Category: 2010 — 2.2 (Spring)

by Daniel DeBrun

It was a huge wave-less waterbed that’s wood frame and headboard were made of mahogany. It had been finished with an almost black wood stain and a glossy polyurethane coating. Multiple blankets, none of them matching or correlating in any particular way, were keeping me warm and perfectly comfortable. Fifteen or so candles of various colors and sizes were meticulously placed on the waterbeds grand headboard and scattered about the bedroom giving off a radiant glow that would give anyone a sense of peacefulness and serenity. I had absolutely no clue how much this setting would influence me for many years to come.

I was brought up in a mediocre suburban city just outside of Chicago, Illinois called Batavia. The winters were almost like what you could considered a “frozen tundra”. A landscape of bare-naked trees that looked like death, and with the exception of an icy blanket of pure white snow every so often, the ground consisted of dead brown grass or tilled up remnants of cornfields. Summer was hot, sweaty and sticky. I thought of it as the shit hole, armpit of America. If it wasn’t for the cool crispness of autumn, with its broad array of earthy colorful leafs falling down, or springs amazing budding of new leafs and flowers, I surly thought I was being reared in Hell.

I had always been an extremely physical kid, a ruffian, somewhat of a tyrant, but only in a very competitive way. Any chance I could get I would be off into the neighborhood, involved with pickup football or blacktop basketball games. Hardly the type of person that one would have considered studious, I was more street smart then anything. I would have never picked up a book unless I was forced to, until a day that I can still so vividly remember, during a language arts class in sixth grade. “I have finished grading the papers, class.” Mrs. Mc Alpin said. “I’m quite pleased to say that mostly all of you have done very well.” She added. “But there is only one of you that received a 100% and that is, Daniel De Brun.” I was shocked. For the first time in my life, my name was called aloud in class for an academic praise, and not to subdue some random act of silliness. Mrs. Mc Alpin had asked me to stay after class that day. She told me that she would be entering me into a program that included about twelve academically gifted students from the entire population of the school. From this point on, I would leave my regularly scheduled class at the time, and join up with the gifted class every day for an hour.

After that year in school had passed, I possessed a new love of poetry and reading, but at the same time I, as I always had, lived with a lack of parental supervision. I literally watched and read anything that my heart desired. Influenced by my older friends in the neighborhood I rented the movie “The Doors”. I was mesmerized by Jim Morrison’s deep monotone voice. He didn’t even have to sing his lyrics.

Speaking with his poetic language, soft and slowly, would bring listeners into some sort of a daze. My friends had been correct. The movie and music from “The Doors” was like no other. Jim Morrison was a star among rock stars, in my own little mind.

Seventh grade literature class provided freedom to explore any poet that we wanted to. By that time, I had developed sort of a passion for, “The Doors”, and the lyrics that were in their music. Jim Morrison officially became my study icon. I loved the freedom, and inquired into a poetry book that incased hundreds of Jim Morrison’s poems. I have a poem in my head that I still to this day can recite:

“Let me tell you about Texas radio with a big beat. Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of god. Wandering, wandering in hopeless night. Soft driven slow and mad, like some new language. Reaching your head with a cold sudden furry of a divine messenger. Out here in the parameter, there are no stars. Out here we is stoned immaculate.”

I found myself in that “all too comfortable” position. Lying in my waterbed, with a small library of acquired biographies and books about Jim Morrison and “The Doors” stacked on the oversized Mirrored headboard. This is where I absorbed a lifestyle that resembled one of Jim Morrison’s. I couldn’t tell you if my decision to follow the path of a rock star into wild experiences was made consciously or subliminally. With ether regard, I surrounded myself with friends and acquaintances that also venerated venereal exploration, indulged in a vast array of psychedelic drugs, and regularly breathed marijuana. I had completely lost a connection with what had driven me to reading and poetry a few years earlier. If I had been influenced by a more responsible group of kids, or even took it upon myself to revere a more amenable subject, I probably wouldn’t be a thirty year old college freshmen as I write today.

