Tidepools 2022 eBook

Lake Crescent Sunset by Thomas Hightower 2nd Place Adult Photography 41

December, Port Angeles, WA by Bruno Rescigna 3rd Place Adult Poetry The sky gray, pessimistic, shading the sea and the mountains, whose peak covered by a shawl of snow and clouds. The trees naked, asleep, their leaves smother the ground protecting the roots from the cold. Summer was long, with carloads of people taking energy away with them. Everything is tired. Rain spends the winter here. The sun, like the tourists, prefer other climes this time of year. But the rain feeds the trees and plants, erasing the hikers’ footprints and refilling the sea in preparation for the warmer weather to come. Yet, occasionally, even now, the sun visits and the clouds break, allowing a flirtatious wink of blue. A reminder that rest isn’t death, noise and crowds aren’t life. 42

This Easing Down of Night by Amy McIntyre 43

Wolfsbane Cure by McKenzie Nelson 2nd Place PC Student Fine & Digital Art 44

Spirits for Sale by Bailey Loveless The bright red food truck is a revelation.Yes, the “Yes, I’m just heading home for the day,” I say. It’s a flashing, wine-shaped neon is tacky, the fringe on the cubicle, not an office, but it’s absolutely pristine (invoices awning is awful, and the smell coming from the generator in their basket, no abhorrent pictures on the walls, and my is obscene.The whole thing is decorated as though it’s irrelevant degree tucked out of sight). “Anyway, you do sell disguised as a tasteless fortuneteller’s tent. But if this ridic- bottles here, right?” ulous red truck saves me from walking to the liquor store in this weather, then c’est la vie. “Oh yes, ma’am, we’ve got bottles and spirits of all varieties, and not just the kind you drink,” he says with a “Thank god,” I say aloud, shaking out my waterlogged wink then points to a brown jug sitting on the counter. hair under the cover of the awning. I glance around for “Perhaps, for a nice evening at home, you might consider a menu, but there’s no signage at all around the order the spirits of old pets. Comfortable companionship and a window, just little lights and ghastly golden tassels. As I perfect pairing for this kind of weather.” search around for prices or a selection list, it occurs to me that while I have seen trucks for tacos, falafels, gyros, and “Old pets?” I repeat. “Is that a joke?” even god-forbid gourmet lemonade, I have never seen a “Of course, much too provincial. For a woman such as food truck for alcohol. yourself, both sophisticated and beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying, old pets will not do.” He grins at me. I do not “Evening’s greetings to you, ma’am,” says a man with a smile back. Gesturing to a lavish purple beverage, he says, pointy chin as he appears behind the counter. He gave me “Instead, perhaps I could interest you in ghosts of ex-lovers a cheeky glance up and down before busting into a toothy to warm you up this evening? Take the chill off?” grin. “Nice weather for spirits, eh?” Sputtering, I say, “No, no thank you, absolutely no thanks.” He laughs. “Not nostalgic or sentimental, eh?” “Sure,” I say.The rain started in the morning after I had “Not a bit,” I say. But I feel awfully conscious of a thin, already left for work without my umbrella.What began as empty spot on my ring finger accompanied by a prepos- a drizzle kindly carried on all through the afternoon then terous notion that he’s just as aware of it as I am. He really turned into a total downpour just as the workday ended. does have a dodgy look, I decide, so I fold my arms. “But “I’m just looking for something nice to go with dinner. A really, if you haven’t got champagne, I’ll take a merlot. Or champagne, perhaps?” even a nice cider would be alright.” “Cider, did you say?Yes, perhaps something more rustic I do not tell him that the meal will consist of overpriced for the modern metropolitan.” Seemingly out of thin air, he vegan frozen burritos, which I also had last night along with suddenly procures several, bright emerald bottles, fanning my last bottle of white wine. Eating frozen food is one thing, them out on the counter for me to see. “Finest ghosts but eating frozen food alone in an empty flat without a good of farmers, factory workers, fisherman, and all sorts of drink to wash it away with is another. “Ah, fancy stuff, ma’am,” he says. “You work in one of those nice buildings nearby? Got your own office then?” 45

respectable folk you’ve likely never consorted with. A good, “—a solemn toast to all the little things that might just kill illuminating time guaranteed. No?” you yet.” “You’re funny,” I say, grinding my teeth. “And that’s a The poem is absurd, ridiculous, impertinent, and nice trick. But no. I am really not in the mood for company yet…I find myself leaning forward. Be it ghosts or memo- of any sorts this evening, spirits, ghosts, or otherwise. I ries, fate or morbid curiosity, something floods through would just like a bottle of something to enjoy alone. Now me.The crinkles of the paper bag, the promise of the blue can you help me, or not?” bottle inside—they remind me of things I haven’t wanted to think about, and I begin to remember. I remember hopeful His eyes narrow, and he studies me closely, looking smiles, big dreams, and vows written by hand and heart. I momentarily chastened.Then his fingers snap. “Yes, stay remember the hard-earned art degree hidden under a stack right there, I got just the thing,” he says.The truck lurches of paper in the bottom drawer. I remember the photos of to and fro as he rummages around the back.When he my friends I had packed in boxes under my bed. I remember reappears at the counter, the bottle held in his palms is the sock stuffed with my sapphire wedding ring shoved concealed beneath a paper bag with only a bit of blue glass where I wouldn’t see it after promising never again. peeking out. “This is the one—my most potent and exqui- site brew, not for the faint of soul.” “I’ll take it,” I squeak, pulling out my wallet. “That’ll be—” he begins, but I hold up a hand to silence “I suppose next you’ll tell me John Lennon or Jack the him then hand over my card.We don’t say another word, Ripper is inside,” I say with a sigh of exasperation. and he doesn’t offer me a receipt. I don’t need to see it anyway. I already feel the cost all too well. “Nothing so infamous, ma’am, but just as tragic, that I Clutching the bag with its hidden bottle tight to my guarantee.”The man’s smile disappears, and he lifts a finger chest, I walk home.Whatever’s inside, I intend to drink in caution. “The spirits of sadness, spirits of regrets, spirits all night. But maybe this time, when I wake up and see the of late nights and bad fights and all the things you didn’t get. empty bottle in the morning, I’ll be ready to live again. Specters of those dreams you try so hard to hide and forget. And last but not least—,” he says, pointing straight at me 46

Metamorphosis of the Spring Dragon by E. Randy Tierney 47

The Screaming Sheep by Abigail Heistand 1st PlaceYouth Art 0-9 48

Eeeeenk by Amalia Bell Little brown pikas on the mountain tops, sitting and calling from their homes in the rocks. Loud in alarm, surprisingly so, their eeeeenks carrying across the snow. Making hay to dry in the sun, gathering food is never done. Thriving in the cold, they do not hibernate, but instead eat the hay piles that they create. Hungry weasels looking for a meal; pikas hide in the rocks, concealed. Weasels get lost in the mazes below; pikas escape into other tunnels they go. Pikas depend on weather that is cold. Otherwise, they cannot grow old. If Earth´s rising heat does not abate and our weather warms, what will be their fate? 49

Praying Mantis on Dandelion Seed Head by Saundra Catiis 3rd Place Adult Photography 50

You Want to Write Nature Poetry by Angela Mordecai-Smith 1st Place Adult Poetry You want to write some nature poetry So, you go outside Walk across the street to the wooded part of the park seen from your front window. You sit on a fallen log finding the spot with the least moss or other growing plants Concentrate absorb the sights and sounds, connect to nature. You can’t help but stare at the small, black ants crawling near your butt on the log You scoot over, avoiding the crawling creatures. Concentrate. but you don’t do well with quiet and find yourself humming “Ra Ra Rasputin, Lover of the Russian Queen.” How much research did the writers conduct to create the song? What is factual?What is not? You try to recall the facts learned from the book The Family Romanov read two years ago. Few facts remain in your brain but that the queen was fond of creepy Rasputin. 51

