses; it was a fresh sentiment, but it felt like I’d been preparing for it my whole life. I thought I’d known the world and what everyone in it was like. I’d never been more wrong. So, like I told you, it was inevitable. We got partnered up so many more times to the point where I could feel the universe pushing us closer and closer. We’d break the rule that said atoms couldn't touch; this was an alien sort of bond. It rewrote the laws of nature. I was truly blind before we met. Wednesday was the first day of my life. 

September 26th, 2023

Eventually, I worked up the courage to talk to you outside of class. Ignore that heavy, blood-rushing feeling in my chest. Just speak. I quickened my step to match yours and spit out the words I’d practiced so many times in my head. “Hey, could you explain mitosis to me? I wasn’t paying attention when Mr. Daniels taught it.” I knew what mitosis was, but I also knew I’d do anything to get to talk to you. You laughed like I’d planned and answered my question. I was intensely overwhelmed, but god, this feeling was so rare. It felt like a drug I’d take any day. 

September 29th, 2024

"I know this story already." 

"I know; I told it to you a year ago—a year ago exactly," I say, gazing out at the houses in front of me. The sun has sunk deep down into another place where maybe people are just waking, ready to start their days. 

“Then why would you tell me again?” 

Without a beat, the words flee from my mouth. 

“I miss that drug too much.” 

“But drugs are evil; they trick your consciousness into thinking you're feeling impossible feelings. Come back to earth. Face the truth.”

September 29th, 2023

On Sunday night, I was texting you on my bathroom floor, sitting next to piles of clothes because I’d just been trying on old dresses that my mom had insisted I sort through. “Your closet’s a mess.”  I was wearing a blue silk dress from my aunt's wedding two years ago when you confessed your feelings and asked if I felt the same. I nearly screamed. My first thought was, if it's real, then I can lose you. Then, I can't lose you. But I ignored the doubts, told you my truth, and spent the next eight months learning about that fresh feeling. It was the 29th of September. Every day, I wish I could go back. 

I remember when you told me you loved me for the first time. I remember feeling so shocked and frozen. It is the moment in the books and movies where the music stops, and the set goes silent. The word love has always been portrayed as such a big, scary word with momentous meaning. Before you, I’d lived a linear life. Everything was so predictable and mundane. Sure, I had a good life, a family who cared, good grades, and good friends, but everything got too repetitive, too constant. I started freshman year with the impression of another new, mundane life to bring into the straight path I followed. The linear line erupted when I met you. It shimmered and cracked like a piece of glass; it was beautiful, yet it cut me to the bone. Our love was simple, authentic, and real. I could hold it like a freshly picked rose. I could say it. I love you, too.

March 31st, 2024

I guess you could say there was a moment when I started to feel it—the slow, undeniable shift that told me it was over. The communication got hazy, and where words of love used to be, there was scorn—maybe even resentment. Though I’ll never know why or what changed, I will know where the love faded. I already told you about prom, when you forgot my flowers. But it wasn’t even that that hurt the most. You stopped complimenting me; I never experienced that moment in all the movies – the classic first look as you saw me walk down the stairs in my dress, sweaty palm on the banister as you looked me up and down and said, “You look beautiful.” I used to be something so gorgeous, like a work of art in your eyes. But once you stare at something for so long, it gets old, right? All distorted and worn, no longer fresh and blooming. I lost my sparkle and turned into a painting, placed perfectly on a museum wall, blending into the mundane existence of all the others. No one ever wants to come to the realization that you have become unloved, but I did. 

June 3rd, 2024

You know, I saw a tear in your eye, too. I wasn’t the only one crying. But you held your composure—you had always been better about that. Coldly, you gazed at me as I cried and begged to have you back. June 3rd, 2024, was the day we broke up. We stood there at that bench in the public park—me, desperately clinging to the last thread of hope, and you, standing just a few feet away, avoiding my gaze. You looked at your feet, hands clasped together, not holding mine. You were quiet, and your eyes were laced with fear—fear of what would happen next, maybe even fear of me. 

And just like that, the love dwindled away from your face, a face I’d laughed to, cried to, and loved for eight whole months. Tears rolled down my cheeks with the flow of a raging river. You betrayed me and everything we were. We had been like two ends of a magnet. No matter how hard we pushed, the universe forced us apart explosively. I said we could make it work; you said it’s just “not in our nature.”

August 24th, 2024

So summer passed us by, and we learned how to separate our once-conjoined lives. I still could hear the ring of your voice in the dark room where only the outline of your face was visible in the movie theater light; you whispered in my ear, “It feels like I’ve known you my whole life.” Now, that life was being savagely pulled apart, stretched, knotted, and undone. 

School started, my sophomore year had begun, and we faced the inevitable sighting of each other. I’ve grown, besides about an inch of height, into a new facet of myself. I remember in first period,  I caught you looking at me and my new hair, my new friends, my new clothes. I wondered if you still saw the same girl you had fallen in love with back in September. I always wonder.

September 29th, 2024

"Do you smell that? It's the perfume I wore on our first date." 

"Why are you still talking to me?

"I don’t know.  Because I can't let go." I look down at my hands.

"I'm not even real." The breeze brushes my hair. 