Daniel DeBrun is the current Web Master of the Elektraphrog web site. Daniel will graduate from State College of Florida with an A.A. and plans to transfer to one of the area’s art schools to pursue a degree in Web Design and Interactive Media. Daniel is father to the most amazing two boys on the planet, Austin and Aiden, and has almost been married for two years. He has been part of a “Three Time State Champion” wrestling team (placing third individually), spent three years working avionics on the B-1b Lancer, B-52 Bomber, and the B-2 Stealth bomber for the United States Air Force, and spent a few years working in casinos in Las Vegas as a Blackjack and Roulette dealer. Daniel has also done Hollywood extra work in a movie called “Race to Space” starring James Woods and Annabeth Gish, and recently took on the leading male role at Lemon Bay Playhouse in the stage performance, “Cheating Cheaters”. He currently works as a student assistant in the remedial reading and writing lab, and in the computer information systems lab for State College of Florida (Venice). Daniel is proud to be part of State College of Florida’s online literary arts magazine!

by Melissa Laterza

We were running on the beach, my feet pounded in the sand, my nose infused with damp sea salt air. He caressed my face and kissed me, but when I opened my eyes his back was facing me, and he was snoring. I studied his silhouette against the morning light. I was dreaming. I closed my eyes. We were running again. I could hear his deep breathing mesh with the peaceful sound of the ocean waves. In either reality he was still with me, and that was all that mattered. Being with Jack was perfect. Our life was perfect, and nothing could replace him. He stirred and turned like a wave washing over the bed, then faced me. His eyes were still closed, his slumber deep and rhythmic. We were lying together in his bed and not the sand, even though I could still feel the sand beneath me.

A shrill sound pierced straight through my drowsy mind, and ripped me away from the warmth that the sun left behind in my dream. That box that Jack insisted on having a tormented relationship with every morning was my nemesis. Inevitably, the box that stared at me with strange shapes and blinking eyes would take Jack away from me. I nudged his face with my nose, and then nudged him straight off the bed. He stood up and groaned, then hit the box and the sound died.

He stretched out his arms and twisted from side to side.

“Morning Judy,” he said and gently caressed my face.

The box had won as usual, and Jack diligently prepared to leave me. He gave me breakfast and kissed me goodbye. I would spend the rest of my day, sleeping, stretching and dreaming until he came back home. I found a comfy spot by the window and weaved in and out of sleep.

I woke to a strange smell, and an intruding voice that was completely out of place. Something was terribly wrong. I jumped up. My instincts kicked in. I bared my teeth and readied my stance as the door knob jiggled. Then I heard Jack laugh, but something was terribly wrong.

Jack walked in with a woman dressed in black with shoes that had sharp spikes at the end. They tapped the ground like a sharp claw, as she walked. Jack had brought home a human with claws. Why? Jack looked alarmed when he saw me. He went through the motions of telling me everything was okay, but I could sense fear and distaste pouring off of her.

I sat in the corner of the room watching her every move, and pondering what he saw in her. Was she taking my place? I tried not to let her scent over power me, but I couldn’t stop it. She was everywhere. Her smell was breeding by the second, but I couldn’t leave Jack. If she were to attack him with her claws, I was ready to protect him, and then she did. She moved close to him and their faces touched, but not the way that Jack and my face touched, it was different, more intimate than I was capable of. My stomach tightened and clenched. The hair on my back spiked up and I growled a warning that I was prepared to follow through with. Jack snapped his fingers at me, but I refused to listen. I stepped closer; she was on my turf now.

“Judy,” Jack shouted at me, breaking me from my deadly trance. I cowered, he was my master. His voice was not only all commanding, but it was also painful. It hurt to know that he was choosing her over me.

“Go,” he shouted pointing toward our room. At least I had our sacred place, and at night he would be with me and not her. I glared at her and slowly walked into the room, never taking my eyes off her, relishing the fear I had aroused.

The days went on with her unwelcomed visits. Each time Jack kicked me out of the room, until the women never left, and I was permanently kicked out of our room. Soon, I became invisible, Jack went through the waves of routine, giving me food and water and walking me, but all the time we spent together was replaced with her. I had been replaced.

It felt like an eternity, like this pain would never end. I hated her, I wanted to ripe her legs off and chew them up for dinner. Eventually I gave in, I became hallow inside, and I too went through the wave of routine, forgetting my dream of running with Jack on the beach. She had weakened my sense of smell, my desire to protect, and my inquisitive nature. Nothing was the same.