Oops, did it again.Try a new tactic. Look at the fall leaves, yellow among the evergreens. Try to create poetic language to capture this nature experience: A metaphor maybe, showing the passage of time the beauty discovered: a clock, too cliché, an egg timer, another version of a clock. Forget metaphor. Are there any animals about? Ants? Too boring. Squirrels? Don’t see any. Raccoons? Now you’re thinking of that disturbing time in the woods when you heard grunting and screaming in the trees. Looking up, you caught a glimpse then turned away embarrassed at invading the privacy of two raccoons canoodling. Does nature poetry include the sexual proclivity of racoons having relations in trees? Probably none people want to read. Fine.Try to poetically describe the trees surrounding you, … … … How do you discern between them? You don’t know their names or characteristics. Should’ve have brought a Pacific Northwest Plants book. You could get your phone out, search for “ways to describe trees.” That may be cheating, the poem would never feel like your own. 52

Vocabulary is failing you, look around for inspiration. The ants are back and this time some crawly bug with about a million legs. Standing up, you brush off your pants, quickly check your scalp for possible ticks, phantom itching and bumps already. Squatting is better. Sitting on your heels, you rock to find your balance. It’s easiest to rest arms on knees. A group of teens walk by you, on the pathway through the park They laugh, “Is she pooping?” “Nah, man. Her pants aren’t down.” Too proud, you stay squatting till they are out of sight. Give up. Head home. Nature time is over. Maybe you could try again, write it from the confines of your yard. There are trees there, multiple colored flowers, plus other random green plants (or maybe weeds). You’ll have to stay on the porch to avoid the dog poop, but that’s nature too. You won’t write about that. You won’t be caught, dead, writing nature poetry aboud dog poop. 53

Pringle and Me by Anouk Atwater 3rd PlaceYouth Art 10-13 54

A Meta—Flora—Cal Play by Lara Starcevich FLORA: (Flora walks out onstage in a dramatic spotlight.) Last subtract 1 from 3 and get 2 which is the number of digits in night I had a dream about my dad. In fact, last night 1000 the number 13. Make sense? So— miles away, my sister also did. She hasn’t dreamt about (At any point in the last 1/3 of that relentless monologue, someone him since he died back in December. My sister and I were planted in the audience stands up and cries out.) both born on February 24th, four years apart.We always RUDE LADY: Heyyyyy!! I thought this was going to be a announce that to people. PLAY? Not some crazy woman going on about her weird My dad often announced his birthday: February 14th. obsession with numbers and her entire neurotic family. Ever Valentine’s day.Yup and his middle name was Valentine. think of writing about something other thanYOURSELF? His mother was born on February fourth. Four is my lucky Pretty narcissistic if you ask me. number.Yes, we are kind of a superstitious family. But this FLORA: Excuse me? play is not going to be ONLY about me. Although by now RUDE LADY:You heard me. I’m sure you’re probably thinking: JESUS! Can this woman FLORA: Umm (pause) ushers??? Stage manager? Can ever stop talking about herself? Haha. someone please escort this woman out. She’s being difficult Well, of course I can, but I thought you’d like to know just and I can’t concentrate. a wee bit more about me, your playwright, for the evening. RUDE LADY: Difficult?You think THIS is difficult? Do you After all, my thoughts will be infiltrating your mind, right? have any idea what audiences did to REAL actors in the past So you want to make sure you know who you’re dealing when they sucked? I could be throwing rotten eggs at you or with, don’t you? peanuts from the peanut gallery or poisonous snakes like the Anyhoo, I’ve been living and teaching in this town for the Roman Emperor Elagabalus did.You’ve got it easy, woman. past 13 years — the same length of time that my marriage Chill out. lasted — ahem — maybe 13 really is NOT such a great FLORA:Well? If you don’t like my play, why don’t you just number (sounding depressed) after all or (brightening) maybe write your own? 13 is a sign of GREAT CHANGE!! That’s it. Something RUDE LADY: How do you know I didn’t? GREAT is going to happen this year!! I KNOW it. FLORA: Did you? Maybe the only way something good will happen is if I do RUDE : Well? (pause) what I did back when I was a kid which is add up all the numbers on a license plate until they equal the number of numbers in the license plate. So, if you take 13 and add 1 + 3 you get 4 which is my lucky number. But you could also 55

(Someone else in the audience stands up.) RANDO: Of course! Don’t listen to that stinking carcass RANDOM GUY: Hey, you, yeah you entitled piece of shit!!! posing as a human being.Trust yourself. Put a lid on it. IWAS enjoying the play untilYOU came FLORA: Ok, I will! “There’s a sad sort of ringing from the along. Jeeez (as he sits down) these post-menopausal women bell in the hall” — Oh wait! I can’t sing that.That’s from and their unprocessed rage. Get a therapist for Chrissake— another musical. (trails off) RUDE LADY:That’s right. Copyright infringement. Jeez, FLORA:  (Defeated, she plops down in a heap on the stage and what planet was she born on? Uranus? Her-anus? Haha that whimpers dramatically) I just wanted to write something was pretty funny. Haha I should be up there. I’d be a lot meaningful.Transformative. Something that would make funnier than her. Haha. everyone remember me. FLORA: Hey!! RUDE LADY: Oh we’ll remember you alright. RUDE LADY: Hey what?Ya got writer’s block? So you need RANDOM GUY: Shut up! ME to save your play? RUDE LADY: Nobody tells me to shut up!! FLORA: I used to be afraid of people like you. RANDOM GUY: I just did. RUDE: Oh yeah? FLORA: (keeps going) An “Aha” moment. Something that FLORA:Yeah, I used to cower from bullies just like you. At would make everyone tweet about me. I’d be famous! I my all-girl Catholic school, there would be girls who would want to be famous! But then this lady has to come along torture me just like you! They’d make fun of my lack of and RUIN IT (cries to herself and then stops with an idea ) Hey!! interest in makeup, hairdos, and clothes, and I’d just take it. What if I sing a song? Would that help? Would that make my Thought that I deserved it.Well, guess what? play better? RUDE: Uhhh, you’re an idiot? Haha! God I really should be RUDE LADY:Well? I don’t know. I guess anything is better up there onstage. than this lousy excuse for theatre. FLORA: I know what your problem is. RANDO: Nobody asked you. My god! People these days!! RANDO:You tell him, kid! It’s enough to drive someone to start doing meth. I’m just FLORA: No one ever gave you a hug. kidding! Can’t anyone ever — (keeps mumbling to his wife and RUDE:What?? sits down) FLORA:You never had unconditional love. FLORA: Hey you, random guy? Do you think I should sing? 56

RUDE: (threateningly) excuse me? RUDE: Huh? (sleepily, dreamily) FLORA: (Flora starts to walk offstage and toward the Rude Lady in the back row somewhere.)You never had a loving home. FLORA: And you, random guy? You were probably picked on yourself so you pick on other people to feel superior.Well guess what my friend? Today RANDO: I’m here!Whadduya need, sweetheart? things are going to change. I can feel it. RANDO:Wow!You’re really good at this. FLORA: Let’s give this crowd what they paid for. Let’s put FLORA:Thanks! (She quietly walks towards Rudy Lady.) on a show! RUDE:What are you doing? FLORA: I’m going to give you a hug. (Loud, entertaining, epic movie music fires up, lights go razzle RUDE: Like hell you are! I didn’t give you my consent. dazzle, and Flora grabs each of them by the hand and drags them FLORA: I’m not going to touch you. up onstage as they try to make sense of what’s happening.) RUDE:You’re crazy, lady. FLORA: Maybe I am. RANDO / RUDE LADY: (unison) What’s going on? What’s RUDE: And SO weird. she up to now? Hell if I know but whatever it is I bet it’s RANDO: Don’t listen to her, Flora. I believe in you. going to be weird and fun! (Flora gives her a long, long air hug.) FLORA:They say getting at least six seconds of a hug can (They go backstage and some awesome and epic music continues lower your cortisol levels and increase your dopamine and and lights flash and they throw on costumes with glitz and glamor seratonin levels. and razzamatazz. RUDE:What the? (Flora keeps hugging the air.) I feel (She keeps hugging.) ahhhhhhh…(Rude Lady goes limp and falls They come out doing the can can and some random tap dancing slowly into her seat.) and singing and dancing. It’s choregraphed but highly erratic yet FLORA: Good. My work is done. (smiles and looks around at charming at the same time.) the crowd) Or is it? Hey, former Rude Lady! SOMEBODY ELSE IN THE AUDIENCE CHIMES IN:What in god’s name is this? I want my money back. (Flora comes running forward.) FLORA: Oh no no no. Please sir! Please.We promise to make it better.We can do this. Can’t we? (She turns around to get nods of agreement from Rando and Rude.) DISGRUNTED PERSON: No I’ve had enough.Where’s the manager? Hell with the manager, I’m going to write a terrible review and post it on all my social media accounts and and and — (ad lib) 57