"But it was real; I was there; it was so intoxicatingly real." 

"Maybe it was, but not anymore." 

I watch as the fresh autumn leaves fall onto the road. A car zooms by, and the leaves crunch beneath the weight of the wheels. I almost wince. 

"When will you learn that I don't exist anymore? I've grown and changed like a butterfly, free from its chrysalis."

"A chrysalis? Are you saying I held you back?"

“I'm saying you're attached to a memory; this version of myself is fictitious."

“Will it ever get better?"

"I promise."

"Pinky promise?"

"Of course," whispers the breeze. 

Terror at Departure

By Julian Springer-Landry 

Aleksi Karenthal stood at the checkpoint and realized it was going to be a long day. The stench of the lower city had already reached the rusted steel dias that he stood on, emanating from the cramped shantytown that surrounded him, faintly lit by a few torches and the lambent glow of the thousands of runes suspending the upper city above them. Behind Aleksi was this place's only link to the city above it: an elevator that would lift a

prospective visitor away from the lower city's cloying embrace. He sidled a bit closer to one of the two guards besides him as the daily procession of charlatans, lepers, immigrants, and the occasional person with legitimate business approached the platform. Bracing himself for the trials of the day he heard a clattering sound behind him as the secondary cargo elevator lowered itself down from the upper city.

He took a step back as a young woman bearing the robes of the Third Circle of Scribe Theologians walked out of the elevator and said, “You are needed in the Grand Auditorium, I will take over your post for the remainder of your shift.”

Thankful for a reprieve from the dank lower city, Aleksi gratefully stepped on the elevator and waited patiently as he was slowly pulled up through the depths of the city's industrial heart and into the glittering world above. He exited the elevator and strode into a large plaza, flanked by enormous mansions, and facing the towering stone edifice that was the city's fortress-chapel. After passing through a large portcullis he made his way through a series of winding stone passages before reaching the gilded gates of the Grand Auditorium. A pair of the Salentarii, the elite bodyguards of The Grand Priest, stood at the door, the bronze masks covering their faces revealing only the runic tattoos on their foreheads. The tattoos were a grim reminder of The Grand Priests regime, as the markings allowed any of their superiors to kill them with a thought, thereby preventing any dissent

within their ranks.

“I am Aleksi, scribe-theologian fourth circle, may I enter the great hall?” he said, trying his best to avoid the faceless stares of the Salentarii.

“You may enter,” one of the Salentarri responded in a booming voice. “However, you must wear this.”

They held out a jade choker inscribed with a rune similar to that inscribed on the Salentarii’s forehead.

Begrudgingly, Aleksi put on the choker, locked it, and handed the ring to one of the Salentarii. He knew that no one would ever use the choker to kill him, he had never demonstrated even the slightest bit of disloyalty towards the empire, but he could never stop the voice in his head that reminded him that no matter what it could always be used.

He forced these nervous thoughts aside and refocused at the task at hand, strode through the door, and entered the glittering gem-lined interior of the Grand Auditorium. Making his way through the rows of benches that lined the hall, he elected to sit in the third row from the front, generally finding it safest to sit far enough from the front in order to avoid

unwanted attention, but also to be close enough not to be suspected of disloyalty. Over the next few minutes, more and more people filed into the room, mostly administrative workers like Aleksi, but also a few members of the city guard, and even someone who appeared to be one of the ageless Tundra Folk.

A few moments later, the High Priests seneschal, Merrick Vinehearth, stepped up to the bronze podium at the front of the hall, standing before a room brimming with people. The whole situation reminded Aleksi of his years in the university: a place he mostly remembered for its sparsely decorated hallways and the long pedantic speeches of its professors. The university's education was a double-edged sword: it certainly churned out able-minded and diligent academics but rarely instilled any sense of creativity or inventiveness in its students. In fact, only one member of the High Council came from Aleksi’s college; he believed that they were the agricultural minister. This had never bothered Aleksi before; he found his job quite comforting and had been able to avoid any reminders of what society was like beyond that which he saw in the upper city. But this had of course all changed when he got his new appointment, and he had found it much harder to focus on his work over the last few weeks than at any other time in his career.

He had always felt averse to the lower city, and while he always told himself it was because of the stench, or the darkness, or its danger, he knew that deep down it was because he knew he contributed to their misery. Every time he stood before that line he remembered every paper he stamped approving a tax raise on the lower city, every time he denied funding for refurbishing the roads, or giving food to the poor. He was always careful to remind himself that it was just his job, that those orders would have gone through regardless, but he could never help feeling like things could be different. Of course there was nothing he could do to effect change, he was only one menial cog in the great bureaucracy that he worked for, but all those calming thoughts dissipated as soon as he was confronted with the raw suffering of the lower city.

So, while the great hall was gaudy and sterile, he nevertheless felt relieved to be surrounded only by academics like himself, not the poor who inhabited the lower city. And so he awaited Merrick's speech not with trepidation but with a feeling of quiet contentment, happy for the opportunity to relax.

“The Grand Theologian has gathered you here today to discuss an exciting project he has in mind for the empire,” said Merrick, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Kristina here has enlightened the Grand Theologian to an intriguing activity practiced by the people in the far north,” Merrick went on, motioning to the Tundra Folk Aleksi had noticed earlier.