Until, one day something jerked me from my stagnant misery, the sweet smell of revenge. Stella had left out one of her spiky shoes. It taunted and jeered at me, and took only seconds for the luscious whiff of revenge to seize me. The salty and sweet smell of her feet, infused with her the souls of her shoes took over. I couldn’t stop myself. I picked up that shoe, and I slowly gnawed it, taking in each moment of retribution. I tore it apart like Stella had torn apart my life. My sense of smell had suddenly awakened. I could smell Stella taking over my house, over powering the smell of Jack, taking him completely away from me. I found another shoe that reeked of her and tore it to pieces. I devoured one of her bags that she carried with her everywhere, and then some of her clothes. While I was at it the garbage smelt pretty good too. I tore up all the paper that she had handled, then I devoured the left over’s she had refused me yesterday. Then a sudden rush of territorial pee, the best kind you could imagine flooded through me. I marked my place all over the house. When the deed was done, I fell down for a good long nap and dreamt of the days when it was just me and Jack.

The door clicked, and I darted up excited to see Jack, when a whiff of Stella smacked me in the face. She screamed louder then the box that yelled at Jack every morning.

“You stupid mutt! You filthy stupid mutt!”

I glared at her, and waited for her next move, teeth clenched. She rummaged for something inside her bag and pulled out one of those small boxes that they always talked into. She described everything I had done to that small box against her ear, and called it Jack. She told that she box called Jack that he should get rid of me. Ha! Jack would be proud of me, once he saw my display of loyalty. He just didn’t know it yet. Jack would never get rid of me. I waited by the door just to show her how confident I was.

When Jack finally came through the door, my heart raced. This was it, he was finally going to come back to me, but the look on his face was wrong. He glared at me, and flashed a look of concern at Stella. He grabbed me by my collar and led me out the back door. He had officially crossed over to her side. He had betrayed me.

I slept that night outside, alone. Trying not to think of the first time I met Jack. My thoughts were with my mother, and a deep longing for something I couldn’t quite grasp. It was something that I hadn’t realized I was missing until Stella came.

I lay under the stars feeling abandoned and alone. The wind roared and a chill swept through to my bones. I caught a whiff of the curious night. Animals, food, garbage all wafted over me. I found a soft spot in the earth and dug a hole big enough and pushed through. I was free.

I ran as far and fast as I could down the streets and through the woods, listening and smelling the night as it passed me by. New inviting smells filled the air, dirt, metal and sweat. I ran until I found people, and stopped cautiously. I came to an opening and ran out into the street. There were lights everywhere, people walking up and down the streets, in and out of doors. I weaved in and out of howling cars, nearly getting hit until I found a break in the walls, and roamed through the darkness searching for something familiar. I remembered my mother, my brothers and sisters; my pack. I remembered when we were separated by men with nets. That’s when Jack found me, wandering. I had lost the smell of my pack.

I wandered for days and nights, lonely and hungry, searching for something familiar. Soon my days became a fight for survival. I found a dark place in-between two tall walls that reached the sky, where the sun did not touch the ground. The world became cold and cruel.

I was sleeping behind a large box of garbage that had become my primary source of food, when I caught a scent that nagged at the back of my mind. I knew this smell, but it had been buried so far in my mind that I couldn’t recall it, only I knew it made me want to leap forward and tear something to pieces. I rounded the corner, and searched for the intruding smell. There stood a woman, dressed in black with claws at the end of her shoes. It was Stella. I growled and lunged, but she had already gone through the door. I waited, but when a sweet smelling little girl with a round face and hair like two dog ears dropped down past her shoulders, wrapped her arms around my neck and said, “Look mommy, its that dog in the picture.”

“It sure is honey.”

“Can we take her home?”

“Yes, but we have to call her owner.”

They lead me into their car; I was torn between revenge and getting back to Jack. I chose Jack. The little girl rubbed my stomach the way Jack did. It felt like days had passed, but the sun was still shining in through the window. A roaring car came to a halt outside, but it wasn’t Jack’s car. It didn’t sound like him or smell like him. I heard the pounding sound of foot steps, feet that bared claws. Stella was knocking at the door. She smelled differently, and it caught me off guard. I knew that smell, it reeked of sadness. Her face looked different, less bitter and edgy. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. She held a bag of treats and a leash. She had to know where Jack was. She wouldn’t come for me with out him. Take me to Jack, I pleaded and whined.