FLORA: (starts to cry.) All I ever wanted was to make people laugh. Smile. Feel things. I can’t do anything right. I’m such a fucking mess. (keeps crying, louder and louder) DISGRUNTLED PERSON: (angry) No you’re not. (changes to apologetic) Sorry, I overreacted.You’re ok. I just (pause) well, I had a bad day. My wife left me and I lost my job and I heard that my favorite butterfly has just gone extinct, and, and (he starts to cry)… I just can’t handle one more thing going wrong, and your play, I’m sorry lady, but it’s pretty screwy. Can’t anyone just do anything NORMAL ANYMORE? (bawls loudly — both are bawling now) FLORA/DISGRUNTLED: (unison) I know! I know! My writing is atrocious. I admit it.Yes, it IS bad. It’s terrible! I’m a terrible writer.Yeah, you really really are!! (They cry and cry together.) (Rando and Rude guy look at each other and realize it’s a sinking ship and they must save it.) RANDO/ RUDE: I guess it’s up to us now (As the other two keep crying.They continue to try and entertain by posturing, pulling rabbits out of hats, sawing each other in half, doing cart- wheels, tap dancing, singing, dancing with scarves, gesticulating dramatically while doing soliloquies in spotlights, and whatever other cheesy comedic/dramatic shenanigans can be choreographed and improvised as the lights come down.) 58

A Clear Day at the Beach by Emilee Spoon 59

Living in a Bubble by Courtney Smith 1st Place PC Student Photography 60

A Retirement Party by Pete Barthell 2nd Place Adult Prose Well, sure. I can see right across the street from my one trip away an’ comes back with one of those wicker kitchen. In the morning she’s mostly sittin’ at her computer. laundry baskets you see at Walmart. Big one.Toward the end She takes lots of notes, and every so often a phone call. of the day, he’s got a framework welded up and the pipes Usually, after supper when it’s startin’ to get dark, some arranged some complicated way on the propane bottle. guy will pull into her driveway. She opens the door...gives him a smile...sometimes a hug...and then he leaves maybe Finally, another guy shows up in a truck marked “A-One a couple of hours later. Some nights it’s the same guy, some Sails & Marine Canvas.” He unloads a big bundle of cloth and nights not. by noon he’s got that cloth lyin’ just so on the metal frame- work. Now you can see what the deal is. Balloon. I figure the So, one morning this guy with a pickup full of lumber propane will make hot air to fill it.You can kinda see how the pulls in. She answers the door and hands him a piece of laundry basket will hang down under everything. paper.They talk about something—must be the lumber— and then he unloads it all right onto her front lawn. After It’s a quiet, sunny day next time I see her. Kinda small, a while you can tell he’s building a sort of deck...like a dark hair, makeup just right. She steps out to the deck front yard patio...right there next to her driveway.The guy carrying a couple of paper bags stuffed full. She holds a finishes puttin’ the whole business together in one long day match to the spout on the propane bottle, and that gas goes just as it’s gettin’ dark out. She invites him in, an’ then about off like a blowtorch.You could see the balloon shudder. She two hours later he leaves. jumps into that laundry basket, laughing, crazy, like it was a party.Then lift off.When she’s about roof high, she empties Next day a guy shows up. He unloads a bunch of pipes those paper bags over the side. I never seen so much cash. and metal strips, and a great big industrial size propane tank Fifties and twenties floatin’ down like a ticker tape parade... right there on the deck. She’s got her front door open, an’ and that insane laugh...gives me the willies every time I she shows him a pretty big piece of paper.They go inside remember it. an’ they talk for a long time about that piece of paper.You’d expect the guy would be leaving as it gets dark, but no, it’s After a bit she’s really up there, wavin’ an’ laughin’. nearly eleven before he goes. Pretty soon you couldn’t see her anymore, just some odd thing floatin’ way up there...way up there...a speck against Next morning he’s out there again, messin’ with those a cloud. pipes an’ the metal strips an’ the propane bottle. He makes 61

Accelerated by Emily Spink 1st Place PC Student Fine & Digital Art 62

Miles by Heidi Hansen It started on Tuesday over drinks, when I mentioned chat up Amy’s boyfriend Roger. There’s my reference check, I to my friend Amy that I planned to hitch a ride across the thought. state to visit my cousin.This guy who had been watching us offered me a ride. Roger gave the ride with Mitch a thumbs up, so I firmed up plans with my cousin and did laundry to pack “Really?” I checked him out. He was mid-twenties and for the trip. ruggedly handsome but dressed like someone out of GQ. Did he have money? If so, he was nothing like the losers I Mitch was there Saturday morning, ready and waiting. had been dating. And in style. He seemed too young to afford the ride—a brand new red Porsche 911 Turbo. “Sure. I’ve got a friend over there as well.When do you want to go?” he asked. “Can we stop for coffee?” I asked after stowing my bag behind the seat.There was only a backpack there. He sure “I hadn’t really set a date...when are you leaving?” I travels light. tried to assess if he was just saying this, or if he was really letting me tag along. I was twenty-three and down on my “No prob,” he said. luck. My job working for a startup had evaporated over- We drove through the next available coffee stand, and night, and I was not getting along with my roommates. It he ordered his black. I ordered a venti caramel macchiato, seemed like a good time to catch up with my cousin and oat milk, skinny, whip, with a side of donut holes served on maybe take her up on the offer to stay. Gwen was eight the straw. Mine looked like an ice cream sundae, his like a years older than me and a very successful real estate agent. I cup of joe. idolized her when we were kids. The drive from Seattle to Spokane is about three hundred miles and easily accomplished in a little over four “I can be ready to go any time,” he said. hours.The speed limit is posted at 70 mph most of the way. “You mean...” I wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he This was summer and there would be no road closures making this up just to get me in the car with him? I had to due to snow or rain.The biggest problem we could expect ask myself if this was safer than hitching a ride from a total would be road construction.The state ofWashington is stranger. notorious for scheduling road closures for maintenance “Look, I was planning on leaving Saturday...but if you along every route. Once I had to deal with seven separate want to go earlier, I can be ready.” He leaned back on the bar closures travelling from Seattle to Portland. I told my cousin stool leaving it up to me. I’d be there before dinner. She was making reservations “Okay,” I said, “Saturday it is.And by the way, I’mValerie.” somewhere special. “Mitch,” he said. Mitch navigated the roads, and we were on the ramp to We exchanged digits and planned to meet up early I-90 in no time. And just as quickly we were speeding along Saturday morning. On his way out of the bar, I saw him at 80 mph. “Whoa,” I said, “There’s a lot of traffic to be going that fast.” 63

