2003: Kiosk Vol 65 by Kiosk

The Kiosk

Spring 2003 published by the English department of Morningside College

I{iosk Staff EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

NONFICTION EDITORS

FICTION EDITORS

POETRY EDITORS

COVER ART DIRECTOR

LAYOUT AND DESIGN

FACULTY ADVISOR

Cathie Stangl

Kay Goldsmith Michelle Handsaker-Joloud

Jenny Nicklin Crista Rustwick

Michelle Handsaker-Joloud Jenny Nicklin Jessi Plueger

Sheila Partridge

Cathie Stangl

Dr. Stephen Coyne

Copyright 2003 by The Kiosk, a publication of Morningside College. After first publication, all rights revert to the authors. The views herein do not necessarily reflect those of The Kiosk staff or of Morningside College. The Kiosk is published by and for adults. Some material may not be appropriate for children .

Creative Writing Award Winners FIRST PLACE

The Day They Buried Grandpa

Rick Rector SECOND PLACE

Bride-Be-Damned

Megan Cook THIRD PLACE

An Unlikely Hero Dustin Cooper

HONORABLE

I know Now

MENTION COVER ART

I{ay Goldsmith Kristin Bierbaum

About This Year's Judge Barrie Jean Borich writes creative nonfiction and is the author . of My Lesbian Husband, winner of an American Library Association GLBT book award. She lives with her beloved, Linnea Stenson, their cat Nastasya Filippovna and their dog, Dusty Springfield, in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Visit her Web site at www.barriejeanborich.net.

All entries are judged blindly by the editors, and no entry receives special consideration. Staff members are eligible for contest placement, but are not eligible for prize money .

Table of Contents iv

Editor's Foreword

Cathie Stangl

NONFICTION

An Unlikely Hero

Dustin Cooper

POETRY

Scrambled

Jessi Plueger

POETRY

Don't We All

Jessi Plueger

NONFICTION

II<nowNow

Kay Goldsmith

POETRY

The Sax

Jan Dehner

FICTION

Looking Back

Kay Goldsmith

POETRY

X i-iv

Jessi Plueger

NONFICTION

Bride-Be-Damned

Megan Cook

POETRY

I Finally Moved to South Dakota

Rick Rector

POETRY

The Wake

Rick Rector

POETRY

Psychology Man I<nows

Annie Dilocker

FICTION

Immersed

Jenny Nicklin

POETRY

Winter

Ginny Eberly

POETRY

Fairy Princess

Allison Landers

NONFICTION

Gravity

Kay Goldsmith

POETRY

Welding Weary

Jason Walker

POETRY

The Scholar

Jason Walker

FICTION

Home Game

Jenny Nicklin

POETRY

What's the Fun in That?

Ginny Eberly

NONFICTION

Ding-Dong the Lockridge is Dead

Kaleen Hird

POETRY

Untitled

Rick Rector

POETRY

The Day They Buried Grandpa

Rick Rector

POETRY

Sparkling Splinters

Jessi Plueger

Contributor and Staff Notes

Editor's Foreword CATHIE STANGL

_R-

eaders of The Kiosk will note that in our Table of Contents this issue there is a label by some pieces that says "Nonfiction." Avid readers of The Kiosk will note that this label,

that way. It was and is the truth. There's no "autobiographical fiction" term to hide behind.

short for a genre titled "creative nonfiction,"

place, but quite another to say you'd put it in

has never appeared in this magazine before.

print. Thank you for your stories, and thank you for your honesty.

So what is this stuff we call creative nonfiction? I like to define it as nonfiction that isn't boring. But I'm told this is not the proper definition. A more appropriate definition is

So I'd like to thank all of the contributing creative nonfiction authors. It was one thing to be brave enough to write it down in the first

While we're on this topic of thank yous, I

nonfiction in the form of a story. Well, okay,

must put in mine, which are semi-brief. Thank you to Steve, who said, "There's no need to freak out yet ... wait 'till Friday."

I'll go with the flow: it's true stories.

Thank you to Marcie, the English department

What every definition seems to leave out is the part about bravery. It is daring and in-

queen and fairy.

conceivably difficult to tell the truthparticularly in memoir-type pieces which we have printed here. To lay the whole story-

tors- Michelle,

Thank you to all my ediJenny,

Crista,

Jessi,

and

Kay-for all the reading and hours drinking

the whole truth-out there in print is bold.

bad coffee and discussing submissions and sappy love poems. Thank you to Jan Dehner, Katie Harder, and Steve for copyediting,

Once it's down in black and white you can't

which is one of the worst jobs in the world.

If Megan Cook's mother calls

Thank you to Megan and Marcie for helping

her up in a fit and says, "I never said you

with layout and design ideas. A special thank

needed to lose weight, I can't believe you said that," Megan is stuck. She can't take it back, and she can't say that's not what she meant by

you to our judge Barie Jean Borich, whose writing I adore and everyone should read. And finally, a thank you to Sheila, who is a marvelous cover art director, and even more

take it back.

it. She wrote it that way because it happened

The Kiosk

Cathie Stangl

marvelous "best good friend," who kept- and

run so far it couldn't even see the box any-

always keeps-me sane from stmi to finish,

more.

and who seems to be able to put up with more

home when you're only ten, was probably not

sides of me than even I can.

the best idea for step two in a transition. We

o now I must say that the truth about

this year's Kiosk is that it is a leap. It is

This, like running too far away from

can run a little further with each transition, but we can' t leap the entire distance in one go (as much as I hate to admit this).

a risk I am throwing out into the world

I tried to focus this issue on one thing: space. What I see in past Kiosks is cramped

If it takes

creativity. The Kiosk needs room to breathe.

and taking full responsibility for.

off and flies, I will take credit for it.

If it

It needs room to be expressive, liberal, and

plummets to the ground and its gruesome death I suppose I will also take credit for this.

big. So this Kiosk is big. It's magazine-size, has a bigger staff, and includes a new genre. I

I see this Kiosk as the second in a series of

just hope it is, as they say, "Bigger and bet-

transitions. Last year's Kiosk, like its slogan,

ter," because I must admit I feel like slapping

was a little "outside the box." I took the inno-

a big sticker across the cover that says, "Under

vations of that issue and ran with them. I had

Construction." But I will contain myself, so I

so many ideas and changes I wanted to try, but

gIve you the Spring 2003 issue of The

if we'd done them all The Kiosk would have

Kiosk . â&#x20AC;˘

The Kiosk

---~.

NONFICTION

An Unlikely Hero DUSTIN COOPER

y father

player and Magic was mine.

to me for the last year. Brock is 6' 4 with an athletic

I always wore the number 32

build, dark hair and a dark complexion. I like to say

to represent Magic and Brock always wore 23 to represent J ordan.

As he ap-

that he got his good looks from me even though he

the numbers of our heroes

proaches the white Mazda he

doesn't really look like me.

on our chests gave us a sense

cannot see clearly into the

Even though Brock and I do

of pride. It almost made us

window because of the lack

not share the same appear-

those people in some magi-

of lighting in this dark lot.

ance, we do share a lot of

cal kind of way.

When he arrives at the car he

the same interests.

Brock,

I have not been the epit-

sees his son lying in the

like me, is a huge basketball

ome of a great older brother.

backseat, motionless. Tears

nut.

He has been playing

We have even come to

start to well up in his eyes as

the game since he was just a

blows a few times. I would

he tries to open the door.

boy. We used to play into

usually come out on top .

The door is locked and he

the night in our driveway

However, now I might want

now notices that there is a piece of paper resembling a

just for the love of the game,

to be more careful. Brock and I have been through

note of some kind on the

Like most siblings, my

some stages where we were

brother and I have had our

each other's worst enemies.

disagreements about little

However, the majority of the

things. I always teased him

time I consider him one of

y little (only by

that Magic Johnson was bet-

my best friends . The only

age)

brother,

ter than Michael Jordan.

Brock, has been somewhat of an inspiration

Jordan was Brock' s favorite

thing that I ever wanted to be to Brock was the "hero"

professional

every older brother was sup-

walks up to

the

still car in the church parking lot not knowing if his son is alive .

dashboard of the car.

and for each other.

basketball

Wearing

The Kiosk

An Unlikely Hero

posed to be to his little

stay home and sleep.

The

spond well to this punish-

brother. I wanted Brock to

time he spent in bed had

ment and finally went over

wear my number on his

started to far out-weigh the

the top. He claimed that he

chest to represent me (even

time he spent awake doing

did not want to be a part of

though my number is 32).

something productive.

our family anymore and that

was as if he was trying to

he hated all of us.

high school I knew that he

avoid people.

The times

us that he would be better

was going to be an even bet-

that he did make it to school

off on his own. After a little

ter athlete than I ever was.

he would get into fights

more arguing, my dad, not

He was already ahead of me

with others.

He claimed

knowing what to do, gave

at his age in many aspects of

that all of these people were

Brock his keys back. He told

his life. He was already a

making fun of him. Maybe

him that he could go with his

three-sport, star athlete and

this was true, but the old

friends but he had to be

Brock would not have let it

home at 11 :30 PM.

friends . Brock was the type

bother him.

brother responded by saying

of kid who, with his laid

football.

back attitude, was hard not

this, my parents had found

house.

to like. It seemed as though

out from the school's princi-

curfew came and went.

Brock had the perfect high

pal that Brock had told one

4:00

school life ahead of him .

of the other students that he

living room of my house

What lay beneath Brock' s

was thinking of committing

with my mom.

outer shell was a whirlpool

suicide. The student, scared

eyes

of negative emotions that, in

of what would happen, told

drained look made me angry

time, would cause my bother

the 路 principal.