I let her put the leash on me, and trotted out into her car. It smelled sweet, oily and bitter all at once, but it didn’t smell like Jack. I couldn’t pick up his scent anywhere. Not even on her.

We arrived at a different street than Jack’s house. The street had vague hints of the smell on her shoes, smells I had once tasted. She took me into a hallway and through a door that moved open by itself, into a small room that smelled of a million different earthly and human fragrances. As we stood there in the small room I searched for the smell of Jack, but came up with nothing. I could smell food cooking, meats, toilets, sweat, mold, rotten garbage, and other dogs all seeped in through the crack of the door. They came and went quickly. The changing scents finally stopped on one familiar flow, at least one of the smells was Stella, her feet, clothes and perfumes radiated through the cracks of the door until the door opened again and disappeared inside the wall. Other smells of people mingled with hers, all different and uniquely sweet, sour and sometimes delicious. My mouth was salivating and my stomach turned. She led me down another hallway by several doors, all revealing their smells through the cracks as we passed. At the end of the hall, I waited for Stella to open the door that she fumbled with. She smiled at me nervously.

Everything hit me all at once. All the smells she carried just slightly on her person and more were overwhelming. I rushed through detecting faint hints of Jack, but losing the smell as another one overpowered it. It was so hard to hang on to his smell.

Where was he? I looked at her and waited for her to take me to Jack. She poured some food in a bowl for me, and gave me her left over pork chops. I ate them gratefully. She touched me so gently, that I couldn’t help but feel the warmth she was giving me. It was more then I had felt from her before. It was warmth and longing. I could see guilt in her eyes, and the feeling of loss wafting over her. I felt compelled to soothe her loneliness, even if it were only selfish, because the truth was I missed Jack too.

Days went by, and Stella had not taken me to Jack. I tried whining and whimpering. Her eyes were full of many emotions, but sadness was the only one I understood. She led me to the car, and my heart leaped out of my throat. She was finally taking me to Jack.

After a long car ride, that included many hills, winding roads, and a few crying bouts from Stella, we finally arrived at a large open field. Stella stalled and let out on more cry. I tried to comfort her and put my head in her lap.

“You understand don’t you girl?”

I whined in response and she cried some more. I was surprised. I didn’t think she would miss me. More cars arrived, and people dressed in black like Stella began to pour out of them. Stella and I followed.

The grass was wet and freshly cut. Flowers were scattered by tall protruding rocks. A long black car pulled up and out of the back came a long box. It took six men to carry that box, and when it passed me I caught a whiff of Jack. He was in there. I broke free from Stella’s grip, and I lunged at the men holding Jack hostage. The box fell to the ground. Jack was in there I could just barley smell him.

Stella gasped and yanked me back as I howled, scratched and tried to get into the box. I heard my howl, it wasn’t a happy one, and it was the same howl I made when I lost my mother. I didn’t know where it came from; it was some sort of instinct. I knew Jack was in there, but judging by the tormented look on Stella’s face, I knew that he wasn’t coming out.

Stella pulled me back to her seat and held me close to her as she softly caressed my back and head. The ritual proceeded, with the men flashing careful looks at me, some scared, some sad, and some confused. The box opened and I could smell Jack more clearly now, mingled with sour and acidic scents. Everyone took a turn peering down into the box. It was our turn, and Stella let me look. There he was, my beautiful Jack, still, restful and peaceful. I licked his face, but it tasted of powders and salty, sour liquids. But I knew somehow that was Jack lying in the box, with his eyes closed like he was dreaming. Jack was gone. I let out another howl, and it echoed through the field. I had lost my only pack member. I had lost my master.

On the car ride home I rest my head in Stella’s lap, her eyes no longer flowing with salt water. I wanted to tell her that it was okay. That she had been kind to me, and to Jack. That I knew now that she loved him just as much as I did, and if I could have accepted that, then I would have at least been with Jack before he died. I wanted to tell her these things and so much more, but I couldn’t. She drove me back to her home, and I began to worry if I had a home to go to now. I had no pack, no home and no master. She walked me back through her hallway past all the familiar smells. They were suddenly comforting. They weren’t Jack, but they were warm, and inviting. Stella had never meant to hold me captive; she had offered me a home. She pulled out a shirt from the top of her closet and gave it to me. It was one of Jack’s shirts. It smelled like him and his musky soap. I curled up with his shirt and slept peacefully in my new home, with my new master, who loved Jack just as much as I did. At night she patted her bed. I climbed up and snuggled with Jack’s shirt. I slept with dreams of running through a sunny day, with Jack and Stella. We were together again, and we were happy.