“Watch this,” he said as he cut through a clump of cars between my thighs and not so hot anymore. I carefully zig zagging across the four lanes of traffic back and forth till picked it up to take a sip seeing no imminent danger.Then we were out in front. “See,” he said, “piece of cake in this we hit a bump and coffee splashed out of the cup onto my baby,” and he smacked his palms on the steering wheel. shirt. “Shit,” I said. I’m not a wimp, but I found my hands clutching the “Holy shit,” Mitch yelled, eyeballing the spreading stain edges of the bucket seat. My coffee cup was stuck between on my shirt. “Don’t go messing up this car.” my legs. I prayed the lid stayed secure. I looked at him like he was joking.The stern set of his He kept up the speed through the mountain passes, the jaw told me he was serious.Then he swerved from the fast tires squealing. I thought about all those 007 movies where lane to the slow lane crossing three lanes of traffic and took the Bond character is driving his Aston Martin through the the off ramp. mountains. I didn’t like watching road races, now I felt like I was in one. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Gas and restroom stop.You might want to dump that “Are you nervous?” he asked me at some point. I’m sure cup while you wash up.” I was white-faced with terror. I nodded feeling like a bad child. I hadn’t done anything to his car.The coffee was on my shirt. I slunk inside and “No, not used to this speed.” obediently dropped the cup in the trash. “Do you drive?” Then I encountered non-gender bathrooms.There was a “Sure,” I said. “Who doesn’t.” sign identifying them as that, but no indicator as to occu- “What kind of car do you have?” pied or vacant. I pulled the first door handle only to see the “Me? No car—can’t afford one now and besides parking profile of a man leaning forward. “Oops,” I said as I shut the where I live is a nightmare. I use public transport and Uber.” door. What would be behind door number two? With relief, the “Oh,” he said, in a tone that indicated I missed the mark. second bathroom was empty. I realized then both bathrooms A while later, after an interminable silence where he were probably the same layout.The man in the other room continued the race and I kept telling myself to breathe, he would have been washing his hands, unless he was pissing in asked, “You want to drive?” the sink. I locked the door and got down to business. Why do I shrugged, “Never learned to drive a stick.” I even try to clean up the spot on my shirt? It never does any good, I “Then you’ve never really learned to drive,” he said. just smear it around and end up walking out with a big wet spot on That seemed to be the last straw. I obviously didn’t the front. measure up to his standards, and now he pressed down Back outside I realized the red Porsche was not at the firmer on the accelerator and roared around the turns pump. Not at any pump. Nowhere to be seen. passing every car and truck on the road. I thought I should I stepped back inside not sure what to do.Then back text my cousin that I might be there before lunch. out, because if Mitch drove around the block or forgot me, On the straightaways, the speed didn’t seem so bad, he needed to see me when he came back. When, not if, I told but if you have never ridden in a Porsche get ready to feel myself. the road.There is no cushioning in that car.You feel every little imperfection in the roadway. My coffee cup was still 64

That’s when this other guy approached me. “Is this By that time, Howie had pulled back onto I-90, and in yours?” he asked holding my roller bag. complete opposition to Mitch, he drove in the slow lane keeping the speedometer steady at sixty. “Yeah. Did he ditch me?” I heard the panic in my voice. “’Fraid so. Said he had a tight schedule or something like He lifted his right leg and crossed it over his left, then that.Where you headed?” tucked his left foot under his right leg so he was sitting “Spokane,” I said.Then thought I ought to add, “or cross-legged. Seattle” to cover my bases. “I’m driving to Helena and going through Spokane, so “How’d you do that?” I asked staring at the still steady I’d be happy to give you a ride. Here’s my business card. I’m sixty on the speedometer. with theWashington Department of Ecology heading to a seminar. Hate to see you stranded.” “Cruise control.You don’t know about cruise control?” I took his card, and it looked legit. “M. Howard And then he started talking. All about the efficiency of Plotnik, Section Leader.” I didn’t know what a Section the Toyota hybrid engine, the fuel economy of using cruise Leader was, but he looked to be in his mid-thirties and control, and the fact that at sixty miles per hour he can get average in every other way: height, weight, looks. I took a upwards of sixty-five miles per gallon, and that driving five photo of the card, then as we stowed my bag in his trunk, miles per hour faster will dial down that rating to under I snapped his license plate and texted both photos to my sixty miles per gallon. I’m summarizing his speech because cousin. “Change of rides.” he went on and on until my eyelids were hinting to me “Howie,” he said opening the passenger door of his it was nap time.Then he switched over to the fact that if white Toyota Prius for me. everyone was serious about doing something about climate “Valerie,” I said, “Thanks for the ride.” control, no one would drive over sixty miles per hour and, “If you don’t mind me asking, what was the deal with in fact, fifty-five was fast enough. the Porsche,” he asked as he settled in behind the wheel. “Do you recycle?” he asked switching subjects. I shook my head. “He overheard me saying I was looking Feeling like I was on the hotseat, I nodded.Then quickly for a ride and offered. He knew a friend of mine who told added, “My cousin Gwen is crazy about recycling.Where me it was okay to go with him.Then he drove like a crazy she lives, garbage service is mandatory, but she never has wannabe racer. He freaked when we hit a bump, and I any garbage. If she can’t recycle it or put it to a new use, sloshed coffee on my shirt.That’s when he pulled in here she won’t have anything to do with it.” What I didn’t say, and told me to clean up. Did he put gas in his car?” was that she drove me crazy when I lived with her my first Howie shook his head. He asked me to give the bag to semester in college. you, then he peeled out. I watched the signs announcing Spokane count down I sighed and looked down at Howie’s card—M. Howard from one-hundred-forty-nine to sixty-one miles, and he was Plotkin. “What’s the M stand for?” I asked. still talking. So, I tried to calculate how long it took him to “Mom never told me.” travel those eighty-eight miles at 60 mph. I had to do this in “Really? That’s weird.” my head, but my hands were itching to pull up the calculator on my phone. I didn’t want to appear rude, so, I accepted my lame ass figuring that it was only slightly over an hour 65

– maybe an hour and a half. He was talking the whole time. But even as I was noting the similarities, Howie and I began using the phrase ‘miles per Howie’ when he said Gwen were talking fuel economy, miles per hour, and miles per hour. I don’t know what else.Their passion was so palpable I expected they would be tearing off each other’s clothing. I must have nodded off because the next time I saw a sign it was only twenty miles to Spokane and the speedometer was “Howie, this was such a gentlemanly thing to do— still showing sixty. Howie stuck with his lane and allowed the driving Val all the way here. Please come in, have a cup of faster drivers to zip around him, including the trucks. coffee. I just pulled a batch of cookies out of the oven.”Then like the afterthought I am, “They’re your favoriteVal, peanut “Wow, we’re almost there,” I said with relief. butter cookies.” Something about the way she said it, put me He was driving with both feet on the floor now, and I back to the age of ten, maybe twelve. felt bad for nodding off on him. “Yep, where does your cousin live?” Howie and Gwen continued their Prius love talk as they “Oh, you can just drop me off downtown. She’ll come headed into the house. Me with my bag followed along like a get me.” third wheel or a spare tire. “That’s not how I see a thing through. Give me the address, and I’ll get the GPS routed.” After so much more car talk with a lavish sidebar about I opened my contacts and read him the address.Then ecology and the need to recycle, Howie said he had to get watched as he dictated the address to the GPS. Before I going. Gwen offered him lunch on Thursday on his way could say bibbity bobbity boo the GPS displayed a map, and back. Still no talk about whether I’d be part of that bargain, a voice began directing us to her house. but I was bored out of my mind. When we pulled up, Howie came around, opened my door for me, and lifted my bag out. “Hope you have a good After he left, Gwen cradled Howie’s card in her hands. visit. I’ll be coming back through on Thursday if you need That’s when I told Gwen the M stood for Miles and his a ride, just leave a voice mail on my office phone.You have mother named him after Miles Standish. It was the only my card?” Miles I could come up with. Miles Davis would have been “I sure do.Thanks, but I’m not sure when I’ll be heading a lot cooler, but I didn’t thank of that till later. Gwen had back.” I was thinking if, not when because the situation in that look on her face that told me she and Howie were Seattle was not working out. going to make beautiful music together and all at sixty Gwen came to the curb to greet me. And as Howie miles per hour with fuel economy of more than sixty-five turned to get into the car, they met. It was one of those miles to the gallon. cataclysmic meetings between a man and a woman. She looked him up and down, and he gave her the same once That was last summer. I did ride back to Seattle with over, only it didn’t stop there. M. Howard Plotnik on Thursday afternoon. Only during She looked at his car and said, “Oh my god, I have the this drive, we talked about Gwen and our family history same car.”Then she turned and pointed to the driveway. It was – mostly her history and a long list of what she liked and the same car. Same white exterior. Same model. Same year. didn’t like. I made up some of the stuff, but I thought I only put things on that list he was making that would please her. 66