My parents

with my brother for doing

to crack.

talked to Brock about the

this to us.

comment, and Brock blew it

same time, I was as sad and

family noticed some differ-

off like it was

worried as I had ever been in

ences in Brock' s carefree at-

Somehow my parents and I

my life.

titude.

weren't too sure about his

looking for my brother, all I

explanation.

could do was sit there with

When

had

Brock

wide

entered

variety

It all started when the

Things started to

bother him a lot lTIOre and he

He even quit

On top of all of

a joke.

"whatever"

and

He told

left

My the

That night Brock's

I was sitting in the

and

Her puffy

emotionally

However, at the

With my dad out

started to verbally snap on

One day Brock had got-

my mom and think about the

people for little or no reason.

ten in trouble for one thing

possibility of having to play

His grades started to fall and

or another and my father de-

basketball in the driveway

there were many days when

cided that it would be best

by myself.

he would not go to school

to take his car privileges

because he just wanted to

away.

The Kio sk

Brock did not re-

Dustin Cooper

fter seeing the note

some professional help, and

like he did not care about

on the dashboard

things would go back to the

anything. It broke my heart

of the car my fa-

way they were before all of

ther starts to panic. He starts

this. The doctor found my

to see my little brother like that.

frantically shaking the car

brother was suffering from a

Until that point I did not

yelling for my brother to

type of depression.

realize how much I loved

unlock the door.

There is

brother was really sick and

this kid. It was the hardest

still no movement from the

was not happy with any as-

thing in the world for me to

inside of the car. With tears

pect of his life.

see my brother like that.

in his eyes and a helpless

When it was time for

How could this happen to a

tone of voice my dad tries to

me to go visit Brock in the

kid with so much potential?

bang on the glass of the win-

hospital, I did not know how

How could this kid's life be

dow.

After shaking, bang-

he would react to seeing me.

so bad that he would rather

ing, and wishing that the

He would not talk to my par-

be dead?

movement of the car would

ents when they went to see

though Brock was ending it

wake him up, the reality of

him because he blamed them

all.

the situation starts to set in.

for putting him there. I was

once -bright

Just when all hope is almost

almost 路 scared to go to see

dreams and he was quitting

gone, Brock moves. My dad

him because I did not know

life.

cries for him to wake up and

if he blamed me, too.

It seemed as

He was quitting his basketball

open the door. Brock slowly

When I walked into the

sits up, unlocks the door and

room that he was staying in I

steps out of the car. My fa-

saw my brother lying on the

ther grabs Brock from the

bed face down.

car and embraces him in his

was sitting in a chair with

games with a smile on my

arms. Emotionally torn be-

tears in her eyes.

I said,

face. I sat in the front row.

tween happiness and sad-

"Hey what's up buddy, how

I stood up and cheered when

ness, he can only get three

are ya?"

myoid teaIn did something

words out of his mouth: "I

My mom

he other'day I went to one of my high school's basketball

He replied by saying,

good. I was even happy be-

"Hey," as if someone had

cause I got to talk to people

After this incident with

forced him to say something.

that used to come and watch

my brother, I thought the

After a while he would

worst was over. I imagined

talk to me a little but nothing

pleased when my team won

that after we admitted him

conversation.

the game. However, the best

into the psychiatric ward of

Brock looked like he had

part of the game was when

Mercy Medical he would get

given up on life. He talked

myoid number 32 checked

love you."

me play.

I was even more

Th e Kiosk

An Unlikely Hero

into the game. With a proud

through.

Life

funny

smile and tears, I listened to

sometimes. At first I wanted

came to discover is that now

the announcer ' say, "Now

to be Brock's hero, and I

I wore the number on my

checking into the game for

. wanted Brock to wear my

wanted to be.

But what I

chest for a new reason.

number on his chest to rep-

was representing my brother.

resent me. I wanted him to

I took pride in being Brock' s

take pride in being my little

older brother. Brock has be-

Brock survived his depres-

brother.

come nly unlikely hero. +

sion and I thank God every

seemed as though I had got-

day for helping my brother

ten to be the hero I always

the Raiders, number Brock Walker."

32,

I now have a new hero.

The Kio sk

In the

end

Scrambled JESSI PLUEGER

scrambled runny runningto gether i'm scrambled funny howthesewordsallruntogether let's run together hold hands sunny runnIng our faces are running d o

w n

our bodies

Don't We All

our brains fry well scrambled

JESSI PLUEGER

I want a fat intelligence and a thin body an open mind and closed thoughts a happy personality and a sad hypocriticality a light impression but a heavy likability little embarrassment - a lot of courage more have and less want The Kiosk

NONFICTION

II{nowNow KAy GOLDSMITH

can hear voices

Suddenly, I feel so home-

Do I say, "I'm sorry"? I get

and a lot of com-

sick and scared.

I cannot

a warm, safe feeling as we

motion

the

believe what is happening

unite and exchange hugs . I

background as my parents'

and I am afraid to ask too

alTI

neighbor,

many questions.

glad to be home.

Perhaps I

Mom says we need to

what happened. Leo speaks

am afraid to make it awk-

go to the funeral home, see

softly and calmly to me as

ward for Leo, I am not sure.

Dad, order flowers, and de-

he explains that my dad

It is all a blur.

cide on the obituary an-

Leo ,

recounts

nouncement.

All I want to

stood up from his chair to

After Leo and I finish

get ready for a church meet-

our conversation, I worry

do is stay in Mom's house

ing and died of a heart at-

about the cost of flying back

surrounded by loved ones,

tack. As Leo tells lne what

hOlne for the funeral. After

drink coffee, and get my

happened,

all, rent is due in a week.

children and husband settled

neatly cropped yard, bloom-

In.

ing flowers , and his little

children, my husband, and I

When I see my dad for

white dog. Then I renlember

fly to South Dakota and as I

the first time since he died, I

lny mom and dad ' s nlani-

climb out of the car in

am afraid to get near him.

cured lawn.

My dad and

Mom' s driveway, I know I

Mom encourages me to walk

Leo used to do their lawn

will never forget how she

up and touch him and I feel

work at the same time. They

looks. She is tired, her eyes

like a child instead of an

conversed over the fence and

are red, and her hair is un-

adult. We order flowers and

shared gossip, church news,

characteristically uncombed.

I get nervous that they cost

and so on. My parents live

My brother, Mark, and my

so much. My brother, sister,

in Rapid City, South Dakota,

sister, Jane, have flown in

and I decide to pay for the

and we live in Los Gatos,

the same day. I am nervous

flowers ourselves.

California (near San Jose).

to see my mom. Do I cry?

making up for lost time we

envision

The Kiosk

his

three

preschool-age

As if

Kay Goldsmith

could have spent with Dad,

don ' t have to worry that he

we each spend eighty dollars

will hurt them the way he

Mom's velvet green- and or-

on flowers. My thoughts go

hurt us."

ange-flowered loveseat. My

settle

down

into

I am so relieved to hear

brother walks around the liv-

him say this that I admit the

ing room and glances at the

same feeling . Luckily, my

photo albums, condolence

mom and sister are in the

cards,

and

bedroom sorting out Dad' s

wi thin his reach. I sense he

family are alone In

clothes to take to Goodwill.

is leading up to doing some-

The silence IS

I continue to look at my

thing silly, but what bad tim-

awkward Âˇ and we are at a

brother with shocked disbe-

ing. My sister and I watch

loss for words. I do not feel

lief as I recall the times Dad

him as he glances around the

sad that Dad died and I won-

beat us both with a belt. It

room and we look at one an-

der why I have not cried. I

did not matter if we had

other in anticipation.

thought the grieving would

done anything wrong. Jane

brother is notorious for be-

automatically come without

did not get hit nearly as of-

ing silly and making people

thought. In fact, I imagined

ten. She was the eldest and

laugh.

we would behave the way

favored one. Mom and Dad

It was a surprise for me

people do in movies and

encouraged her to go to col-

to see him yesterday. I did

soap operas. They appear to

lege while they told me I

not recognize him as he

cry, mourn, and grieve with-

was too stupid to go. I re-

stepped off the airplane at

out any forethought.

member the times Mark and

the Rapid City Regional Air-

I formed an alliance.

port. It is hard to !Jelieve the

both felt Dad favored Jane

last time we wereÂˇ to gether

because

was five years ago.

back to the bills at home.

ater,

sister,

the house.

brother,

mom,

I do

not feel like . crying. In fact, . I feel somewhat relieved that my dad died.

I feel very

guilty and bad for these emotions. I am afraid to ad-

she

was

not

adopted, and we were.

looks

and

whatever

considerably

older

My sister comes into

than the last time I saw hiITI.

the living room and my

Somehow I never imagined

Then my brother says,

brother says, "You do know

we would get old.

"I am kind of glad Dad is

that if Mom died instead of

used to exercise and had a

dead. "

Dad, he would paint the

physique other men would

walls black."

die for.

mit them to anyone.

I look at him In shock

We all start

Mark

Even his shiny

giggling and try not to laugh

blonde hair used to be im-

He says, "Because Dad

because we worry that Mom

peccably styled.

was mean and cruel, and if I

will catch us being silly at

youthful

have children someday, I

such an inappropriate time.

placed with a beer belly and

and ask why.

physique

Now his IS

The Kiosk

re-

â&#x20AC;˘

IknowNow

He looks

solutely livid. My sister and

follow him to help Aunt

as if he has not slept for days

I do not know what to do so

Bertha and Uncle Jim with

and his unruly hair is dull

we sit there .

their luggage.

hunched posture.

and lifeless.