“Every five years they send out a band of people to catalog all those who live in their villages, to calculate resource distribution, taxes, and other matters of state that I am sure you are all well acquainted with. The Grand Theologian wishes to enact a similar practice in our empire, though, of course, with less frequency in the interest of practicality.”

Aleksi’s mind seemed to detach itself from his body, as a throbbing pain enveloped his skull, and burning shards of stress and terror boiled in his stomach. It seemed as if all the emotion within him was trying to tear himself free, bringing chunks of him with it. A small fragment of rationality returned to him and he locked his face into a grimly determined stare, refusing to allow one ounce of the turmoil within his body to

escape.

Aleksi had never left the city, he had diligently worked at his post for his entire life, and felt no need for this to ever change. He thought of the outside world as a dangerous place, filled with horrific creatures, and malicious bandits. Now that he would have to enter this world, he simply could not bring himself to confront this truth, the best he could do being

to keep the emotions in, inadvertently causing them to fester into nastier forms.

“All of you have been hand-picked by your superiors to work on this project,” he continued. "I will read off the names of those chosen to distribute this census to each region of the empire. First will be the Northern Associate Baronies, led by Scribe-Theologian First Circle Ondar Van Hoecke. Accompanying him will be Scribe-Theologians Fourth Circle: Aldari Saleckner, Aleksi Karenthal…”

With the mention of his name Aleksi’s mind immediately spiraled down into all the horrible things that could happen to him on this journey. Not only would he be leaving the city but he would be traveling to the Northern Associate Baronies, one of the most distant and dangerous of all the provinces in the empire. *What if we are attacked by Kalderan raiders, or one of the horrible insects that infests that region? They have a different legal system: What if I accidentally address someone incorrectly or misfile some document? I couldn't possibly spend one day in those barbaric prison camps they have! *While his mind spiraled further and further down the darkened avenues of panic, Aleksi, as if in a trance, walked over to the the area behind Ondar and waited for further directions.

Aleksi experienced the next few weeks in a daze, hardly believing that in a month's time he would be leaving the safety of the city. He was no longer spending time in the lower city, which he of course appreciated, but at the same time his days were increasingly filled with reminders of his imminent journey. He had been taking both the usual clerical lessons, and the alien self defense classes which had only served to increase his terror of the approaching journey. Despite all of this he went along with all of the journeys preparations, and obediently arrived at the Northern Gate on the day of his departure.

Aleksi had never ventured farther than the Northern Gate in all the years he had lived in the city. It was a towering edifice; two huge obsidian towers anchored to the rim of the caldera the city sat in, connected by a huge steel gate, and covered in glowing protective runes. It was always a comforting sight to Aleksi, a reminder of the security of the city. He would now be leaving that safety, and venturing out to the wild areas beyond. But he would never dream of disobeying an order, and so he begrudgingly mounted his horse, and made his way to his place in the procession. As his companions formed up around him, the gate began to move; with excruciating slowness it cracked open, releasing a metallic screeching sound that harmonized with the white hot spikes of anxiety in his chest. Despite everything it was too late to go back now, so he followed the rest of the caravan through the gate and down a ridge, and into the lush jungles beyond. Once they reached the bottom of the ridge the group entered a large mossy road cutting a ragged gash through the jungle, they passed numerous carts and baggage trains carrying goods in and out of the city. To Aleksi they all seemed to contain a hidden threat: bandits hiding in piles of hay, riders bearing concealed weapons, but none of these dangers came to pass, and with every traveler a small chunk of the fearful miasma that had settled over Aleksi drifted away, allowing him to rest just a bit easier in his saddle.

After a few hours they came across one of the great lodestones that dotted the roads of the kingdom, it was an impressive sight: a single carved pillar of quartz, covered in purple runes, its immensity rising far above the treeline. The lodestones were enormous wards: huge seals that protected miles of road from the various malicious spirits and beasts that could plague travelers, their power transmitted through many smaller pillars that dotted the sides of the road. It provided some slight comfort to Aleksi, reminding him that threats could only come from within the road, not without it. The next few hours passed smoothly and Aleksi was actually able to admire the journey a bit; seeing the brightly colored birds that darted between the treetops, and admiring the quiet beauty of the moss-colored bricks beneath him. In fact he was enjoying himself so much that he didn't notice the fractured pillar ahead of him, or the shadow of something large and powerful darting through the treetops above. It most certainly came to his attention when a large, scaly creature dropped out of the treetops and slammed into him. The beast looked rather like a panther, but was covered in bluish green scales, and had a pair of chitinous mandibles that extended from its face. Its claws dug into Aleksis leather jerkin, and its huge mandibles seemed to eclipse all around him as they closed in on his skull. Shockingly, Aleksi stayed perfectly calm as the many days of combat training came back to him, he grabbed the shortsword at his waist, and with a burst of adrenaline, he stabbed it through a chink in the creatures scales. It let out a horrific, bubbling screech, before collapsing on top of Alexsi in a pool of its own ichorous blood.