I gave my roommates notice and sold or packed up my and asked her where she got that idea. She told him it was stuff at the apartment.When I ran into Roger one after- me, and he laughed. noon, I gave him the evil eye for giving me the thumbs up on Mitch. “The M is for Montgomery,” he said, “but no one knows, so it won’t matter.” “So glad you are alright Val. I couldn’t believe it when And that’s when I started liking him. I heard.” “What? That stupid Mitch dumped me out in nowhere?” “What? No, that he’s been running stolen cars across the state. Didn’t you know about the big arrest when he got to Spokane?” We exchanged shocked looks, then headed to the nearest pub for a drink to unravel our stories. Gwen drove to Seattle to move me back to Spokane. She came a day early so she could go on a date with Howie. Then she drove me home. She was already head over heels and talked about Howie like he had invented a non-sticky cotton candy and gave it away for the good of mankind. After I got settled in her guest room, Gwen helped me get my resume together and drove me around till I landed a job. Another thirty days of overhearing her and Howie on the phone or in person because he was driving over every weekend, I was going to off myself. I moved out as soon as an apartment came up that was close to my work. I couldn’t get more fuel conscious than walking to work. Their wedding is next weekend, and he’s worked out a deal to live in Spokane and commute to Seattle once a month.That trip will certainly be affordable at about twenty dollars what with getting sixty-five miles to the gallon if gas prices remain at $3.25. I had told Gwen the M stood for Miles.That’s what she had printed on the recycled paper wedding invitations, all three hundred of them.When Howie saw that, he snickered 67

Violinist Point of View by Madeline Bryant 2nd Place Adult Fine & Digital Art 68

Showtime by Kristan Mabrey He sits in the corner, gazing at his interlocked fingers, His head suddenly lifts and turns, staring straight at a dismal figure shrouded in semi-darkness.The bulb above me. Jerking back in the chair, my breath catches as my him hums faintly as it flickers, an offbeat counterpart to heart accelerates. I stare back, mesmerized.They may be the outdated rock streaming through the scratchy sound right about the eyes. Even in the gloom of the bar, they system. His posture speaks of unbearable grief, but no one seem to shine from within, the irises a blazing blue, the approaches or stares for long. A glimpse, a glance, a quick sky after a summer rain. He doesn’t move and neither side-eye is all it takes to recognize the inhuman stillness. do I as the seconds tick away, stretching into impossible This is no one to engage, better left alone to ruminate on lengths. I can finally see his face and my hand reacts on its whatever heinous deeds he’s been sent to do. own, programmed long ago to draw even the minutest detail when required.The stylus flies over the pad, my eyes The rest of the customers speak in hushed tones, afraid never leaving his and I know the likeness will be spot-on. A of drawing his attention. It’s not unusual for those like glimpse of a broad, smooth forehead beneath jet-black hair, him to suddenly attack, the whispered commands of his aquiline nose, cerulean eyes tipped upwards at the corners, Instructor controlling his moves and moods. It’s not a safe and parted lips, the bottom slightly plumper than the top. time to be Human. Or anything else. He’s beautiful. All Mechas are. It makes the cruel things they do seem all the more barbaric. Hunched over a scuffed table, kitty-corner from where he broods, I quickly sketch his profile, keeping my After a minute that feels like an eternity he blinks, or head trained slightly to the left of him, darting my eyes I do, but either way it breaks the connection and he looks over then down to my pad in little nips. I’m not afraid of at his hands again, unlocking his fingers, flexing them. him but the others may let their fear burn to anger if they The room holds its breath as he slowly pushes himself to believe I’m endangering them. Mechas aren’t the only standing, adjusting his jacket. Must have new instructions to ones capable of brutality. carry out. Does this new series ever get tired? Despair over their life and livelihood? Are they capable? Are they allowed? Gripping the stylus, I wish he’d look up so I can see His footsteps are quiet despite the heavy boots he wears, his face. I’ve heard the Tech Developers of the new Mecha and the glass-front door is quickly swinging closed behind series have done amazing things with the eyes. Uber real- his retreating back.The atmosphere immediately lifts, the istic, you can almost see the soul. Snorting, I shake my music louder, the talking more animated. head. Having witnessed firsthand what the strength of these machines can do to soft flesh, soul is the last thing they have. I watch the door and the stairs leading up to the main Their elite human controllers, the Instructors, use them street for a moment, but he doesn’t reappear.The pang of to act out atrocities, things no moral human would ever disappointment is strange though easy enough to shrug off. contemplate. An amusement for the rich and bored: a game, He was beautiful. Anything nice to look at will be missed a sick game. when it’s gone. Not completely gone though. I look down 69

at my pad and the lines drawn.The depth of his face is the small space. I stand motionless, eyes never leaving his there, and my stylus caught his eyes perfectly, my memory face, taking in every detail, fingers itching to begin drawing adding that searing blue.You could drown in those eyes. again. Stupid. He stops ten paces from me and bows his Not a bad last thing to see before you go. Fuck.Time to head. People begin moving their chairs and tables away as leave. Practiced hands stow the gear in my knapsack and slowly and quietly as possible. I can almost taste their fear, I sling it over a shoulder before taking out my wallet. As I and underneath, their excitement. Humans are disgusting drop a crumpled bill on the table, the music stutters and I that way. As long as it’s not them, right? They assume he’s pause, glancing around. No one else seems to have noticed, spotted his target and playtime is about to commence.Well, too busy talking with their comrades, sipping their drinks. right and wrong. Wary, I slip my wallet back into my pocket and turn, only to stumble on open air, breath locked in my throat. Tilting my head, I take a deep breath, keeping him in view as I raise a finger to my left ear and push the small He stands on the other side of the door, cocking his button buzzing deep in the canal. My Instructor’s voice head slightly to the left as if listening to something, his bulk comes on loud and clear, “Time-off is over, Unit 779-B. leaving no view of the stairs leading up to the street behind Targets sighted.This is to be a two-player mission. Highest him. Our eyes meet and hold again. His, so bright, yes, but I body count wins, no survivors. Have fun.” had been right, no soul to speak of. He blinks and the music falters again.This time people notice.The talking becomes As I lower my arm, his eyes meet mine and their whispers as they glance my way, quickly averting their eyes soullessness mirrors my own. Bowing my head, mimicking to scan the room for exits.You can feel it in the air, the his gesture, I hide my frown and take another deep breath, tension: electric. letting it out in a long sigh as I turn to face the crowd. Showtime. He opens the door, and the music dies completely. So does conversation, every Human frozen in fear as he enters 70

Phantasmagoria by Aziliz Dupont-Huin 3rd Place PC Student Fine & Digital Art 71

Golden Gate from Alcatraz by Abby Sanford 1st PlaceYouth Art 14-17 72

Car Prowl by Thorkel Clark LennieVan Zant hardly worked a day in his adult life; bright and shiny.This one had a history. Freshly minted yet he adhered to a schedule as rigorous as any hourly sacksfuls had been stolen from the vaults of the armored car employee. His day began after sundown and proceeded company. None had surfaced in the ensuing months. Lucky on into the nighttime hours until he was satisfied with his recognized it for what it was: loot. Hoping for a reward, he accomplishments. His tools of trade were a newspaper called the FBI. Agents appeared within the hour. Statements carrier bag, a dozen or so lost kitten posters, a staple gun, taken and a composite sketch of Lennie drawn. On the 5 and a slim jim. o’clock news Lennie could scarcely recognize himself. But maybe now was a good time to visit his sister in Florida. A slim jim is a flat piece of steel strapping with a notch Hurried preparations were all for naught. He was arrested cut near one end to fashion a hook.After scanning for a tiny on his front porch. red light, indication of an armed car alarm, he would slide the slim jim between the glass window of an older model car and Downtown, Lennie wasn’t sure how much to say.There the door panel.With an experienced jiggling, the hook could was no good-cop-bad-cop routine. Federal agents were a bit grab the door locking lever. Pulling up unlocked the door.The smoother.They realized Lennie was not part of some major prize: the contents of the ash tray and coin holder. heist gang but must have come by the coin in some innocent manner. Slowly it was revealed how the coin had been acquired. Lennie dumped them into plastic bags, re-locked the car, and moved on. At lighted street corners he would Judges had been known to be lenient on folks who helped post a lost kitty poster. If stopped and questioned Lennie solve cases. Could Lennie pin down the block where the car would screw up his face and pretend to have a learning had been prowled? Lennie was able to draw lines around disability; the posters vouched for his innocence. At the the most probable neighborhoods.Agents were comfortable end of the evening, he would retrieve the bike he stashed allowing Lennie to go home.They would be in touch. in some bushes and return home. At the kitchen table, he separated cigarette butts from coins.The quarters he would The court date was quick. Six months of community service. cash in at the laundromat.The smaller coins at the corner Lennie’s parole officer was an older woman, spoke with an mom-&-pop bodega.The cigarette butts were stripped of accent and was cranky. She read him the riot act at their first filters and ash, the remaining tobacco measured into plastic meeting and told him where to report for work on Monday. bags and sold to kids at bus stops. In quick order he attended a technician training course on car locks, alarms, GPS, and bluetooth systems. If he was One day things went terribly wrong. Nowadays the good enough, he would get an entry-level position at her mint struck all manner of unusual quarters. Such coins son-in-law’s sprawling luxury car dealership. From there easily slipped past cursory examination.The folks at Lucky’s the sky’s the limit. As you may imagine each had a different Laundromat were a bit more careful. Bus tokens, slugs, vision of where that would lead. buttons, and foreign coins had all been tried on them.This one was special. It was a commemorative coin, silver, still 73