Melissa writes: “I am a freelance writer, currently working on an Associates Degree in Liberal Arts. I have personal essays previously published in GRAND Magazine and Senior Times. I am happily married with two children.”

By Michelle Papini

I take a deep breath before traveling down the corridor which leads me to the tin shoebox of germs from which I am sure to catch swine flu. I read the inspirational posters that line the retractable corridor, which don’t help my situational anxiety. I get to the door of the cesspool and I can see the hot concrete through the crack between the door and retractable corridor, and it reminds me of when I was young and would play hot lava with my brothers.

You took all the cushions of the couch dispersing them throughout the room and then you pretended that the rest of the carpet was lava and you had to keep on the cushions, and if you fell you died in the boiling lava. I jump the “lava” and I board the plane.

I sit in my coach seat, which I first wipe the pretzel crumbs off with my handkerchief my mom bought me when I turned thirteen. She died three months ago and I keep this green hand-embroidered kerchief with the wild daisies stitched in to it in my pocket at all times. I sit down in my seat and I look around to see who is accompanying me on this surely doomed flight.

There is a mother and her child in the seat behind me whom she keeps reassuring that this will be fun, yet her kid keeps screaming bloody-murder. I’m with the kid, lady! This flight is not going to be “fun”!

I buckle my seatbelt, and pull it extra tight so that there will surely be bruises on my pelvic bone when exiting this death trap. I notice that the red EXIT sign above the side exit door is flashing. As if it is giving me a second chance to leave before we are forced to slide down the yellow slide plunging into the icy water of the Atlantic.

I break my glare away from the stewardess who greeted me with a “Thank you for flying US Air!” I wanted to reply with a polite “Fuck You!” This will surely be the end of my life, or hell, and you greet me with a Thank you?

I look back to EXIT sign and it is still flashing. Still warning me that this plane is going down soon!

We take off and I finally dig my fingernails back out of the arm rest that I was sharing with Dr. William Bradley, the dentist. Why must people always make small talk with you on a plane? Can’t they see that this is the last few hours of our lives! I definitely don’t want to be talking about how many kids you have. I hope you kissed them all goodbye when you walked out the door this morning, William the Dentist!
The EXIT sign is still flashing. I just let the dentist talk at me while I am mesmerized by the incessant Morse code of the red blinking light. I think that it is his way of dealing with the fact that this plane is doomed.

Just as I could have predicted as soon the stewardesses begin bringing the bar on wheels down the aisle, the plane begins to shake! The light comes on to tell the Idiots who removed their seatbelts to put them back on. The “hostesses” put the drink cart back away and buckle themselves in.

The plane seems to be going into convulsions. Shaking and thrashing its angry head about. All this time while the plane is just realizing it is epileptic the “doctor” next to me is still jawing my ear off! I would tell him to “Shut the hell up,” but my tongue was frozen.

My mind on the other hand was the opposite of frozen it was running a marathon!

My thoughts were running around like kids playing tag on the playground of school.

I miss my mom so much I should’ve told her how much I loved her instead of criticizing her for smoking her whole life after all I smoked when I was in college it’s not a big deal James the first guy I ever loved and lost my virginity to was a smoker he turned out to be a dick and he cheated on me with Hannah Mae who the fuck names their kid Hannah Mae anyway I have never been so afraid in my entire life and my brothers have always said that I was afraid of everything which isn’t true I am just afraid of most things not everything not everything can kill you a lot of things can and I don’t see anything wrong with fearing the things that can kill you.

I start to feel the warm salt water start dampening my cheeks. I didn’t know I was crying uncontrollably. The dentist had stopped talking to me now. He didn’t seem upset or anything he just let me be!