But somehow

he kept the same bright

My brother says, "I'm

We are all

happy to see one another and we begin to reminisce about

okay, I just sneezed."

old times . Aunt Bertha and I

smile and pleasant demeanor

My mom says, "Stop

that makes everyone around

rattling Dad ' s chair, it makes

have

him feel happy and carefree.

the same sound as when he

Mark and Uncle Jim are

I remember he used to try to

fell back in it during his

close because they both like

get customers in restaurants

heart attack. " She runs into

to fish. Uncle Jim and Mark

to gawk out the window by

the

stand together and converse

staring out for a long time.

brother sits there stulliled.

other . room

and

always

been

close .

over old times.

Finally, the custoiners would

All of a sudden I see the

Aunt Bertha sits next to

realize there was nothing to

whole event as hilarious and

me and tells nle their Ger-

stare at and they would re-

run out of the room laugh-

man shepherd they had for

sume

ing.

many years finally died.

eating

their

meals

My brother and sister

while furtively glancing at

follow me and think I mn

remember the fun times I

my brother.

cryIng.

Then they see me

had with their dog, Spike,

mind, I know he is capable

laughing and start to laugh

when I went to stay with

of just about anything, bar-

too.

them over summer vaca-

nng InJunng anyone.

laughing at such a thing and

tions.

we hope Mom will not find

run through the meadows

vorite brown recliner and

us giggling.

with him.

leans way back.

Up pops

comes into the living room

tears from the closeness and

the foot rest and he browses

and we carryon as if nothing

warmth that radiates from

through

happened.

Aunt Bertha.

With this in

He sits in my dad ' s fa-

magazine

and

We all feel guilty for

Later, Mom

looks as if he could fall asleep.

flip flops around in the chair. Dad ' s chair makes a horrible

I feel close to

Aunt Bertha puts her

Then he sneezes

about six times in a row and

Mark and I used to

arms around my shoulders

car pulls up out-

and

side in the drive-

Honey, your dad was really

way. My favorite

proud of both of you.

says,

"You

know, In

rattling noise and starts to

aunt, Bertha, and uncle, Jilll,

fact, I know everything you

squeak as my brother contin-

are here.

and

ues to make a fool of him-

and walks towards the fo yer

from the time you moved

self.

Mom comes runnIng

to open the door and let

out of this house. He wrote

into the rOOln and looks ab-

them in. Mom, Jane, and I

and talked about you all the

The Kiosk

Mark jUInps up

Mark

accomplished

Kay Goldsmith

say, "How can that be? Dad

at us and never told us he

I'm shocked as I glance

used to tell us he 'wished he

was proud."

over at Mark. He has a look

never adopted us whenever

of disbelief on his face~

he beat us. He always yelled

time. "

Aunt Bertha hugs me as I begin to cry. +

The Kio sk

The Sax JAN DEHNER

Screaming across the darkness, reaching into deep, dark chambers, pulling out arrows and sealing up wounds, courting, consuming, joy, ecstasy. Perplexed, raising its voice and crying out. It enlbraces,

lingering a while to breath and to soothe, then melting, long and low, fading away. Complete.

The Kiosk

FICTION

Looking Back I{Ay GOLDSMITH

recall gazing out the upstairs ho-

window, bright gold needle-point church stee-

tel room window.

ples and ivy-covered red brick buildings pro-

Rain drops

trickle on the people below who

trude above the foggy horizon.

walk and stand outside on the cobblestone

I slowly leave the safety of my hotel room

streets. It has been raining for one week with-

and descend the long, winding stairwell. I ap-

out any break. In fact, sometimes the sun does

proach the warm and brightly lit lobby. Big,

not shine for months on end. Everyone totes

crystal vases filled with red, white, and yellow

an umbrella.

This cold, rainy, and dismal

roses adorn the gray marble countertops and

weather is typical for this small town in West

windowsills in the lobby. Velvety, red carpet

Germany. Nestled against the shoreline of the

adds a touch of plushness and elegance. Shiny

Nordsee, lies the town of Gromitz. This is my

brass umbrella stands are placed near the door

birth place, and I am here to find my birth

for wet umbrellas.

mother.

white uniform welcomes visitors with a cup of

Certainly, she would be happy and

relieved to see me at the ripe age of nineteen?

A waiter in a black and

coffee. I smell the nutty and bitter aroma of

shoppers

the coffee on the waiter's silver tray as he ap-

down in the streets, coupled with the church

proaches me and says, "Guten Tag. Mochten

bells ringing across town, create a deep melancholy in. me. People in the streets are busy,

Sie Kaffe?" I am grateful to have taken German

preoccupied with purchasing flowers and food

classes before coming to Gromitz. I welcome

from the outdoor market stands. I cannot see

his offer of coffee and gratefully reply, "Bitte

their faces, but they seem oblivious to the fal ling raindrops and the cold tidal winds. I, on

Schon." I yearn to speak more German with him

the other hand, feel as if I cannot stop staring

because somehow it feels natural for me to

at the freshly cut bouquets of red, yellow, and

speak. He offers me a cup of the dark brew as

pink tulips that are neatly arranged in window

I loiter around the lobby door and peer out

boxes outside bakeries and shops. From the

onto the busy streets.

The

black

umbrella-domed

Th e Kiosk

--~-

Looking Back

The door in the hotel lobby revolves as

dow now have faces . They look preoccupied

people come and go . The noises that were

with their shopping. I can smell fresh bread

muted from the hotel window now blare out

baking in the bakery as I walk past. I glance

from all directions.

I hear car horns, buses,

towards some customers who are seated at a

and people yelling.

The scene sprawled be-

table. They sip their coffee and carryon with

fore me looks different than from the safety of

conversation. A few people have light, blonde

my hotel window.

hair and similar facial features. I decide not to

A portly gentleman in a

gray trench coat walks through the revolving

look anymore and stroll on.

door and enters the lobby. He looks at me as I

My thoughts wander back to my child-

stand dumbfounded and apprehensive . He has

hood. I used to watch people from my bed-

facial features similar to mine.

Surely, his

room window and try to imagine their life sto-

blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes, high cheek-

nes . Sometimes I made up outrageous, ex-

bones, and the subtle overbite are purely coin-

travagant stories about them.

cidental. Could he be my father? The hair on

lived in mansions with dozens of servants who

my the back of my neck stands on end, and I

waited on them.

feel hot and clammy as I walk through the

neighbors who lived in nearby towns and their

door and out into the streets. The air smells

offspring became romantically involved.

A peculiar smell creates a feeling of dej a

Or they had affairs with

Suddenly, I notice the rain fall ing heavier

musty and fishy . I open my black umbrella and huddle under its protective shell.

Perhaps they

and go about the task of finding my birth mother. I wonder if she will be upset if I show

vu. I recall the smell as a mixture of oats and

up on her doorstep without any warning.

wheat. Sometimes I used to smell the aroma

cannot fathom how life can go on as usual for

in America, especially after my grandma

everyone around me.

I am on the verge of

cooked oatlneal for breakfast. But this aroma

. finding my birth mother and ponder the many

has a touch of something else. I ponder this

questions that remain unanswered. Maybe I

phenomenon as I hear church bells chime

would have grown up to be someone signifi-

twelve o'clock.

cant.

I suspect there are many

Perhaps I could have invented some-

churches in this small town because the

thing and become famous.

chimes resonate and echo from all directions.

been different, had my mother kept me.

Life would have

The church chimes bring more angst and mel-

My birth mother gave me up when I was

ancholy as I wonder if my mother is sad that

about one year old. It is unclear as to why she

she gave me up for adoption.

did not keep me .

My birth certificate and

I step cautiously onto the cobblestone

adoption papers do not reveal the circum-

streets and feel as if my heels will get caught

stances around my adoption. I lived in a chil-

in between the stones.

The black umbrella-

dren ' s shelter until I was adopted by an

domed shoppers I spied on from the hotel win-

An1erican family at the age of two. It is hard

Th e Kiosk

Kay Goldsmith

to imagine what she went through when she

tiously walk to the front desk. I ask if they

gave me up . I nervously walk to a nearby telephone

can help me locate information regarding my birth mother.

booth outside a blue and white coffee shop. It

I carefully say, "Guten Tag, Ich mochte

feels good to get in out of the rain. I pick up

meine geburtstag papier." The woman behind

the big phone -book and thumb through the

the desk stares at me as I ask for my birth records in German.

pages for my birth mother' s last name. I am surprised and dismayed to see about twenty phone numbers with the same last name. More bad thoughts enter my mind.

She responds, "Es tuit mir leid Wir konnen es nicht tuin." Suddenly, I feel intrusive, like I should

Perhaps

she has a new family now and did not tell her

not be here at all.

Maybe she will help me

husband about me.

She might tell me to go

since I speak her language. But she says they

away. I cannot bear the thought of ruining her

cannot give out any records of adoptions at all.

life at this point. Or worse yet, maybe she is

I reply, "Danke schon."

dead.

I quickly close the phone book and

I slowly turn around to leave with a mix

leave the warmth of the phone booth. The rain

of hopelessness and relief. I may never know

showers down relentlessly on me as I open my

what happened to my birth mother, but then

umbrella.

again she will not be put in an awkward posi-

I bite my lip. I decide to visit the Children's Shelter that is listed on my birth certificate. It is only one block away from here. I can see a tall brick building loom in front of

tion of facing a painful past that she would not want to deal with. I decide to leave the quaint town of Gromitz and not pursue my mission.

me. I stand at the bottom of the steps as if frozen. A familiar and pungent smell emanates from the front door as it suddenly swings open. A woman in a long, black coat quickly

reflect on that momentous time - In my

life, as I watch my youngest daughter leave home. She packs up her belongings

walks down the worn cement steps. I nerv-

as I gaze at her blonde hair, fair skin, blue

ously glance up at the building and struggle to

eyes, high cheekbones, and the subtle overbite.

keep my knees from shaking. It smells like

I hand her my black umbrella as she opens the

oatmeal, cream of wheat, and coffee, all mixed

front door. It is cold and has been raining for

together. Why is this smell familiar?

a week.