This brief calm was interrupted when a loud twang announced the arrival of a half dozen crossbow bolts, which slammed into the creature's side with a wet thunk. At this cue the reality of what just happened soon came rushing back to Aleksi. *That almost killed me! And that creature wasn't just anything but a beast from beyond the road, a monster that we should be protected against! I knew there was no way this journey would end well, as soon as I let my guard down something terrible happened! But… I didn't die… I actually killed it myself… and I wasn't wounded… maybe, I will be able to survive this journey… or even enjoy it?*

The rest of the day's trip passed in a blur; once a healer made sure he had no serious injuries they continued on their journey. Making their way through a few minor hamlets before stopping at the city of Malantaj, once there they made their way to the city's barracks to secure lodgings for the night. Alexi slept soundly, not fearing what would happen next, but simply accepting that it would occur, whether he wanted it to, or not.

Over the next few days they made their way through the numerous cities that dotted the kingdom's central jungle. These were not their delegation's goal, but provided well needed rest stops along the journey. It was on the fifth day that they came across the first sign that they were leaving the safety of the developed core of the empire. They had been forced to leave the main roads in order to bypass a rockslide that had covered the path in

detritus from the nearby hills. They had just crossed onto a thin dirt trail that was barely wide enough for their horses, and was surrounded by dense clumps of foliage that forced many of the caravans guards to dismount in order to help clear a path through the vegetation. It was one of these guards that first noticed the runes on their weapons and armor beginning to give off a strange heat. At first no one thought anything of the guards' complaints, but as they continued along the path and it began to affect more members of the party a sense of unease began to settle upon the group. After a few minutes of this, their guide, a wizened ranger from the western mountains, yelled for them to stop.

“The spirits here do not look kindly upon your runes, it would be unsafe for us to continue, we'll have to double back and take a different route” She said.

“Tribal superstitions!’ one of the guards interjected, “Doubling back would cost us precious time, I’m sure these spirits of yours will direct no more malice towards us than the chance magical perturbations that we are feeling now.”

“If you want to tempt fate be my guest” She responded “But I am sure rest of us do not want to walk into the trap your leading them into.”

“I am sure you will see that there is nothing wrong with this jungle beyond the ignorance you bring to it” The guard said, striding further up the road.

At first he seemed correct, making his way up a good chunk of hillside before the onlookers could tell that he was struggling, but they could soon tell that sweat was pouring off of him as the runes on his armor glowed an angry orange. A few members of the crowd called over to him, trying to get him to turn back, while others, the guide included, simply averted their gaze. Aleksi stood watching in rapt silence, as the guard made his way a few further steps up the ridge before suddenly disappearing, seemingly walking into the horizon. Aleksi had but a few moments to wonder what happened to him before he began to scream. The screaming didn't go on for long, but the abominable mix of pain and terror Aleksi heard in the scream, as well as the melted chunks of armor and flesh that tumbled down the hillside, gave Aleksi a painful reminder that there was still danger on the road, even if it wasn’t obvious.

Through the Windows of Maple Ridge

By Ava Weatherford 

I've lived in Maple Ridge for my entire life so far. It's a tiny neighborhood in South Austin that is so hidden that people have trouble finding it even when they use Google Maps. We don't have a neighborhood sign, but we do have a crumby motel which I've never actually seen anybody pull up to! The sign reads “Summit Motel of Austin; Credit cards welcome”; there are always cars there, but who knows if they ever change. My nextdoor neighbor and I used to peer through the chain link fence in the back to see if there were any people in the yard area, but there never were; only a washing machine perched precariously on a concrete slab in the middle of the outdoor area. 

Since I was a little kid, I’ve always known my neighbors. Without fail, someone stops to chat with me every time I walk the dogs. On holidays I always get to hear “You’ve gotten so tall!” nine million times. Since my neighbors figured out it was possible, there’s been a non-stop stream of complaints and announcements on the WhatsApp group chat. Although all these things can be very annoying at times, when I think about living in a place where I don’t have it, I realize how lucky I am. Plus, now I have a ton of story material!

Rebecca and Atlas

One of the neighbors I've known the best – actually since I was born – is Rebecca. Rebecca is now a middle-aged hippie lady who wears exclusively very patterned clothing, never brushes her hair, and drinks mushroom coffee because it “promotes brain function and basically everything else.” But she wasn't always like that; Rebecca grew up in a very mainstream family in Dallas – she was even a cheerleader. I don’t know what changed for her because I've never asked, but something clearly did. So Rebecca moved to Austin, which is where she met Atlas. 

Atlas is one of the most mysterious people I've ever met. He’s tall, tan, handsome, and also a cult leader. No one will tell me what the cult actually is, but I've gathered that it's some kind of religious one. Atlas has a very charismatic face, with high cheekbones and bright blue eyes framed with super long lashes. Rebecca and Atlas met each other around 14 years ago, and dated for maybe a few months, during which time they conceived a baby boy named Cypress. Atlas and Rebecca didn’t stay together to raise him, but Atlas is still a part of Cypress’ life, which is how I met him. Maybe once a month I see a rundown maroon van; a real van – not a minivan – in front of Rebecca's house. Atlas is usually sitting on the floor of the trunk, with the door open and his feet hanging out the back. He has at least three other kids, not with Rebecca, and they come to play with Cypress, and Rachel’s younger kid Willow. My little brother Connor is good friends with Cypress, they're both 13 now, but when Connor was little my mom would host playgroups at our house. It was mostly moms who brought their kids, but Atlas would sometimes bring Cypress when it was his turn. When I interviewed my mom about it, she told me that all the playgroup moms agreed he was “pretty but smelly.” Neither Atlas nor Rebecca believe in deodorant, and you can definitely tell. 