The plane suddenly finished its seizure and came to strange unruffled composure. As if nothing had happened, it began flying itself back to New Jersey. I roughly pushed the tears out of my eyes with my kerchief and looked up to see the EXIT sign had stopped blinking. The captain’s voice came over the cabin startling me and broke my concentration on the now non-blinking sign. “Sorry about the little turbulence. Nothing to worry about, just a little patch of rough air. We’ll be landing in Newark in approximately 10 minutes.”

Michelle Papini is in her sophomore year here at the State College of Florida. She will be recieving her AA at the end of the semester and transferring to Florida Gulf Coast University in the fall to receive her BA in Journalism/Creative Writing. She was the fiction editor of the fall 2009 issue and hope to continue pursuing magazine production.

by P.J. German

The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, ‘Take off the grave clothes and let him go,’ (John 11.44 NIV)

It’s not his fault he’s retarded. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Zarnowski, don’t like to talk about it, nor about him. They don’t feel comfortable taking him in public; so instead, they left him in an assisted living facility. His parents don’t visit him. Alexis, his sister who is sixteen, doesn’t even know about him. The only person who seems to care is Pastor Rich, Alexis’s youth group pastor.

After the events of Alexis’s birthday, Pastor Rich kept an eye on her and her family. He knew there would come a day when the girl would discover she had a brother she never knew about, and he knew her parents would not tell her about Alex. When that day came, Pastor Rich wanted to be there.

After going through an old photo album of her parents’, Alexis noticed a photo that seemed odd. It was a photo of Alexis’s dad standing next to a hospital bed with Alexis’s mom holding a newborn. Her mother did not look joyful, and neither did her dad. The baby was wrapped up tightly. The only visible part of the child was a tiny birthmark on its forehead. Alexis thought this was odd since she could not recall ever having a birthmark. She compared that photo with one of her own newborn pictures, and on her photo, there was no birthmark.

Alexis took the photo to her parents and asked, ‘Who is this?’

Her mother and father looked at each other before her father spoke, ‘Where did you find that photo?’

‘It was in mom’s photo album of when I was born.’

Her mother replied, ‘You shouldn’t be meddling in things that don’t belong to you. Give me the photo.’ Alexis handed the photo to her mother, who quickly stashed it inside her bathrobe pocket. ‘Go do your homework, Alexis. Stop looking at photos.’

Alexis was not at all satisfied with the way her parents responded. She kept an eye on her mother from the staircase to see what she did with the photo. After her mother threw it in the trash, Alexis retrieved it. She took it with her to youth group that night and stared at it while Pastor Rich spoke. Afterwards, Alexis ignored the other youth, staying on the couch to stare at the picture instead. As she sat on the couch, Pastor Rich’s voice came from behind her, ‘I think you should come with me, Alexis.’

After the two went into Pastor Rich’s office and had a lengthy conversation, Alexis learned that she has a brother who was born retarded, Alex. Her parents could not bear the thought of raising the child, so they put him in the local assisted living facility. Since then, Pastor Rich has visited the boy so Alex could have a friend.

Pastor Rich confessed to Alexis how he kept track of what Alexis was doing through life. He told her, ‘When you became old enough to enter youth group, I had your friend Jessi invite you here. I knew there would be a time you would want to meet your brother, and I wanted to be the person to tell you about him. No other person would tell you, for only I and your parents know of Alex.’ After informing Alexis of this information, Pastor Rich ended the conversation when he said, ‘Nothing more will I tell you, Alexis. You must discover the rest yourself.’

She was angry with her parents for hiding him. Returning home that night she questioned them, ‘Why are you keeping my brother from me?’

Both of her parents were caught unexpectedly. Mr. Zarnowski replied, ‘It’s none of your business, Alexis.’

‘None of my business? It’s my brother!’

Her mother sat on the couch, silent, staring at the floor. Her father continued answering, ‘There are things you don’t understand at your age.’

‘That’s not an answer. Why are you hiding my brother?’

‘Stop asking questions, Alexis!’

Mrs. Zarnowski was crying at this point, ‘Mom? Tell me. You can’t let this happen!’

‘Leave your mother alone! This is between you and me.’

‘No it’s not! She’s the one who gave birth to him, not you! Let her answer for herself.’

Mrs. Zarnowski’s tears came like a dreary rainstorm. Her heart pounded heavily inside her chest. The weight upon her shoulders felt like anvils. She spoke softly beneath her shame, ‘I didn’t want to.’