The building is covered with crawling,

She hesitantly walks down the ce-

ment steps and O~lt into the cold and rain. +

green ivy. I walk up the steps, and enter the hallway.

My shoes make an echo as I cau-

The Kiosk

â&#x20AC;˘

I-IV

JESSI PLUEGER

I. I must say I like to feel ecstatic. lying in your lap looking up at you you look down at me I'm unable to express how gorgeous, bea'-.!tiful, lovely . you are so I only smile at you I like to feel you and just listen to you talk in the conversqtion of the room as everyone else ' s voice just fades out (I 'm not listening to them) you know I'm thinking of you you thinking of me smile back rub my hand everyone thinks they understand

II. kind of how all the people disappeared is how I sometimes worry kind of how visitors stopped (that I never knew) . .. out of the blue. and everyone brings their own atmosphere and everyone knows what I fear let us not talk about what I fear

The Kio sk

Jessi Plueger III.

without inhibitions you can see the real obnoxious me you still don't get to hear all of those things I think yet I talk quite a bit ... attempt to appeal to you to appeal to the room without inhibitions I inhabit a new attitude

IV.

And out there you want only to close your eyes (but not really) It's such a tranquil quiet that you're not sure you can hear and the light and ground absorb the sound as well as you but you want it to you want to stay there/here forever but on you this world is getting clever you feel that nature has some trick up its sleeve your thoughts are swirling you feel to leave you step through the doorway inside back to normal

The Kiosk

NONFICTION

Bride-Be-Damned MEGAN COOK

received the in-

bottom of my stomach as 1

parents

vitation

in the

dropped the card. "1 am al-

braska. 1 am awake for two

mail weeks be-

most twenty-two, and 1 am

rings before looking at the

fore the event; the words

getting married," 1 thought.

clock, "which tells me it is

printed in red raised ink on

All the excitement 1 felt

much too early. 1 nudge my

the linen card: "Bridal Fair

thirty

had

fiance, busy snoring in the

2002."

1 would be going

turned to more stress, and 1

most offensive and irritating

with my mother, my niece,

felt an ulcer burning my

way (in the beginning 1

and my sister, ten years my

stomach

thought it "cute" in the same

senIOr.

where my heart had hit it.

As my fingers ran

seconds

lining

ago

precisely

Kearney,

N e-

manner with which children

across the words "Bride and

shower

guests," my heart raised it-

with undying affection). He

self awkwardly. 1 imagined

wounded

animals

ridal Fair Sunday

finally rolls onto his side and

and 1 awake to the

the cacophony ends. 1 con-

sound of the tele-

sider answering the phone

"1 was having an-

with a chipper, " It is ten-

napkin samples and flipping

other one of those night-

thirty on Sunday morning.

though

matted

mares where it is the Big

This better be important,"

pages of photographers ' best

Day, and the only things

but settle on the ever fash-

collections, the timeless ex-

that are finalized are the

ionable, "Hello. "

preSSIons

and

dress and the tuxedo, which

My mother ' s VOice re-

grooms smiling at us from

my fiance and 1 are wearing

turns in an especiall y dry

among

family

as we rush around town in a

tone, "Are you awake?"

members lined up on church

frantic and desperate search

nod into the phone.

steps.

My heart, though it

for an officiate and the

just calling to remind you

fl uttered, landed hard in the

phone number of his grand-

that you and your sister need

the four of us roaming from sponsor booth to sponsor booth, feeling the soft cotton

the

black

brides

nameless

The Kio sk

phone.

"I'm

Megan Cook

to be here by noon. I want

my head.

to get this thing done and

I' ve never been to a wed-

cover of the cake table. The

over with. "

ding, let alone planned one.

next two hours I spent vomiting in the mint-green bath-

there, then I hang up and go

I am twenty-two, and I am getting married. " It's a man-

back to sleep.

tra.

I assure her that we ' ll be

"Twenty-two.

champagne

beneath

the

rooms in the church basement, which had been painted the day before.

my head, the smells of alco-

mother ' s

e travel to . the con v entIon center in my

leased

to one wedding: my sister ' s.

She

hol puke and fresh paint still mingle. Ten

years

later,

had. told me the day before

brother and I, grown and out

She is in one of her particu-

that she was pregnant, and I

of church clothes, were on

larly pleasant moods: she

wasn't

tell

our way to Colorado Springs

spent the entire morning ar-

Mom. I was a junior brides-

to rent a Ryder truck and

glung

God-knows-

maid, a position which I

move my sister and her three

what with the live-in boy-

took very seriously as a ten-

children home to Iowa and

friend,

year-old.

out of the ghetto-ized base

about my

Corolla. -

ctually, I've been

common-law

stepfather, Dick.

supposed

grew

three

Ann, my

inches up and out between

housing

sister, croaks responses to

the final dress fitting and the

Force Base, where my soon-

my mother' s line of tax re-

day I walked down the aisle

to-be ex-brother-in-Iaw was

turn questions despite an un-

beside

who

a fireman. She was leaving

diagnosed case of laryngitis

wore a boy's size twelve

first, not more than three

and the pain relievers she is

rented tuxedo.

weeks before his thirty-third

taking for the three fresh

were dusky rose and sea-

birthday.

Finally, the ro -

stitches she has on her right

foam green, very appropriate

mance had

~nded .

index finger. Her daughter,

dress, a

help that he was screwing

Kristin, prattles on about the

brushed satin pink thing with

her best friend and lying

slumber

starched

about it.

party

four

1990.

brother,

My fluffy

Her colors

sleeves,

of Petersen

Air

It didn 't

Unfortunately for

eleven-year-old girls she had

itched in the June humidity

him, the children had eyes

last night to the window, to

in places I couldn 't reach. I

and mouths.

the cars passing by, to her-

fidgeted throughout the cere-

self, but mostly to my transi-

mony, was yelled at by my

tive, wandering attention. "I

mother, who had a raging

am twenty-two, and I am

hangover, and spent the en-

getting married," I repeat in

tire reception sipping stolen

he glass doors of the convention

center

open to a mass of

The Kio sk

--~,.

Bride-Be-Damned

hysteric mothers and their

ister for all the drawings .

the wall opposite the stage,

equally hysteric daughters.

She beams

and

dominating the decorations.

There is confusion as we

hands me my bride-be-made

Another banner hangs oppo-

scan the crowd for someone

tote . I think of some snappy

site us, yelling "MARRIED

who looks like he or she is

"milking tragedy for all it ' s

IN THE USA."

My mother el-

worth" remark, but, consid-

comes over the loud speaker,

bows me in the ribs, my fa-

ering that it would be lost on

"Ladies and gentlemen, the

vorite of her habits, and

her, turn and head back to

fashion show is going to be-

points in the direction of a

my threesome of bored at-

gin in twenty minutes .

table in front of which are

tendants. They look like the

order"to be eligible for door

formed several -attempts at

three stooges of the wedding

pnzes,

straight lines. "You register

world, if the three stooges

stamped card must be turned

there," she says .

stuck to a script formulated

in at the registration table

Hesitant, I make my

by the History Channel; dry,

before the beginning of the

way through blond curls and

yawning, full of war stories.

show. Thank you."

cell phones to the registra-

"Well, this ought to be a

tion table, where men in

good tilTIe," I think.

in charge.

a smile

your

A voice

completed,

I hold up the card. Too much

white

back at us.

space

looks

A fire in my

tuxedos and women in alter-

We get in line and in-

nating red and blue sequined

stantly become part of a

mother's eyes signals that

gowns guard stacks of invi-

moving current taking us

this no longer a fun family

tations and black ball-point

past

event, but a tour of duty, a

pens. Behind them hangs a

beauty consultants, photog-

mission assigned to us from

banner reading "Bridal Fair

raphers, caterers, DJ s, for-

some unknown personage

2002: Married in the USA. "

mal wear salesmen and lim-

behind a curtain.

She is

I pull the invitation from my

ousine drivers, my mother ' s

quick with a plan.

"Okay

back pocket, unfold it, and

sharp elbow like an oar con-

girls," she says to Ann and

hand it to the nearest patriot.

stantly in my ribs . "Grab a

me, "You go get the rest of

"I pre-registered," I explain.

pen, grab a pen," she whis-

your stamps, and Kristin and

She smiles and begins shov-

pers.

I will get seats. You have

ing various brochures into a

row hallway deposits us, at

plastic bag similar to the

its end, into the main room.

My sister, limp though

ones that Malibu Barbie and

Our eyes turn to the massive

she is, takes the bride-be-

her adn1irers are carrying

stage built in the center.

made tote, which, as it gets

around, telling me to be sure

People rush by us, scribbling

heavier with more literature

that I get a stamp on my card

figures into their day plan-

from lTIOre sponsors, seems

from every sponsor and reg-

ners . There is a giant flag on

more like a bride-be-damned

The Kio sk

booths

manned

The river of the nar-

twenty minutes."