The 3 Johns

One of my favorite stories to tell people when I talk about my neighborhood is the story of the three Johns. I’ll start by introducing each of them. The first John is Shirtless John. He is an older white man, maybe in his 60s. He lives in Rebecca and Atlas’ garage apartment, he always wears a beret, and he never EVER wears a shirt. John is the kind of guy who you know has lived in Austin for a long time. He’s always smiling, and he drives this super cute, old, tan car, always with the windows down. Shirtless John used to have a little Scotty dog, whom he would walk all the time. I remember wondering if he did anything other than walk that dog, because every time I left the house it seemed like I saw him, just strolling down the street in his flip flops and cargo shorts (but no shirt, of course). During the summer his skin gets so brown in a crinkly, toasty way, like the tan has been developing over his whole life. 

The second John is Wheelchair John. Wheelchair John is one of the nicest guys I know, he’s one of those married people without kids who treats his dog like his baby. When I was younger I got really into baking dog treats, and John would always buy a whole bag of them every time I went door to door. John is in a wheelchair because his legs are paralyzed from a skiing accident in his twenties where a tree fell on his legs. It makes me pretty sad because John is a super active guy. He and his wife Sarah have been together since before his accident, and Sarah is also a really nice and genuine person. 

The third John is Train John. Train John was an older man, and he lived with his wife Renee in one of the nicest houses in the neighborhood; it's modern and kind of darkly painted. Renee is one of the most outgoing people I’ve ever met; she rides around the neighborhood on her bright blue Vespa scooter, stopping to chat any time she sees someone. I never talked to Train John much, but my brother Connor did. One day Renee was chatting with my mom in front of her house–because we had been on a walk and she happened to come outside–and my mom mentioned that Connor was interested in trains at the time. Renee got really excited and ran into her house, returning with her husband John. John basically looked like the classic old man; he was medium height, with rumpled, short white hair, his posture just slightly hunched over, and the sweetest face, with warm brown eyes and smile lines everywhere. He walked up to Connor and asked if he could show him something in the garage. Connor seemed a little annoyed at first (he was maybe 7 at the time) because he hadn’t even wanted to go on the walk in the first place, but he agreed, and they went into the house. I stood in the street listening to my mom chat with Renee for what felt like forever, until my brother and John came out of the house. John was grinning ear to ear, and Connor was buzzing with excitement; he ran up to my mom and asked, “Can I go see John’s real train?”

On our walk home I asked Connor what was in the garage, and he told me that John had a whole network of realistic mini trains that “went through tunnels and everything!” After that Connor and John became friends; every time John got any new train related thing he would bring it to our house to show Connor. Connor always talked about going sometime to see John’s “real life train,” which was a retired passenger train that John kept on a piece of property in Wimberly. 

This all happened over the summer, so when school started they somewhat lost touch, but once every couple of weeks Connor would remember, and ask to see John’s real life train again. I think it's because we just never got it together to actually plan it, but Connor never did see John’s real-life train. Every once in a while we would see John–like at Halloween when he handed out thick wooden pencils with a train company logo on them instead of candy–but Connor’s interest faded with age, and we eventually stopped talking about John. A few years later, my mom came home from a walk and told us that she had talked to Renee, and John had stage 4 bladder cancer and Alzheimers. I was shocked; John was probably the fittest old man I'd known. He would go biking on the greenbelt in his spandex suit in his eighties! For around six months after that we would get occasional updates on John’s health, which at the time was deteriorating fast. Renee told us that, because of the Alzheimers, John couldn't really remember what he wasn’t allowed to do because of his cancer, so he would still ride his bike. A few weeks later, he had a bike accident which gave him a head injury. In the end, John died from complications of that head injury; not from his stage 4 cancer, and not because of effects of his Alzheimers. It feels so human to me that, in the face of so many obvious things that could potentially kill him, John didn’t die from any of them; he died doing what he loved. When Connor heard what happened he was sad, but not in the way I was expecting him to be. There’s something so depressing to me about unfinished business like that, especially when it comes to someone as endearing as John. But Connor didn’t seem to be dwelling on the past, he was just sad about the present moment, and then he let it go.

Sandra and Sadie

One day around 7 years ago, in 2017, ten year old me was walking down my driveway, when I saw a little white car pull into the driveway next door. Until then, an old woman named Mrs. Kat had lived in that house. Mrs. Kat was a good neighbor; she always gave me and Connor those little cartons of yogurt-covered Sun Maid raisins whenever we visited her, and she was really sweet. Her house was tiny, and it felt even tinier because she always had it dimly lit, full of clutter, and the carpet was dingy brown. Nonetheless, my memories of being there are positive. As far as people to hang out with in the neighborhood, Connor had Cypress and another kid named Santi, but I didn’t know of a single kid my age. One day Ms. Kat’s daughter moved her into a nursing home, and it was listed for such a good price that my aunt bought it as an investment. My aunt used to live in Austin, but she moved to Portland before buying the house, so my mom became the landlord. For a while nobody lived in the house–my neighborhood is pretty secluded, they probably didn’t see the for rent sign–so when I saw a car pull into the driveway, needless to say I was very excited to see who our new neighbors were. 