Baby Yoda by Ivan Heistand 2nd PlaceYouth Art 0-9 74

Baseball is Fine by Kenneth Flaherty 2nd Place PC Student Writing Perched so far atop PetCo Park that the seat in front of brothers almost to the point of taking care of themselves me is two feet below me, the sun sizzling into the Pacific before I came along. She trusted them to do a lot of my behind Coronado Island seems closer than the Padres or the raising.They taught me to use what I already had to get what Astros way down on the diamond. From here I can see it I really wanted. I learned the rewards from snitching paled all—third base and shortstop shifting to straddle second, the next to the sweet taste of shared secrets. Crying was a lot outfielders creep the opposite way because Altuve swings like confession—it made you feel better but did squat to fix early on changeups, later on the heat. “Why don’t he hit it the problem.They really hammered home that sports were down third?”The 10-year-old kid six feet below asks dad. play that wasn’t make-believe—you are what you are on the field, and practice hones basics to talent with enough repeti- Pop shuffles the foam finger and baseball glove (because, tion.This was especially true with baseball. you know, a 620-foot foul tip might come flying at you up here any time), “Aspen, hitting a 98-mile-an-hour fastball is As I was stretching into a pretty good little ball- like swatting a fly with a wet pool noodle.” player, my brothers were hitting their strides as young men with big adult jobs and serious girlfriends. I started “He could bunt” Aspen retorts. playing organized ball with my grade school and then high “That’s not how it’s done in the big leagues, kiddo.” school. Playing for school teams meant keeping my grades “Why not?” respectable, so suddenly studying became worth the time “That’s just sneaky. Pro ball players don’t do that.” and effort. I uncovered a passion for science and math and “But aren’t those the Astros?” writing. My true talent shined when I was writing about “Finish your nachos before the seagulls come.” science and nature. By the time I became aware of their Sure enough, the 98 mile an hour fast ball is swatted true synergies, the cultural struggles that began with the predictably to mid-left center field, exactly where Grisham Thalidomide scandal and Rachel Carlson’s Silent Spring had waits and unceremoniously grabs it to end the inning. science and nature twisted into adversaries. I caught the Everybody left in the stands gets up and starts to move out. wave of eco-science after Three Mile Island and rode that Oh, that’s the end of the game, Padres win.When you watch and baseball into a full-ride scholarship to the Holy Grail of the game just for the game, nine innings go by like summer Southside Catholic parents: Notre Dame. – nothing much happening at any given time but then gone like that kid’s attention span. College, especially on elite campuses, stratifies the I was the same way when I was that age. Nothing classes like nothing most freshman have ever experienced. mattered much or for very long, except baseball. Like a lot The wealthy socialite kids flaunt their wealth as audaciously of Catholic families on the Southside of Chicago, thanks to as us working class kids wear our self-made struggles. All the 1950s surge in birth control and then Pope Paul VI’s of us bearing our daddy’s badges of honor as if we earned banning it in the sixties, Mom had raised my three older them. Academia is a more level playing field than most and 75

work is almost always graded on merit and intellectual path- had a take and spun their re-writes of our work to fit their ways opened to all who had the privilege of a firm founda- narratives. Reporting scientific findings became trans- tion to handle the course work. lating the scientific method for daily consumption in the Starbucks’s drive thru. Not a scientist I know (or those of I graduated with honors, a four-year varsity letterman us covering them) hasn’t, in the last year and a half, to some jacket, and two intriguing job offers: coaching pitchers and degree, pre-spun their findings just to try to stay ahead of catchers for the minor league Louisville Bats or writing the warp of the 24-hour agenda driven news. briefs and study synopsis for the National Institute of Health. Since I wasn’t a 45-year-old washed up ballplayer, It was Monday of the 4th of July long weekend. I started writing for scientists.The AIDS epidemic ravaged Emerging from Wild Eggs, I was just starting to slip into a the country and while everyone seemed obsessed with cushy omelet-everything-muffin-and-spicy-bloody-mary- where it came from, I cut a path to find out where it might induced food come when (from the alley no less) a gaggle be going.Working with long-term survivors (in the 90s that of mainstream media microphones started squawking was more than five years) I met and fell madly, hopelessly, questions, demanding answers into their thrusting iPhones. clichély in love with Gillian—a strawberry blonde, blue From me? I’m not the researcher researching. I’m a eyed southern California bombshell who taught me gusto reporter reporting. Apparently, I wasn’t sensitive to their and vivaciousness.When sex can literally kill you, you tend bosses’ best business interest.When Kay Lanzmann from to bring the passion and fire every time you take that risk. WKRD in Columbus, OH asked me why I thought I was qualified to convince folks the vaccine was safe and effec- Gillian lived every breathe like it was the sweetest, tive when I couldn’t convince my own family (my niece had tasted every bite like she was starving. She lived every succumbed to COVID in June having not been vaccinated), moment fully alive. Until she couldn’t anymore. Her energy my reply was far from professionally appropriate. waning and everything except the passion fading, she called all her family and loved ones together for a huge celebration Gabrielle, my agent, approached me about writing an of her life, then went upstairs, washed down sixteen benzos article for Vanity Fair on baseball from a healthcare point of with half a pitcher of Bombay Sapphire martinis and prob- view—I balked. I am a journalist for the leading medical ably didn’t know she was dead for weeks. clearing house for researchers on the planet. Pre-COVID, the most “popular” topic I’d covered was the rapid spread After Gillian, dating seemed, well, cute, and relation- of STDs in the geriatric populations of Florida’s retirement ship problems a tad precious. I dove into anything and communities—talk about reluctant interviews. everything scientific except incurable infectious diseases. I spent the better part of two decades in lecture halls, Gabrielle read the text, “…Vanity Fair readers need to research labs, and libraries. I became meticulous in my know how baseball is faring in the post-pandemic summer.” sourcing and freakishly balanced in my reporting. I had no opinion, really, just let the science do the talking. I’d best not honestly answer any of that or I’ll be writing obits or “This Day in Science…” for USA Today. Things changed in February 2020 as COVID became mainstream. Suddenly, health science news was the lead on Gabrielle continued, “We need a good cross section of every newscast.Then the politics blew it up so that everyone America.You’ll want to catch games on both coasts, as a fan in the stands not a reporter in the press box, and a couple 76