Megan Cook

bag. I fo llow; filling out registration cards In her

way in red, white, and blue .

der the white satin covering

Then they come singly in

my mother ' s belly.

wake as she scans every

white gowns, the trims spar-

I could never get her to

booth

almighty

kling as the models walk in

talk about her wedding, even

We get to

time with the music. Under

when she was drunk.

the end, missing two stamps .

the weight of glass bead-

has never told me why they

My mother appears to tell us

work and twenty-pound pet-

got married in Fort Dodge,

that she has found seats on

ticoats,

swooshing

since my mother was from

the . other side of the room,

strides add new harmonies.

Storm Lake and my father

that we only have ten min-

The crowd is transfixed .

from Glidden.

utes, and what did we mean

My mother's elbow finds its

n1ember if I found the pic-

two

way into my side every time

ture before or after my father

"Y ou know, if

a dress comes in which she

left.

for

the

Stamp Holder.

were

stamps?

mIssIng

these people really wanted to

their

thinks I will look good.

She

I don't re-

My brother helped him

help you out, they'd just

pack his bags the day after

stamp them all for you."

Christmas. He was going to

Not willing to admit defeat, she takes the card and heads back into the river,

he only picture I

live with my mother's best

have seen of my

friend, who was less than

parent' s wedding is

two weeks divorced.

pushing upstream to the re g-

a Polaroid snapshot of my

When my father lost his

istration booth in search of

mother in a short whi te

job and my mother lost all

Mary Kay and Younkers .

dress standing beside my

child support, we couldn't

My sister and I struggle to

father in a white tuxedo.

afford the mortgage in Cali-

keep up, but finally catch her

They are holding hands be-

fornia.

at the registration table. She

side the wedding cake, a

was quick with a check for a

stuffs pamphlets about bridal

single -tiered

Ryder truck, and soon we

makeovers

and Waterford

telling all there is to know

found

crystal into the bag, and

about the turn out at the

Iowa.

hands the card to a man in a

First Presbyterian Church in

My father married my

tuxedo who smiles, "Just in

Fort Dodge, Iowa, on Febru-

stepmother sometime after

time ladies.

ary 8, 1970. My mother is a

Ann's wedding and some-

young twenty and my father,

time before my twelfth birth-

a younger twenty-two. You

day, when I received a pack-

the

can't see my sister in the

age, the first in three years,

models parade

picture, though she is mak-

with a check signed with her

down the run-

ing her presence known un-

new name. It' s another wed-

The fashion

show is about to begin."

watch

confection,

My grandmother

ourselves home in

Th e Kio sk

Bride-Be-Damned

ding we have never talked about. This past Christmas my

he last of the mod-

something like that.

You

els walks off the

could stand to lose some

stage, and the over-

weight, y'know. "

She pats

father strongly urged me to

head lights turn on. My

my baby-free tummy and

elope, which would save us

mother already has her coat

half-laughs.

(meaning my fiance and me)

on, and again we find our-

scheduled to be my maid of

both money and stress.

selves following her as she .

honor, says from behind us,

had previously told my sister

leads us out of the building

"We could all stand to lose

that he planned to help me

quickly, in front of the flood

some weight."

out, paying for at least half

of fellow fair-goers. I carry

smiles, pulls in a double-

of the wedding. I figured it

that bride-be-damned bag

lung full of menthol smoke.

was some form of remit-

under my arm as if it were a

tance'

deflated raft.

birthdays

and

My mother

Ann, who is

My mom

"I am twenty-two, and I am getting married," I say,

Christmases past due plus

lights a cigarette and pats

interest, and like always, he

my shoulder. "Did you see

fell through. I already knew

that one with the long train?

hales

that I would be walking my-

around my shoulders. +

self down the aisle.

enough,

The Kiosk

could

alter

that

you could wear

this time aloud. "Yup." My mom exand

puts

her

arm

I Finally Moved to South Dakota RICK RECTOR

I finally moved to South Dakota having lived so long across the river. I hate to go to work and leave her this new found love of earth, sky, magic, and rock. In my time, I'll pass on, but South Dakota won't. She will be, just like I want to. Now I know why I can't own land.

The Wake

Just like I can't own a cat. It agrees to stay.

RICK RECTOR

Slack breasted WOlnen in black print dresses Bring cold cuts on cracked ceramic saucers. There is bread with no butter Lukewarm lemonade in slick glasses That nearly slip through my fingers. Hot sun pounds through the filmy curtains And the rank smell of the street drifts in With the sound of cars and busses. With a nod I'm up Clomping toward the door Words of sympathy on my lips Handshakes and lowered eyes. He was my friend too. The Kiosk

Psychology Man !{nows .ANNIE DILOCKER

where are we right now? my literal man, I'm afraid you can not answer that easily. (literature and poetry is borne of life ' s conflicts. the best stuff is a mix of love and war.) so if you were to analyze, Mr. Psychology Man, what you think I'm thinking, would the material fill a poemor a novel? or would you be just as lost as me, not sure where to start in understanding the works of (lover's) words and hurts and the curedand if they can be? and I wonder if you ponder what I'm thinking, or if you think you already know (and if you do) then you' ve gone farther than I can go.

The Kiosk

FICTION

Immersed JENNY NICKLIN

inals were over.

Thank God.

three blocks to her favorite shop.

Wendy had just spent the last

A few flakes were floating to the ground

three hours filling blue books

as the coed opened the door to the Cup 'n

with essays on Hemingway, Faulkner, and

Page. The cheerful bell jingled as Wendy said

Steinbeck.

She had worn her number two

a prayer that the heavy snow would hold off

pencil down to its nub and her poor hands

until she left for home. She just needed time to herself before facing the dull highway and

were cramped and smudged with graphite. "If I ever get feeling back, it will be a

her family at the end of it.

Christmas time

miracle," Wendy thought. "And my brains are

was so busy, and Wendy knew this was her

leaking out of my ears. I will never form an-

last opportunity for "me time." She was going

other complex thought again.

to take advantage of this chance.

Note to self:

send Dr. Thompson a thank you letter."

Wendy shucked her heavy winter gar-

The novel seminar had, thankfully, been

ments and approached the counter.

Wendy's last test of the semester, and Christ-

owner,

mas was just around the cotner. But before

Miriam, greeted her. "Wendy! So how were your finals?"

she even thought about driving two hours home, she desperately needed to decompress. The Cup 'n Page was a favorite local hang out of Wendy's. A bookstore and coffee shop,

The

a friendly young woman named

"Abysmal. But they are done, and I am happy!" "Aren't you heading home for break?"

the Cup 'n Page provided many hours of re-

"Yes, but I'm still quite drained from Dr.

laxation to the school-stressed young woman.

T's final, and I wanted to refresh myself with

This was exactly what Wendy desired before

a quick mocha and book. Speaking of which,

packing up and driving home. So she put on

do you have any suggestions?"

her coat and scarf and stepped from her dorm Wendy

"Drink or book?" "I'll have my usual mocha-berry. But I

could smell snow on the air as she walked the

need a real light read - something that won't

into the frosty Decen1ber afternoon.

The Kiosk

Immersed

make me feel like I have to write an analytical essay. "

tered her life.

"I think I have just the thing. I just finished this absolutely horrible romance. Not

ted to join you in a cup ofjava?

smutty of course, but completely outlandish.

the most searing emerald eyes she had ever

It's called The Grounds of Desire , and it's

beheld. Emerald eyes that were set in the face

about finding love in a coffee house."

of a Greek god-like specimen of man. Emer-

Wendy laughed, "Sounds promising." "You' ll love it. I'll grab my copy with your mocha."

ald eyes that seemed to pierce to the very

Wendy settled into her favorite over-

"Excuse me, miss. But might 1 be permitJJ

Gwendolyn looked up from her mug into

depths of her caffeinated soul.

stuffed chair in a corner of the shop. White

Wendy continued through the less-thanliterary reading material, an observer to the ri-

Christmas lights were strung up between

diculous coffee house courtship.

shelves that, along with the lightly falling

chuckles, however, Wendy couldn't help but

snow outside, created the perfect cozy atmos-

feel a bit jealous of Gwendolyn. "Why do all

phere. Miriam brought over Wendy's bever-

the good love stories have to be fictional?"

Amid her

age and reading material. Wendy took a sip,

Currently single, Wendy had had her

cursed her continual ability to forget that her

share of past relationships. None ever really

hot mocha was hot, and looked at the cover of

worked out, though.

her book. Wendy chuckled at the Fabio look-

"friend-to-boyfriend-back-to-friend" pairings.

a-like holding a giant gallon-sized coffee mug

Then the one "crush-to-date, only to discover

to the lips of his chosen ladylove.

he was a complete jerk expecting his woman

"Hey Miriam," she called across the empty store. "Where is my hunk to pour

to wait on him hand and foot" relationship.

scorching coffee down my throat?"

There were several

And, of course, the inevitable blind date disaster. Sure, Ricky was cute and at the top of his

Miriam answered from the back room.

class in medical school, but Wendy knew he

But I'm

was wrong for her when he snapped his fin-

"Sorry kiddo, he ' s on back-order.

supposed to get a shipment in next week." Wendy laughed and opened the front cover. She began to read.

gers at the waitress and patted her tush as she walked away. Never once had an honest-toGod gentleman swept Wendy off her feet. The Grounds of Desire was coming to the

pleasure in young Gwendolyn's life. The heat

inevitable "happily ever after" conclusion. Wendy was relieved at the lack of smuttiness,

in a cup was all that could fan the flame that

despite the ridiculous plot. She was about to

sought to build itself within the beauteous

tell Miriam, "If they had consummated their

That is, until Sebastian en-

relationship on a pile of coffee beans, I would

Coffee . .. ah coffee . . . was the only

blonde's heart.