I remember pretending I was putting something in the trunk of our minivan so I could peek around the tall shrubby thing that separated our front yards; that was the first time I saw Sadie. Sadie is a year older than me, but DEFINITELY close enough to be fun to hang out with. For a couple days I would see her and wave, but she didn’t really wave back, so I was too nervous to talk to her. Eventually my mom met her mom, Sandra, and they forced us together. My first impression talking to Sadie was “I don’t think we’re gonna get along.” I remember that she didn’t seem very interested in talking to me, and I was worried that she thought I was too young to be friends with. There’s a gap in my memory between that awkward phase and what happened after, but (spoiler alert) we became close friends. We would hang out pretty much daily, so much so that my mom banned Sadie from the house on weekdays. So we became outdoor friends. 

During the early summers of our friendship, my mom would host a kind of “summer camp” for all the kids we knew whose parents didn’t want to pay for an actual summer camp. Summer camp activities included: going to events at the library, hanging out at public parks, A LOT of jumping on the trampoline and playing with the hose, $2 movies at the Regal Westgate, and sometimes going to a city-owned arcade/bowling alley/roller skating rink called The Millenium Youth Entertainment Complex. Sadie went to all the summer camps, and I think that’s where we first established our “do whatever we want all day as long as it's outside” style of friendship. We could spend whole days doing the most random things. One time we were in the treehouse, and my dad left a box of packing peanuts on the porch. Sadie discovered–I don’t remember how–that if you lick a packing peanut it gets kind of gummy and you can stick it to things. We spent the rest of that afternoon trying to cover every inch of the treehouse walls with packing peanuts, and later getting packing peanut paste off our tongues. My memories of those long hot days and breezy sunsets are some of my favorites from my life so far. Most of our time was spent at my house because her mom was always at work, but we did play in her yard too because we both had trampolines. There was only a chain link fence between our yards, but jumping over it got annoying, so I got my dad to cut us a little hole in the fence for easier access. 

Despite sharing a lot of our childhoods, Sadie and I had very different home lives. Her dad lives in California (her mom and dad had never been married), and her mom Sandra is about as different from my mom as is humanly possible. Sandra is petite and pretty; she has small, mainstream-looking features, with a light brown pixie cut and eclectic southern outfits. She’s the kind of person who, if you met her in line for something, would talk your ear off until you got in your car and drove away. Sandra always struck me as a little bit crazy. She only ever babysat me and Connor a few times, but I remember being freaked out by how she became a different person as soon as no other adults were around. She has a quick temper, and doesn’t really like to accommodate other people’s needs or opinions. I always felt like I was awkward and too much around her. Sadie and Sandra didn’t have a very good relationship; I remember that basically every time they saw each other Sandra would yell, “Don’t slump Sophia!” I think Sandra was a hypocrite. She would get mad at Sadie for watching tv or doing basically anything other than cleaning or studying, but what did she expect when she sometimes didn’t even come home for multiple days with no warning? 

For my own part, my mom and dad were married, but my dad was an alcoholic. My mom is Nicaraguan, she has black and white curly hair and doesn’t care as much about style. She’s pretty, but in a totally different way from Sandra. My mom is intimidating too; I know (because I asked her) that Sadie was a little scared of her at times, but I think she was intimidating in the opposite way from Sandra. My mom is a very structured person. She has always had very clear rules, which she consistently enforced. I wasn’t (and still am not) allowed to have an Iphone, whereas Sadie got one when she was 8. I think having some structure was really good for Sadie, and I KNOW that the free childcare all summer every summer was good for Sandra, although she never thanked my mom. 

My dad is sober now, but at the time he had a very big drinking problem. He is a tall guy with a big nose, a skinny but somewhat muscular build, and chronically disheveled brown hair. My dad’s true personality is fun-loving and adventurous, but his alcohol personality is sad, unpredictable, and sometimes mean. I don’t think Sadie saw that side, though. She rarely saw her own dad, and it was plain to see how much it meant to Sadie when my dad would ask about her life or take us to do something. 

As for me and Sadie’s personalities, of course they evolved over the seven years of our friendship, but mainly I was the more uptight and slightly nerdy private school kid, and she was the bold, sometimes insensitive one with more of a grasp on trendiness. I think it's really interesting how the way we perceive each other can change so much over time, but it also somewhat stays the same. I always felt like my body and facial features looked clumsy compared to Sadie’s; I have a big nose, brown eyes, and curly hair, where she has a dainty little nose, dark blond hair, and foggy, blue-green eyes. One day we were lying face down on my trampoline, trying to peek through the tiny gaps in the black mesh, when I noticed she was looking at me. I rolled onto my side and looked back at her, and she said “You know, Aria, you’re the kind of pretty where you could be a model. Like, I think I’m pretty, but you’re a better kind of pretty.” I was honestly shocked. I responded, “No way, Soph, YOU’RE the model kind of pretty, look at you! I’m just normal looking.” Neither of us was good at taking a compliment back then, but I think we both meant what we said so truly that it was meaningful. The activities we did together evolved as we got older; when we were little we mostly played “pretend games'' as we called them, where we would each pretend to be something and then just do stuff around the yard. 