in the fly-over so as to not come off elitists.” She put down and bought three nachos to contribute. Johnson scoffed and her phone, looked me in the eye, “You’d be great at this.You smirked me into going back for extra jalapenos.We all wore love baseball and need to see all of this from a wider angle. our masks mostly around our chins as we ate and drank and Please. And Condé Nast likes broad national appeal almost hollered.We had the luxury of lots of empty seats and six as much as tax write-offs.They gave Siobhan carte blanche, to eight feet apart from one another, not an amenity offered and their American Express.”This fluff piece on baseball was anywhere that checked your ticket to see if you belong. more intervention than assignment. The Mariner’s won. I think.We all stood up, strangers “I do love baseball…” I caught Gab’s assistant, again, and shivered against the suddenly realized chill. Siobhan’s smokey green, gold-flecked eyes tipping left, imploring me with an urgency Brooklynites usually Across the street at the Silver Cloud Hotel, I typed reserve for Zabar’s bagels. the story Vanity Fair wanted to print—that America is embracing the new normal of mask wearing in large, close Siobhan obliged, scoring box seats, five-star hotels, and crowds and social distancing is second nature. Sanitizing first-class flights like that AmEx was her cheating ex-wife’s protocols are as routine as ID checks at beer booths and credit card. I sat on top of the Green Monster at Fenway, all the oompa-loompas appear healthy and vaccinated. It’s shared a row with Sofia Vergara and Joe Manganiello as sure to garner a resounding chorus of “mehs” from readers the Marlins lost to the Nationals, saw Bill Murray pass out anxious to get to the winter neckwear and boot trends. handfuls of tickets and autographs in Wrigleyville before ascending to his luxury box to lament his post-trade-dead- We are, after all, masters of maintaining the status line unknown Cubbies. In a seat wider than the first class quo. And if adjusting our expectations to do so means we one in which I landed in Cincinnati, the bobbed-cut Karen normalize COVID deaths, so be it. Kay from Columbus and red-tucked-polo Curt next to me sighed in relief over was right, who am I to try to reverse the cultural tides that their brats and IPAs at the salvation of concierge service so don’t even blush at 40,000 gun deaths and 45,000 deaths they didn’t have to go get them “with those people.” Uh oh, from lack of healthcare and 300,000 from obesity? Soon Curt and Karen, I’m “those people.” enough, most of us will be vaccinated and get boosters if need be to not die horrible, painful, choking-on-our- Three days later, on the T-Mobile Park concourse, own-organs deaths and the 35,000 to 60,000 deaths a year I texted my Mariner’s ticket code to a kid who’d figure will cease being news and only occasionally touch us. Like out how to scalp e-tickets—hunger finds a way. He sent cancer or alcoholism. me a ticket above the Hit it Here Café. It was a beautiful Seattle summer day—53 degrees, windy with intermittent Meanwhile, Shohei Ohtani leads the major league in sprinkles breaking up the misty fog. I really enjoyed the homeruns and is 4-1 as a starting pitcher with a 3.49 ERA. game from up here.The seat was hard, plastic, and snug. Not since Babe Ruth has a good pitcher also been able to hit We didn’t need a concierge because Griffey Jr. three seats well too. I have a first-class flight to LA and a luxury seat down snuck in four double-deuce Rainers tucked in his to trade for some good bleacher bonding in the Southern girlfriend’s purple puffy coat. Ichiro in front of me and California sun. Baseball, like the rest of America, has Griffey Jr. behind me had pockets full of peanuts. I went survived the pandemic and is doing just fine. 77

Speaking Power by L.G.W. 3rd Place Youth Art 0-9 78

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS Anouk Atwater is in the 5th grade at Hamilton Amalia Bell is an 8th grader who loves reading and the Elementary School. She loves riding her tiny circus bike and outdoors. She was inspired to write this poem after seeing baking banana bread. pikas at Mount Rainier National Park.They are so amazing; Anouk and Valen Atwater, featured singers, are aliens she hopes you get to see them, too! from outer space. Senator Atwater, their voice coach, Madeline Bryant is a painter; she currently works in oils was raised by wolves. Malik Atwater, lyricist, had a but also paints in watercolor and soft pastels. For her, the second cousin that invented the game Diplomacy.This is subject dictates the medium she uses. Her favorite moment proof that he is really smart and talented. Vivian Wai, as an artist is the moment of initial excitement when light music composer, has no famous relatives and therefore pulls describes an object or a scene, and she can think of nothing her inspiration from the Bee Gees documentary. else until she sketches the concept, starts the painting, and Pete Barthell was born one decade afterWWI, alive, in sets in motion the creative process. a Chicago suburb which is still there. He attended three Saundra Catiis has been a photographer for the past forty universities, graduating from none. Now, in his tenth years with an emphasis on insects and birds. Born and raised decade, he sometimes wonders what it’s all about—life, he in the Pacific Northwest, she has never left. She is the 4th means. One major thing has dawned on him: dumb luck is generation in her family on the Peninsula. She loves the the single most common driver of people’s lives. Trump, outdoors and you can find her most days one one of many Covid, inflation, Putin, Sequim weather, E. coli, Russell local trails, usually lying on the forest floor trying to photo- Wilson . . . do you control any of these? No, you don’t; and graph the smallest of subjects. neither does he. Carlton Chastain has chosen to shoot almost exclu- His engineering training led to a job in the drafting room sively film to document his life and the environment of the of a tiny manufacturer of electromechanical gadgets. Just Olympic Peninsula to avoid trying to monetize a hobby that by dumb luck he was hired by a high school buddy who had brings him joy. He has spent most of his adult life and youth become president of that tiny company. Forty-one years of here, and it seems fitting to embrace a slower, less commod- additional dumb luck in half a dozen similar outfits ended ified, and more demanding medium to capture the spirit of with barely enough of a pension to just kick back here in the northwest. He resides in Port Angeles with his husband Sequim and be perpetually amazed at how the whole thing and two children. ever happened. Dakotah Cole is from Forks,WA. Dakotah is a Peninsula He’s been a barbershopper, an NCAA gymnast, a draftsman, College student studying for a Computer Applications a model airplane builder, a husband, a father, a company Technology Degree and enjoys making electronic music in president, but never a writer. (Well, he did write the occa- their spare time. sional memo at work.) 79

Judith Duncan lives in the foothills of the Olympic translating the original experience into Human elements Mountains where she tends an orchard, several chickens and of understanding whereby changing reality. He has written writes poetry and prose. numerous poetry chap books, epic ballads, short stories, and Aziliz Dupont-Huin is a young artist who studies art, three novels. Some of his works are in the Sequim Library. loves Star Wars, Mel Brooks, Michelangelo, and cheese. He continues to create every day in Sequim,Washington. She also likes taking time drawing things that just pop up in Heidi Hansen describes herself as a sponge who has her mind and enjoys spending time across the oceans of her absorbed details and turns them into stories. After editing brain waves. her college newspaper, writing technical product specifica- Kenneth Flaherty is a caregiver and nursing student, tions, and running her own creative business, she has pushed born somewhere between “peace, man” and Pac-Man, living all that aside and concentrates on crafting out stories and alone and well in beautiful Uptown Port Townsend. working with local authors. An avid reader she writes what Sharon R. Gilmour was born and raised in Ft.Wayne, fuels her imagination trying to connect through words. She Indiana. She and her husband of many years, George, were lives in the Sequim where she tends to a burgeoning garden classmates in high school; both are graduates of Indiana of adjectives. University.They have two sons and three teenaged grand- Kari Hardin is an artist based in SequimWA. Her inspira- children. A seed-saver, Sharon joyfully cultivates flowers, tion comes from the wild beauty of the Olympic Peninsula. salads, and words. Her poems have been published in Abigail Heistand is eight years old, soon to be nine, and Colorado, Florida, and Washington state. attends third grade at Queen of Angles. Abigail enjoys art Llywelyn Graeme Currently serving overseas in the U.S. and is always working on a drawing or some sort of project. Foreign Service, Llywelyn has been taking pictures in and When she grows up, she wants to be a Scientist. around the Northwest since his inaugural photography trip Ivan Heistand is five years old and attends preschool at in 1974 aboard the Princess Marguerite.When he does Peninsula College Early Childhood Development Center. retire, he looks forward to living in Forks and continuing to Ivan races bikes at the local Lincoln Park BMX. He also photograph the majestic beauty of the Northwest. enjoys playing video games and snuggling with his mom. Maryrose Halberg is in 8th grade at Stevens Middle Thomas Hightower is a lifetime photographer and has School. She loves to read and write but she especially loves been a Clallam County resident since retirement more than to write poems. six years ago. Stirling Kent Hall is a hippie artist, writer, inventor, Noah Isenberg is a seventh-grade student at Blue Herron musician, and world traveler. Stirling believes Art—in Middle School. He enjoys trail running and biking through the absence of “Self ” including evaluation and determina- Port Townsend. During the pandemic, he found writing to tion—is the story of all possibilities made accessible by be a great outlet for crazy thoughts in this even crazier time. 80