Th e Kiosk

Jenny Nicklin

have had to kill you!" But before she could, a

Toby's awaiting gaze, and then reached out to

deep voice next to her caught her attention.

scratch him behind the ears. She glanced up at

"Excuse me, miss. Could I join you in a cup of java?"

Miriam, whose teasing expression could not be restrained any longer. She burst out laugh-

Wendy swallowed hard, turned her head,

ing, and Toby looked up at his owner in an-

looked into a pair of stunning emerald

noyance. Wendy of course recognized this as

eyes ... and laughed.

the cat ' s usual expression. +

The young woman stared deeply into

The Kiosk

Winter GINNY EBERLY

I. Drive; as trees covered with ice go by my window. Frigid leaves. Cold, chipped bark. Solid trunk. Chilled twigs. Roots of rilne, unearthing.

II. Hanging, Frozen sap. Like stalactites.

The Kiosk

Fairy Princess ALLISON LANDERS

I once was your Fairy princess Caught amongst your web And you were a venomous spider Clouding up my head . Y 011 disgusting路 wretched spider You ruined so many things Take the crown atop my head But do not clip my wings

The Kiosk

NONFICTION

GravityKAy GOLDSMITH

stand before the

their cage at night when

ance.

living room win-

they are tired. Suddenly n1y

daughters run into the living

dow

safe world is shaking and

room and stare at the win-

out over the swimming pool

falling

dow because it begins to rat-

in the courtyard and wonder

tremors beneath my feet. I

if I should take my three

stand still as if frozen in

children for a quick swim

time.

and

gaze

apart

violent

My two frightened

tle.

coax my

son

and

My son comes into

daughters to follow me to

the living room and begins

the front hallway for shelter

pool

to cry. He has a glass of ap-

from breaking windows and

splashes against the sides

ple juice in his hand that he

falling objects. But we can-

and flips up into the air.

does not know what to do

not reach the hallway be-

Why is this happening when

with.

He drops the glass

cause our television stand

no one is in the pool? Our

and the apple juice stays in

collapses and topples over in

two pet parakeets begin to

mid-air. Eventually it trick-

front of the doorway leading

squawk and scurry into their

les onto -the floor In slow

out -of the living room.

cage where they flap their

motion as he tries to duck

lose my composure as pic-

wIngs

bars.

underneath the coffee table.

tures, dishes, clocks, and

Their behavior confuses me

I atU proud of him for re-

books fall all over the floor .

since they are hand -trained

membering the school earth-

The sound of breaking glass,

to come outside their cage

quake drill. One of the most

objects hitting the floor, and

on their own. They usually

important rules says for us

splintering wood replace the

perch and play on top of

to duck under furniture for

train-like sound of the earth-

their cage where I built a

protection from flying de-

quake.

jungle gYIU, swings, and lad-

bris. He bumps his head on

Eluergency sirens begin

ders for thelU to play on dur-

the edge of the shaking cof-

to go off all over Los Gatos,

They go into

fee table and loses his bal-

California, and people in our

I watch as

before supper. the

water

against

ing the day.

The Kiosk

the

Kay Goldsmith

apartment complex begin to run outside in panic.

We are not allowed to

ground shake. I notice that antennas that protrude

The

go back into our apartments

the

tremors stop and I take my

due to the constant after-

from

apartment

roof

children and our birds down

shocks

sway back and forth.

the two flights of stairs into

shake the apartment build-

children

the courtyard near the swim-

Ings.

Luckily, we all have

rounded by strangers who

ming pool.

Here, the other

small tents and camping gear

are less than three feet from

tenants have gathered, hug-

that we use in the courtyard

us.

ging one another and crying.

for the night. Our forty-five

tightly, as the direction of

I look at the swimming pool

unit apartment complex is

the wind shifts. Suddenly, I

with most of its water splat-

transforn1ed into a miniature

notice it is getting cold. We

tered out on the sidewalk

campground for four days.

watch the neighbors as they

and notice a huge crack that

My children and I are in an

go about their business of

runs from the deep to the

awkward situation because

settling in for the night.

"Damn," I

we have to spend time in

shallow ends.

that

continue

think to myself, "Now we

have to wait for the pool to

neighbors we do not know.

be repaired before we can go swimming. "

proximity

with

our

and

are

sur-

I hug my children

My children and I huddle together as we try to find our center of gravity. +

Darkness falls as aftershocks continue to make the

The Kiosk

Welding Weary JASON WALKER

Blue flashes Acetylene Mini stars by masked machines Hammers ringing eardrums screaming no one hears except for n1e Nose stings breathing fire odors fighting for control Smooth steel sharp edges one mistake could kill the pain

The Scholar JASON WALKER

A yearning soul before the sun He's come undone Lifeless paper shuffles before his eyes Weeks pass in a murky haze And worldly contact slowly dies

The Kiosk

FICTION

Home 路Game JENNY NICKLIN

t was only 5:15 ,

my alma mater ' s hOlnecom-

pened, and the e-mails be-

and the gravel

ing football game.

"You

. came less and less frequent,

know you should go and

until they disappeared completely. I wondered how my

even for another hour and

catch up with your friends. You'll regret it if you don't."

fifteen minutes. I left home

At least she gave me her

couldn't help but think they

early so I wouldn't have to

teacher's pass so I wouldn't

were great, with great jobs,

walk too far.

have to pay to get in.

great families, great every-

parking lot was already full. Kickoff wasn't

I drove my

best friends were now.

Buick around, searching for

But I had to admit, now

the elusive open space. The

that I was there, I really was

back windows of SUV sand

hoping to see some of the

the ticket taker's window on

minivans stared at me, as if

old gang.

Lizzy, Johnny,

my side of the field, I was

warning me away with blank

and I had been inseparable,

completely sure that I could

yet reproachful stares.

The

starting in junior high when

renew Iny old friendships

occasional rusty Gremlin or

my dad was transferred to

and things would be like

banged up Beetle screamed

Offutt Air Force Base. Right

they were in high school:

school spirit in white paint"Go Papio 1" "Beat Prep 1"

up through graduation, we

gossip, eating, and cheering.

were every bit the "three

It had been six years of our

"We're #11"

musketeers" cliche.

lives.

I finally found a spot on

But six years ago, I left

thing. By the time I arrived at _

Things

couldn't

change so fast from those influential years.

some grass, and began my

for college.

trek to the stadium. Earlier,

stayed and attended the local

I had been reluctant to come.

university.

We had prom-

about to start, so I headed

But my mother said it'd be

towards the bleachers near

"good" for me to spend a

ised to keep in touch. With e-mail, it couldn't be easier,

myoId proverbial hunting

Friday night back in town at

right?

grounds, the band's stands.

The other two

Well, things hap-

The pre-game show was

The Kio sk

Home Game

Lizzy and I always had great

more than my class, filed

the stand. Their spirited ma-

fun between performances,

out onto the field and began

roon-painted chests already

sniffing pixie sticks (only

their formations.

One song

began to peel in the frosty

once, after the initial sting),

after another, I moved my

seeing how

and

long

Octo ber air.

fingers as an air-flutist.

would take for our tongues

I was still standing in

They finished with the

the aisle in front of the

to stick to our freezing in-

traditional

"Star-Spangled

bleachers, looking up at the

struments . We could always

Banner," and the audience

stands for a familiar face or

count on Johnny, our own

stood with them. It really

empty seat.

personal "Flutie Groupie," to

was a glorious sight.

toss up hot dogs during' the

setting pre-winter sun left an

woman next to me how our

third quarter slump.

Lizzy

apricot glow on the field and

team had been fairing over

and I sat at the top of the

reflected off of the polished

the season. She looked back

stands, so we could listen to

trumpets and saxophones.

at me as if I had asked,

The

asked

the

nearest

the dramas going on behind

The team prepared to

"Where

us, under the bleachers, and

enter the field while the

from? "

by the concessions stand.

band marched off to "Our

"They're 2 and 2."

There

one

Team Will Shine." The tu-

"Not bad.

break-up per game, but on a

bas did their marching spiral

good night, we ' d get to hear

on the track.

a girl ' s hand connect with

always made me laugh.

the face of her new ex.

can't believe these kids still

Then, after the game, Liz

follow that tradition.

arid I would reenact the soap

school ' s cheerleaders raced

opera scenes for Johnny,

onto the field with that same

complete with exaggerated

paper banner waiting to be

swoons and dramatic stage

ripped to shreds by the foot-

I watched the kickoff,

slaps.

ball team in the evening ' s

and the opponent ' s return,

percussion's

first display of masculinity.

and then scanned the bleach-

marching cadence jolted me

The padded high school-

ers behind me, and the con-

back to reality.

ers- the players, not the

tinuous stream of people

beat at the base of my spine,

cheerleaders- raced

onto

walking around me. It was-

and my eyes tingled in rec-

the

grunting.

n 't even a playoff game, yet

ognition. ba Ba ba Ba ba Ba

Those same popular guys,

the entire town seemed to

Ba. The band, now close to

who didn 't play football ,

have shown up .

200 members, at least 70

grunted back, shirtless, from

was no one I really wanted

was

The

The Kiosk

least

I felt the

green

Those guys

turf

The

does

milk

come

How's the

team we're playing?" " Creighton

Prep?

They ' re undefeated. " "Oh. I know they are a tough team. We had trouble with the- " "Shh. The game ' s starting. "

But there

Jenny Nicklin

to see. Where were my friends? We lived for these

whom I shared everything: crushes, frustrations, joys,

those great times we spent laughing and making memo-

games, cheering on the team

and

She

ries? The three of us. Now,

with everyone else, celebrat-

scooted closer to the person

they were married. I didn't

ing a victory or mourning a

next to her to make a little

even get an invitation.

defeat.

room for me, and I gave her a hug.