Our biggest fight was about a pretend game. We were pretending to be horses on Sadie’s trampoline, and we both wanted to be the show horse. You’d think both of us could just pretend to be show horses, but the plot of our game–for whatever reason–required that one of us be a workhorse. We argued for so long that we even tried to get Sandra involved, but Sandra just told us to work it out. We did eventually work it out by taking a few days off from playing horses, and then I had to agree to be the workhorse if we ever wanted to play it again; Sadie could be stubborn sometimes. When we got a little older we stopped playing pretend games and started building forts and inventing things. Our crowning achievement was this mega fort that we built, partially with actual wood planks, around Sadie’s tree. 

During the summer of 2020, we figured out that there was a shopping center within walking distance from our houses that had a PetSmart AND an Ulta Beauty, so of course we needed money. We were too young to get real jobs, and my mom said we should set up a coffee and taco stand, so we did. We got up early to make the supply (or, more accurately, my mom did almost everything and we “helped”) and then went outside to sell it from like 7 to 9 when everyone was going to work. When we had our money we started walking to the shopping center to get a snack, or go shopping. 

When Tiktok got popular, Sadie taught me and Connor the dances. As we each got older, we slowly drifted apart. We started going for walks instead of playing on the trampoline, then the walks got less and less frequent. When Sadie went to middle school we lost touch even more, since she was much busier than me, but we would still go on walks to catch up every few weeks. When covid hit, we temporarily snapped back together–since we were right next to each other in a time when we couldn’t go many places–and we started hanging out outside again. When that giant snowstorm happened during covid, we walked around the neighborhood trying to find the biggest icicle, and kicking crunchy, frost-covered bushes on the empty lots around the neighborhood. When we had to social distance, we would sit on either side of the fence connecting our yards and talk. Sadie had a shopping cart that we found close to the motel one day a few years earlier, so she would fill it with blankets and sit in it. I just put some lawn chairs together to make a kind of bench you could lay down on. One day it was below freezing and we thought it would be fun to fully bury ourselves in blankets on our respective sides of the fence, and facetime from inside the tiny forts. 

As we got older, I realized how different me and Sadie’s personalities really are. When we would go on walks to catch up, she would only partially listen to me, even after I had just spent an hour listening attentively to her stories. I think I always knew we were very different people, but it didn’t matter as much when we were always focusing on some activity or pretend game. For a few years, when we were both in middle and highschool, we would only hang out every once in a while when one of us texted the other to ask if the other wanted to catch up. Around a year ago, I found out that Sandra wanted to move. For context, Sandra was ALWAYS saying she was going to move somewhere else or pursue some big idea, but it rarely actually happened. One time she did actually get 20 chickens, but god knows that didn’t end well. This time it felt different. My mom was Sandra’s landlord for a long time, since her sister (who is a night nurse) owned the house and didn’t want to pay someone else to do it or deal with the hassle. In this case the title “landlord” didn’t really mean much anyways, because Sandra would do things without asking all the time–like adopting three dogs and a cat when there weren’t supposed to be any animals at all–and my mom never did anything about it, for the sake of getting along. When my mom got a more full-time job, she decided she couldn’t be responsible for Sandra’s house too, so my Aunt hired a management company. Sandra, understandably, was not very happy about this since she wasn’t following any of the rules whatsoever. The inspector from the company said Sandra needed to get rid of her trampoline, and that she had to pay for all the damage done by her dogs. At this point Sandra was pretty much fuming, and she took it out on my mom. Sandra told the company that she thought there was some kind of dangerous problem with her pipes, and that my Aunt (not the company!!), was liable for that risk. Sandra had never even mentioned this to my mom or Aunt before. 

At this point, we found out that Sandra was just doing anything in her power to get out of her lease six months early because her dad had died and left her his house. Sandra hired her own inspector to come and see if she had grounds to get out of her lease because of “unsafe living conditions.” Her inspector said that yes, there was some kind of problem, although it was never clear what was actually not safe about the pipes. Through a series of arguments and Sandra yelling at my mom, she got my aunt to let her out of her lease early. Throughout this whole process me and Sadie barely talked, which I thought was super weird. I don’t know if this was actually the case, but my strong theory is that Sandra told Sadie not to tell me anything, because it could mess with her case. A few months after the start of this messy process, Sadie and Sandra were gone. 

The day before they moved out for good, Sadie texted me, “Hey Aria, we are moving out tomorrow if you want to hang out.” It was so abrupt that I didn’t know what to say. I was so sad to not have a built-in friend anymore. The next day we hung out for like four hours, talking about random things and being nostalgic. After a little while we hugged, said a kind of brief and unemotional goodbye, and she went home. Since Sadie’s been gone, my life hasn’t changed as much as I expected it to, and I think that's because I realize now that we were already past the peak of our friendship. Losing something can make you romanticize it, but–despite not having that thing anymore–it doesn’t really make that thing any more important than it was before you lost it.