He would like to thank Tidepools for giving him the opportu- in the Harrisburg Review, TheVillager, and by The Bronxville nity to share his work. Women’s Club, Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020, and Corona Patrick J. Johnson is a native of Montana and grew up in Global Lockdown. Chris won third place in Tidepools 2020. a small town on the Canadian Border. Chris’s poetry blog is www.poetinplace.com, and his prose Katherine Kennedy is a retired journalist and attorney efforts include two blogs: Adventures in Antiquing, which living in the foothills of the Olympic Mountains with her discusses the buying and selling of antiques, and Seaward husband, labradoodle, and two cats. She is a lifelong learner, Adventures, which is about ”Wind,Water and Sailing as having recently received a master’s degree in Philosophy, Soulcraft” and features some of his nautical poems. Cosmology, and Consciousness from the California Institute When not spinning words into poetry he is a custom of Integral Studies. She enjoys reading, writing, playing the cabinetmaker. cello, and hiking in the Olympic National Park. Richard Kohler says photography is fine art. He’s been John Kilzer has been an instructor in music and working in the medium of photography for many years computers for over thirty-five years. Inspired by seeing now. He discovered that if he makes artwork that is mean- great furniture works in Europe, his aimed to enhance his ingful to him, it is usually attractive to other people as well. woodworking skills, so he began taking French marquetry Photography is all about light and how that light reveals the lessons in the summer of 2020. Using a combination of subject to the photographer. Each photograph is, in a way, natural and dyed veneers (some self-dyed), he creates a personal experience. A photograph allows the experience works that offer realism and natural beauty. In the submis- to be saved, valued, and shared. His photo projects often- sion, all pieces were cut individually using the Chevalet de times include many elements of earth, sky, and water, along Marqueterie, a very accurate, hand scroll saw designed in with other natural subject matter, and sometimes manmade the early 19th century. subject matter is there too. He hopes more viewers will be Elyse Kim is a twelve-year-old artist. She enjoys anime, able to see and enjoy his photographs. skateboarding, drawing, and soccer. Oma Landstra lives in Port Townsend with her beloved Al Kitching is a retired lawyer/public defender who has husband of many years. Retirement gives her the opportu- taken to writing poetry since moving to Port Angeles. nity to enjoy many wonderful days of hiking, bird watching, Chris Kleinfelter has been writing poetry since going biking, prayer, meditation, and consciousness. She sings back to college at forty.That was twenty years ago. for Threshold Choir of Port Townsend, an international Harrisburg Area Community College brought out Chris’s movement to bring song to those in transition at death and love for writing and he won awards for poems in the during sickness. Someone suggested that Threshold Choir is campus literary journal, Thoughts Beyond Insanity. He has “Kindness made audible.” not stopped writing since. His work has also been published She wrote a number of songs in her younger years to sing with her guitar. Now she writes mostly poetry, and has been 81

influenced by many great poets. Many of her productive the University ofWashington, and selected for the 2020 hours are spent in her flower garden, and she also works in Well+Being exhibit at the Port Angeles Fine Arts Center. the lovely vegetable garden in the co-housing community Angela Mordecai-Smith would be fine reading all day “Rosewind.” but needs money so teaches English at Stevens Middle An inspiring quote from Brenden Kennelly “poetry is one School. She has loads of children, 2 dogs, and a husband of the most vital treasures that humanity possesses, it is a who does the laundry and cooks better than she can. Angela bridge between separated souls.” enjoys watching B movies and TV while trying to complete Marilou “Lou” Laisnez retired from a professional life the homework for her most recent degree. in Alaska to her favorite vacation destination of Sequim in McKenzie Nelson created “Wolfsbane Cure” for the 2015. She now gets more time to work with her muses of MEDIA 202 final last year. It was a fun chance to try a new music and art. style while playing around with werewolf lore. Bailey Loveless lives in between the land and the sea, Carolynn Pype is uncomfortable saying no when inspira- writing weird tales about animals, monsters, the feminine, tion hits. the sublime, and the strangest of all creatures, mankind and Bruno Rescigna’s short stories have appeared in Elysian all their follies. Fields Quarterly and the Bucks CountyWriter. His one-act Liberty Lauer is a junior at Port Angeles High School plays were performed at the University of New Mexico, where she is involved in Leadership, FBLA, and tennis. She and his comedy sketches were performed on Public Radio enjoys painting, writing, and traveling when she can. in Albuquerque, New Mexico and Manhattan, Kansas. Kristan Mabrey says, if you are reading this then at least Additionally, he was a semifinalist in Tucson, Arizona’s one person (besides herself) enjoyed the story she’s written. Festival of Books poetry competition. Bruno retired from Born and raised in Port Angeles, she’s worn more hats than theVeterans Administration where he spent twelve years as Bartholomew Cubbins. Currently, she is a writer, artist, a clinical social worker and psychotherapist. He and his wife wife, mother, and self-proclaimed otaku of various things. Suzanne moved to Port Angeles in 2021. She lives for random moments, tacos, and raccoonicorns, in Abby Sanford is a junior at Port Angeles High School. Her no given order, and dislikes toe socks. No offense. art ranges from watercolors to photography, song writing to Amy McIntyre is a fine art and social documentary ukulele, acting to costume design.When she’s not involved photographer and a teaching artist. She is also a single in the arts, she’s probably hanging out with her dog. parent and a social scientist. In the fall of 2020 one of her Virginia Sheppard had never painted before this year, “Pandemic Sundays” photos was selected for the perma- and she found that she really enjoys painting with acrylics. nent collection of the Library of Congress. Her work has She always thought she was a bad artist because even a stick been published in the Peninsula Daily News, purchased by figure’s hands were all thumbs. She is 80 years old and now 82

she knows that there are many talents within oneself if only Her hopes are that writers and poets keep stretching their you try. imaginations to create a kinder world. Courtney Smith is a 17-year-old Running Start student D.E.W. likes to create miniatures, discover new art at Peninsula College. She is a dancer and also enjoys mediums to try, and notice life’s details. performing in musicals. Her hobbies include hiking/back- L.G.W. reads, focuses on art, respects wild animals, and packing, rocking climbing, and bike riding. She loves to imagines one day at a time. travel and experience new places. Anson Wallenfang is a passionate artist, writer, and musi- Emily Spink is a Multimedia Communications student at cian currently exploring the realm of multimedia commu- Peninsula College. She’s currently working on earning her nications at Peninsula College and now entering the worlds AAS-T degree and eventually plans to work in illustration of photography, videography, and graphic design. As an and animation! empath, an environmentalist, and a Buddhist he cares deeply Emilee Spoon fell in love with learning about and editing about the ascension of human consciousness and believes in photos after taking an art class in high school.When she’s the power of collective evolution via community. around town or places she’s never been, she also likes taking photos and capturing moments that might not be the 83 same the next day. Lara Starcevich has taught speech and drama at Peninsula College since 2008. She loves her kids, pets, people, improv, and marmite and butter sandwiches. E. Randy Tierney paints sumi Chinese painting and water- color on the Olympic Peninsula near Sequim,Washington. He has been playing with watercolor and ink and accumu- lating art supplies for over ten years. Nan Toby Tyrrell graduated from Bard College and earned her Master of Arts at the University of Arizona. She believes in the power and passion of art and knows how words and music can shape our lives, transforming us if our minds, hearts, and souls are open to change. She’s lived in Port Townsend since 1991 and spends most of her time walking her dog, writing and re-writing poems, and playing piano for others (before the Pandemic times).

Anouk Atwater Elyse Kim The Atwaters Al Kitching Pete Barthell Chris Kleinfelter Amalia Bell Richard Kohler Oma Landstra Madeline Bryant Marilou Laisnez Saundra Catiis Bailey Loveless Liberty Lauer Carlton Chastain Kristan Mabrey Dakotah Cole Amy McIntyre Judith Duncan Angela Mordecai-Smith McKenzie Nelson Aziliz Dupont-Huin Carolynn Pype Kenneth Flaherty Bruno Rescigna Abby Sanford Sharon R. Gilmour Virginia Sheppard Llywelyn Graeme Courtney Smith Maryrose Halberg Emily Spink Emilee Spoon Stirling Hall Lara Starcevich Heidi Hansen E. Randy Tierney Nan Toby Tyrrell Kari Hardin D.E.W. Abigail Heistand L.G.W. Anson Wallenfang Ivan Heistand Thomas Hightower Noah Isenberg Patrick J. Johnson Katherine Kennedy John Kilzer