My eyes returned to the field as depressed groans es-

depression.

"So

how

have

you

But, it had been six years. That's how long we'd been together in school.

caped the mouths around

been?"

me. The opposition had scored a -touchdown with -

catch up on all I'd missed,

didn't force me out.

partly -out of interest, and

Papillion stayed there, de-

two minutes left in the first

partly to assuage the guilt I

spite my actions.

quarter. The crowd shouted

still felt at having lost touch

at the team as if they actu-

in the first place. _ "And IS

what they were, and what

ally would hear.

Johnny around here?

they should remain. I had moved on. It wasn't fair for

me to expect Liz and John

"Come How'd

on,

you

guys.

let

that

through?"

I was anxious to

haven't seen him yet." "Oh, you know .

She seemed hesitant about

"Lets go team!" "That's

not

good,

guys!"

something, but I encouraged her. "What?" "Actually . . ." She

I had to JOIn In, "Get 'em now!" "Hey, Val?"

looked up, resolution in her

hit me in the gut.

Memories.

And

That's just

not to. "Val, are you ok?" "Of course ... sure." "I'm sorry." "Please,

don't

be.

Really. I'm happy for you."

eyes. "We're married." It felt like a football just

I looked back up into

chose to leave Papillion; it

The

"Thanks. " We sat silent as the

the stands at the only person

crowd cheered around me.

crowd roared around us.

not staring intently at the

We had been best friends, equally important to each other, or so I had thought.

missed another big play. "How are you?" "Great. Really great."

"Lizzy? Is that you?"

Had those six years together

And I meant it. "I'm work-

I hardly reco gnized her

meant nothing?

ing for a law firm in Boston.

field.

A woman was wav-

ing. Was that really ...

W as I so

with a new "mature" shoul-

blind in school that I could-

der-length haircut, thin wire

n't see a relationship build-

glasses,

ing between them?

and

fewer

pounds. Damn. But this is still the same girl wi th

Had I

just been a third wheel for six years? What about all of

I 10 e it." "That's

wonderful,

Val." "And you?" "I'm teaching 3rd grade

The Kiosk

Home Game

at Tara Heights."

but I was ready to leave.

"Your

The game was getting old,

school?"

elementary She

nodded.

"That's great."

October air. I gave Liz a pat

Liz was still squirming In her seat.

and I was getting cold in the

She kept her

eyes down and said, "John's the assistant principal." "Wow. Already? Wonders never cease." "Right. You know how 'home-grown' the Papillion

on the back. "I hate to go,

The Kiosk

"Bye, Liz."

scoreboard.

"Yes.

I'm glad you

"Here, let me give you

from my purse.

"Keep in

touch." "Absolutely." we wouldn't.

wouldn't

have made much difference. I didn't feel bad. Just indif-

came."

on an old receipt I fished

Valerie. "

you again, Liz."

"You mean inbred?" I muttered.

It wasn't even halftime,

"Sure. I will. Goodbye,

As I maneuvered around the seated masses, I didn't even bother to look at the

my e-mail." I jotted it down

"Oh, nothing."

Give my

but I've got some work to take care of before I leave town. It was great seeing

school district is."

"What was that?"

"Yes, well. love to John."

I knew

ferent. It was my last home

football game. +

What's the Fun in That? GINNY EBERLY

Adolf, with his "barely hangin' in there," see-through, white t-shirt. Beat red, Crayola green suspenders and faded blue jeans pulled up past his waist. "You play hearts." He says, in Lithuanian slowly so I can understand. "I'll keep score!" I say. He asks, "Why score? Just play."

The Kiosk

NONFICTION

Ding-Dong the Lockridge is Dead KALEEN HIRD

y heart stopped beating. I

to school with me, have looked at me as

had heard about that kind

though I was insane. They said that being a

of thing happening now

kid was the best time of their lives and going

and then, but I had never really put much

to that god-forsaken school helped to mold

stock in the claims. Then when I was on the

them into the individuals they are today.

phone with my mother just a few days ago, it

don't doubt that for a second, and I will admit

happened. The one thing that I have wished

that if I had gone to a different school, I would

for over the last ten years had happened. I just

quite possibly be a completely different per-

sat and listened as my mother chattered on

son.

with the details. She had said the words, but it

threshold of my elementary school again.

just couldn't be. I even asked her to repeat her

But I never want to set foot over the The building itself isn't normally the type

words slowly and carefully just to be sure that

of building that would frighten me.

I wasn't snoozing away happily.

But her

centuries old, decorated with cobwebs, and

voice echoed in my mind as she said the

harboring undead creatures intent upon swal-

words again.

lowing my soul. It is just a simple two-story

It isn't

"Lockridge is closing."

brick building that was built around the turn of

To be perfectly honest, I never want to see

the century. The bricks range in color from a

the inside of that elementary school ever

rusty brown to a bright orange, and the win-

again. I think I would rather have my throat

dow shades are teal. Way to go for compli-

ripped out by wild dogs or maybe even jump

mentary colors. It's probably the only color

off the tallest cliff (I am terrified of heights).

combination that doesn't look like a pastel

Some people, especially the people who went

monster puked it up.

The Kio sk

There is a huge play-

Kaleen Hird

ground sprawled across the area behind the school, which as far as I know could be at

They just kind of stand dejectedly

For the first year, he was great. He would joke with us and smile, and he never made me run a lap because I was faster than his favorite student. After that first year, however, his mask slipped, and I got to see how he really was.

above the rest of the blacktop waiting for

He made up this hilarious little name

someone to notice that they have been reduced

game to make the class laugh. He'd take my

to rusty metal circles at the tops of rusty metal

last name and twist it just enough so he could

poles. The rest of the playground consists of a

rhyme it with "turd." He knew I hated it. I

few plastic slides, a tire swing, a few metal

had told him, asked him not to do it, but he

slides, and the biggest empty field that a

would wave an impatient hand in my direction

bunch of hyperactive kids could ask for. All

and find some reason to yell at me after class.

in all, the school looks downright friendly . But

He would play this little name game for half

there is that old saying about never judging a

of the class period while we played our daily-

book ...

designated torture sport. The sport was usu-

least one square mile. Part of the playground is a small square of blacktop that is littered with swing sets and four net-less basketball hoops.

I got a lot of good hard -earned torture out of that playground.

During

class, the

ally the ever-popular kickball game or baseball. But Mr. Rose never singled me out in

teacher, Mr. Crew, used to make us run laps.

kickball.

I have to give him credit for that.

If I happened to finish first, he would send me

But baseball, now, that was his thing.

back to run a second lap with another student

The first real problem I had during one of

so they could "show me how to run slow." I

his baseball games was when I was in the

guess that wasn't so bad, but this is the same

fourth grade.

teacher who singled me out in the middle of a

game again, and I was a little upset. To add to

kickball game to make fun of me because I

it all, he had been making some not so nice

had never played it before and didn't know the

comments about the girls in my class, and in

rules. I swear he had invented some of those

general, he was acting worse than the guys

rules in his spare tilne.

A couple of years

were. They liked to make fun of us, but for

later, he retired to start a new job working in a

god 's sake, they were fourth graders, and he

funeral home.

was the teacher! I think the comment that fi-

A new and even more rigor-

He had been doing the name

ous- when it came to the art of torment-

nally sent me over the edge was, "Maybe I

teacher showed up to teach us how to hate

should help the girls out in this round, eh

class. His name was Mr. Rose, and he was

guys? After all, girls just aren 't very good at

young and funny and didn't look like a wheez-

this kind of thing." I just stood in the outfield

ing skeleton.

I actually thought that school

and stared at him for a second. What was he

was going to get just a little more bearable.

saying? I had been under the impression that

The Kiosk

Ding-Dong the Lockridge is Dead

we. were playing a simple game of baseball, actually it was probably wiffleball, and I assumed that he was a teacher. It was hard enough to hear that "boys are better" crap

slumped in my seat. My hands started to shake as I realized what I had done. Somehow I managed to open my desk and find my book, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. I had to

from the boys my own age, but it was impossi-

force myself to concentrate.

ble to take it from someone who was supposed

thing never went unpunished, and I knew

to know better. When I finally snapped out of

sooner or later it would come in the form of

my state of shock, I turned to my best friend

Just. Leave. My heart had raced in my chest,

It would come from the person who terrified me the most out of everyone I had ever encountered in that school. And sure enough, an hour later, he showed up at the classroom with his permanent frown on his mouth and his beady eyes glaring. It was the principal, but for the first time, when I probably actually deserved to be yelled at, he let me off with a warning. His name was Mr. Carr, and he hated me. I was certain of that and I still am, even after ten years. He was a tall man, easily over six feet tall, and very skinny. He always wore a brown suit, dark brown, like trees or chocolate. In kindergarten when I first saw him, he reminded me of Abraham Lincoln. He even seemed to smile like pictures of good ole Abe, but then again, most 路 of the teachers smiled like that at kindergarteners, a soft smile, kind and gentle. When their parents were around, that is. He had to crouch low just to shake my

and I was having trouble seeing.

hand.

and asked her if she had heard that. She nodded as we waited for the next pitch. "Can you believe that?" I had asked, "Can you believe what he just said?" Granted, I probably shouldn't have said anything. I should probably just have waited until class was over and then asked him about it. I realized it as soon as I said it, because he swiveled around from his position on the pitcher's mound to look at me. His eyes were narrowed and a scowl was firmly in place on his lips. Did I mention that he was six feet tall and not what I would consider a scrawny weakling? Anyway, he turned and shouted at me the last thing I expected to hear. "I'm sick of you standing back there and bitching about my class," he shouted, "If you don't like this class, you can just leave." If you don't like my class.