Perry

When I was in elementary school, a woman named Nicole used to live on our street. She was sweet in a Julie Andrews from The Sound of Music kind of way, with a short, grey, pixie cut and delicate features. Nicole’s house had a big backyard, and we always used to see an RV parked back there. One time my mom and brother and I were on a walk, when Nicole came out of her house talking to a man. This man was tall and in his fifties, with very short, curly, salt and pepper hair, and a long face that radiated positivity. The man was also wearing white latex gloves, which I remember thinking was slightly strange. 

My mom stopped to talk to them, and we found out the man’s name was Perry, and that he was the one living in the RV. The adults ended up talking for a really long time, and at one point my mom mentioned that my brother really liked weird foods. Perry lit up at this, and started asking my brother if he had tried a bunch of things. Connor was delighted at the chance to brag about his adventurousness, “You know fish eyeballs are my favorite food, right?” he asked Perry. "Well, have you tried crickets?” “Duh.” “What about a whole baby octopus?” Connor was stumped on that one. “Ok,” said Perry, “Then I'm going to get you a baby octopus.” My mom tried to tell Perry he didn’t have to (as a vegetarian of 20 years, she really didn’t want to cook that), but both Perry and Connor were too excited to be stopped. A few days later, we were pulling into our driveway, when I spotted something under the little green swing in our front yard. I pointed it out to Connor, and he immediately tried to jump out of the car to see what it was. I looked over at my mom in the driver’s seat, and she was grinning like she knew something. Connor bent down to see what was lying in the grass, and screamed, “IT'S BABY OCTOPUS!!” I walked over, and, sure enough, there was a box of uncooked baby octopi lying on our front lawn. There was no note, but we all knew whom it was from. 

Ever since we were forced to watch Connor eat baby octopus for dinner that night, he’s been saying it's his favorite food. Over the next few months, Perry would randomly drop gifts under our swing almost weekly. Crickets, whole rainbow trout with the eyeballs and everything, a giant plastic beetle, and more. I think the gifts made Perry even happier than they made Connor. I later found out that Perry was one of the founders of Whole Foods, but he left before it got bought by Amazon. Still, that made him at least wealthier than average. I also learned that he wore those gloves because he had an autoimmune disease, so he was very paranoid about germs. 

That Christmas morning, I think it was 2017 or ‘18, Connor and I were abruptly woken up by a thud on the roof. I was scared for a second, but then our parents came running up the stairs to say with a grin: “Guys, I think there’s someone on the roof, you should come check it out.” We ran down the stairs and out the front door in our Christmas pajamas, to catch just the slightest glimpse of a red coat disappearing past the peak of our roof. “It's Santa, Aria, it's definitely Santa!” yelled Connor. We ran around to the other side of the house, but we didn't see anything. “I think he went down the street, guys, you should follow him!” nudged my mom. 

We were running down the street, still not seeing anything, when we heard jingle bells. We live on the same street as an entrance to the Barton Creek Greenbelt, and it sounded like the noise was coming from around the bend past the little sign for the Greenbelt. We ran down the bumpy, black concrete path past the sign, and eventually onto the wooded trail that leads to the real trail. Connor was starting to get frustrated, but I could see our parents smiling on the path behind us like they knew something we didn’t, so I wasn’t worried. We eventually got to a sharp turn in the path. Connor was ahead of me and I heard him yelling, “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ARIA SANTA WAS HERE AND I SEE WHERE HIS REINDEER WERE AND THERE ARE PRESENTS!!” I ran around the corner into a rocky clearing where Connor was standing, looking shocked and thrilled, in front of a big red velvet sack full of package- shaped bulges. Looking around more intently, I saw a zigzagging line of men’s boot prints and hoof prints, as if Santa had been walking next to his reindeer before the tracks disappeared into the woods. I was already at the age where I was a little skeptical about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and such, but this just seemed magical to me; I didn’t have an explanation for it. I thought, who would wake up at six o’clock in the morning, put on a Santa costume, drag a big sack of presents down the trail, make meticulous boot prints and reindeer prints, and then run back up the trail, climb on top of our house, shake some jingle bells, and then run just ahead of me and Connor all the way back down the Greenbelt?  But, as I found out later, Perry would. 

My mom made us wait to open the presents until she got out her phone to take a video, and Connor was acting like he was going to literally combust if he had to wait one more second. When we tore open the bag, we found a whole bunch of wrapped boxes, interspersed with some books, and one can of mackerel. Connor enthusiastically called dibs on the mackerel, as if I was ever going to want it. My mom told us we had to wait to open the wrapped presents until we got back to the house, and truthfully neither Connor nor me cared that much about the books, so we ran back up the hilly trail, onto our street, and into the house. We opened our presents and ate breakfast: pancakes for my parents and me, and a can of mackerel for Connor.

When I reflect on Maple Ridge, I know how lucky I am to live here. I have abundant babysitting jobs, people to chat with when I walk, and even when I don’t like all my neighbors, I'm still glad that I at least got to know them.