‘Shut up!’

‘What, Mom? What didn’t you want to do?’

‘Shut up!’

Her voice was ever so faint as the tears clouded her vision, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Mr. Zarnowski was furious, ‘I told you both to shut up! This is over! It’s in the past, now leave it alone!’

Alexis had enough of her father. For sixteen years he talked down to her and made her feel as though she was worthless. She was not going to tolerate it any longer,

‘This is my brother and I am not going to let it go! I want to know what happened and you’re not going to stop me! I’m sick of the way you talk to me! You don’t love me and you never have. If you can’t love me then stay out of my life!’

Her father fell silent, the anger burned in his eyes. His fists clenched. Marching past Alexis, he growled, ‘It should have been you, not the boy,’ before going up the stairs.

Alexis turned back to her mom; her voice softer than it was towards her father,

‘Mom, you have to talk about it. Tell me what happened.’

Alexis paused, letting her mom gather her thoughts and control her tears so she could speak. ‘We did everything we could until the doctors said it was too late.’ Her words were broken by her sorrow, ‘They said I couldn’t have a baby.’

‘Who said?’

‘The doctors. They said I was barren. But then Alex and you happened. Miracles.But Alex, oh, Alex. I didn’t want to leave him.’

‘Then bring him home, mom.’

‘No!’ Mr. Zarnowski’s stern voice came from the bottom of the stairs. He was back, and angrier. ‘I will not have a retard in this home!’

‘That retard is your son, my brother!’

‘I don’t care who he is. He’s an effing retard and I won’t let him step in my home.’

Tears were streaming down her mother’s face. She was uncontrollable.

‘What is your problem against them?’

‘They killed my parents!’

The silence was not broken until Mrs. Zarnowski picked up her glass from the coffee table, threw it across the room, and let out a heart-wrenching cry from deep within. Mr. Zarnowski fell upon his knees, tears pouring down his cheeks as his haunting past was set free from the bondage of regret. Alexis, stunned, only stood there. Her mom folded her arms across her own stomach and rocked back and forth on the couch as she cried and cried. Her father did the same upon his knees as he cried over and over, ‘Mom. Dad.’

Alexis’s voice was gentle, ‘Dad, what are you talking about? I thought Grandma and Grandpa died in a car accident.’

Her father wiped his maudlin face before he spoke, ‘They called him, The Retard. Everyone called him, The Retard. We watched a samurai movie, and The Retard asked me how the people did not really die when they were stabbed in the movie. I showed him the theater trick of putting the sword between your arm and side. He thought it was so cool. So one night, he picked up my father’s swords and performed the trick with my parents; but he got it wrong. He really did stab them. He killed my parents. The Retard killed my parents.’

‘Stop using retard.’

‘I can’t, I didn’t know his real name. I didn’t know my own brother’s name.’

‘Your brother?’ Alexis was kneeling beside her father, taking in every word. Her mother’s weeping subsided to a silent stream.

‘Yes.’

‘What do you mean didn’t?’

‘They charged him with premeditated murder. He received the death penalty.’

Alexis did not how to respond. She was shocked. Everything she believed about her family just came into question. Everything her parents told her became caught in a tornado of lies. She felt sick. Her stomach churned. In an attempt to take it all in,Alexis left and went in her room.

Her parents remained where Alexis left them and continued to cry out their secrets.
Alexis wanted to visit Alex, but knew it would upset her parents all the more.

Instead, she had Pastor Rich come home and counsel the family. After a couple of weeks, Alexis went to the assisted living facility. She walked into the large cafeteria and looked around nervously. By the birthmark on his forehead, Alexis recognized her brother. Alex sat in a chair, his knees pulled to his chest with one hand, the index finger of the other hand in his nose, and rocking back and forth. Alexis wept. She approached Alex and introduced herself, ‘Hi, Alex. My name is Alexis. I’m your sister.’

The two following her in the room spoke in unison, ‘And I’m your mother.’

‘And I’m your father.’

PJ German – former editor in chief for two semesters and current student advisor of Elektraphrog, president of Swamp Scribes, student blogger for the SCF website, and teacher aid in the English lab – does much more writing than he has time for. He is graduating in 2010 with his A.A., and will attend USF in the fall to continue his education in English.