You.

Can.

But the

That kind of

my true source of torment.

words echoed inside my skull. You can just

It wasn't until the third grade when I

leave. Everyone was staring at me, snicker-

started to have issues with him. It started on

ing. You can leave. And so I did. I left. I

the bus.

took off across the playground and raced up

who would start it.

the stairs to my classroom. I had been numb

around me and pull at my shirt and call me

all over, and my fourth grade teacher, Mrs.

names like inbred, bitch, ho, idiot, and any-

Mattson didn't even look up at me as I

thing they could think of. They'd make fun of

The Kiosk

There were two boys in particular They'd sit in the seats

Kale en Hird

my face, my hair, my family, but mostly they would just make fun of me. Everything I did, everything I said, they would find a way to

Mr. Carr would call me into his office and yell at me about what I had done wrong.

make it one big stupid joke. If they were feel -

I asked him how I was supposed to act, but he took it as insubordination. He took it as

ing brave, they'd take a swipe at my arm and

a mouthy little brat questioning his authority.

try to leave a bruise.

One of the boys even

He told me that I knew how I needed to act

lmocked out my front tooth and bloodied my

and if I would just be like the rest of my class-

lip.

Once they started, their buddies would

mates we wouldn't have to have these little

join them, and soon half of the bus would be

"talks." I will wholeheartedly admit that there

laughing at me.

I don't know exactly why

were times when I deserved to get yelled at.

they singled me out. It could have been be-

There were times when I am sure I was a little

cause nly clothes came from Goodwill, or that

monster, but most of the time, I was going

I was smaller than the rest of them. It could

along with the class. I was behaving the way

have been because I was one of those kids

they behaved and making the wise-assed jokes

that they made . Those were the times when I

could even have been because I had dark hair

accepted whatever punishment they gave me.

It could

I lmew when I was wrong; I had been raised to

have been any or all of those things, but all I

lmow what was right and what was wrong.

lmow is that they made bus rides like a jour-

My mother was a Sunday school teacher-

ney into hell for me.

enough said. That could have been why it was

who was always at the top of the class. while most of them were blonde.

My mother used to call Mr. Carr and talk

so hard to sit in Mr. Carr's office while he was

to him about them, but it never did any good.

scremning at me about behavior.

He would tell her I provoked them, that I had

even blamed me for a petition that my best

done something wrong, and he was going to

friend had started. It asked that something be

speak to me about my behavior. I never lmew

done about the behavior of the kids on the bus

what he Ineant by that. As far as I knew, I

and the bus driver being oblivious to it all.

hadn't done anything but get on the damn bus.

She admitted right in front of nle and to Mr.

How is that provoking? Why was it my fault?

Carr that she had started it, but he didn't even

I distinctly remember him saying things like

listen to her. As far as he was concerned, I

that, because I used to pick up the phone when

had done it. Justice didn't matter, because he

Mom called him. I'd listen and hope he would

knew how it all was. He just lmew that I was

understand and maybe get them to leave me

"up to something," and it would "not be toler-

alone. He never did, and always, always, al-

ated." It didn't even matter that almost every-

ways after one of Mom's phone calls to him,

one on the bus had signed the petition or that

the teasing and the name-calling would get

the title was written in my best friend's hand-

worse. And always after Mom's phone calls,

writing.

Once he

The Kiosk

Ding-Dong the Lockridge is Dead

I guess that was why it had been such a

middle school. From what I have heard from

shock when Mr. Carr didn 't kill me for leav-

my nieces and nephews who are still trapped

ing Mr. Rose's class. He was almost apologetic about the incident. For the first and only time in iny history at Lockridge Elementary

in that school, it is still a hellhole. Mr. Rose is long gone, but Mr. Carr is still there and still singling out people who share my last name.

School, I walked out of Mr. Carr's office un-

One of my nieces had to leave the school be-

punished. I think it may have had something

cause of the way she was treated.

to do with the fact that Mr. Rose admitted to

makes me sad to think about it, which is why

saying I could leave and to saying that stupid

the minute I got off the phone with my

crack about girls. In all honesty, I went out of

mother, I ran out into the hallway and did a

my way to avoid an argument with him for the next few weeks because he hadn't lied. I ex-

little dance . Lockridge will close, and while Mr. Carr will still have a job as principal of

pected it, but he had surprised me.

another elementary school just a few miles

It just

I don't want to leave you with the impres-

away, he lost half of his salary. The school

sion that life at Lockridge got better for me. It

itself might be torn down, and if that happens,

stayed pretty much the same until I left for

I want to be there. To light the match. +

The Kiosk

Untitled RICK RECTOR

you can't wash madness off in the sink or in the shower or even in Lake Michigan I swam in Lake Michigan in 1978 Afterwards, I was still crazy my wife told me so my father told me so my brother told me so

The Day They Buried Grandpa RICK RECTOR

the day they buried Grandpa my brother told my dad "He looks like you when you ' re pissed." I thought about his jaw bone turning gray like a chicken bone does Grandma called my name from the Alzheimer's chair she sat in and I hugged her frailness very gently. later, at the lake I skinny dipped with Michele and we made love with the curtains open

The Kiosk

Sparkling Splinters JESSI PLUEGER

splinters sparkling even in the evening in the darkening sky sailing overhead splinters caught by the glimpse of passersby lured in irresistible sparkle not far to go caught up in the beak shot up in retreat feathers floating splinters sparkling

The Kiosk

Contributor and Staff Notes MEGAN COOK is a Kiosk

ANNIE DILOCKER is a senior

MI CHELLE

veteran- she was a poetry

from Missouri Valley, Iowa.

J OLOUD is a senior from

editor in 1999, Co-Editor-in-

She is majoring in English

Sioux City.

Chief in 2000, and Editor-in-

Writing with a minor in Mu-

majoring in English Writing

Chief in 2002.

A senior,

SIC. Annie edited fiction for

and Religious Studies.

Megan is majoring in Eng-

the 2002 Kiosk and was

addition to editing both po-

lish Writing with a minor in

Honorable Mention in the

etry and creative nonfiction

Mass Communications. Her

Creative Writing Awards the

this year, Michelle was pub-

hometowns are Sioux City,

sanle year.

lished in the 2000 and 2002

Storm

Lake,

Iowa,

She is double In

Kiosks , and edited poetry in

and

Denair, California.

HAND SAKER-

GINNY EBERLY IS a JunIor

200l.

majoring in Philosophy with DUSTIN COOPER is a senIor

a minor in English Writing.

KALEEN HIRD is from Brigh-

from Sioux City.

He is an

From Sioux City, this is her

ton, Iowa.

rnaJ or

first contribution to The Ki-

more majoring in English

osk.

Writing with a minor in Stu-

English

Education

with a minor in Mass Communications.

This is Dus-

She is a sopho-

dio Art.

tin's first contribution to The

KA Y GOLDSMITH is a senior

Kiosk.

from Sioux City.

She is a

ALLISON

Sociology major with a mi-

freshman

J AN DEHNER is an English

nor in English Writing. Kay

Wisconsin. She is majoring

Writing

finished 2 nd place in the

in Art with a double minor

2002 Excellence in Writing

writes for The Weekender in

Awards.

and Business.

Sioux City and wrote

nonfiction, this is Kay's first

chapter for KUNI Public Ra-

appearance on Kiosk staff,

JENNY NICKLIN is a senIor

dio's murder mystery book

and her first publishing in

English Literature major and

by Iowa authors.

the magazine.

Religious

major

originally

from Hinton, Iowa.

The Kio sk

Jan

Editing creative

Mass

LANDERS from

Hudson,

Communications

Studies

mInor

Contributor and Staff Notes

from Papillion, Nebraska. In

this year, this is Jessi's sec-

ing with a minor in Philoso-

addition to editing poetry

ond publishing in The Kiosk.

phy.

and fiction this year, she was

In addition to being

this year's Editor-In-Chief,

also a poetry and fiction edi-

RICK RECTOR is a JunIor

Cathie was published in the

tor for the 2002 Kiosk.

from Sloan, Iowa, maJonng

2002 Kiosk, and also placed

in English W ri ting. In addi-

2nd in the Creative Writing

tion to this year's pieces, he

Awards and 1st in the Excel-

was published in the 1986

lence in Writing Awards the

Mass Communications Elec-

Kiosk and has received an

same year.

tronic Media with a minor in

Honorable Mention in a na-

Photography.

tional poetry contest for his

JASON WALKER IS a 2001

poem "The Wake."

graduate

SHEILA

PARTRIDGE

sophomore

maJ onng

From Law-

rence, Kansas, Sheila is a former features reporter and

Morningside

College with a double major

photographer for The Mir -

CRISTA RUSTWICK is a jun-

in International Affairs and

ror, a branch of the Law-

ior from Sioux City. She is

Contemporary History with

an English Education maj or

a minor in Spanish.

Cover Art Director, this is

with a minor in Psychology.

currently

Sheila's first appearance on

Editing this year's creative

AmeriCorps VISTA as the

Kiosk staff.

nonfiction, this is Crista's

Service Learning Coordina-

first appearance on Kiosk

tor for Morningside. This is

staff.

Jason's second publishing in

rence Journal World.

JESSI PLUEGER is a sopho-

working

He is for

the Kiosk, and he placed 3 rd

more from Sioux City majoring in English Writing

CATHIE STANGL is a sopho-

in the 1998 Excellence In

with a minor in Psychology.