Vol. 17 | #13 | Mar. 15, 2016
WHAT’S YOUR EXCUSE? After losing his leg in a motorcycle accident, FAU alumnus Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus took up boxing - and is winning. Page 8
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UP STAFF EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Emily Bloch MANAGING EDITOR Gregory Cox CREATIVE DIRECTOR Ivan Benavides WEB EDITOR Richard Finkel MULTIMEDIA EDITOR Ryan Lynch COPY DESK CHIEF Carissa Noelle Giard ASSISTANT COPY DESK CHIEFS Kerri-Marie Covington, Rafael Baez
Vol. 17 | #13 | March 15, 2016
NEWS EDITOR Patrick Martin
4 On Poetry and Prison
SPORTS EDITOR Brendan Feeney
Author Reginald Dwayne Betts -- imprisoned at the age of 16 -- discussed his book and views on the prison system.
FEATURES EDITOR Brittany Ferrendi
6 Opinion: The Dining Hall That Can’t Dine
OPINIONS EDITOR Andrew Fraieli
The Atlantic Dining Hall serves crummy food -except during campus tours.
BUSINESS MANAGER Wesley Wright CONTRIBUTORS Celeste Andrews,Tucker Berardi, Arezu Motaghedi
8 What’s Your Excuse?
Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus lost his leg, but not his desire to fight.
DISTRIBUTION MANAGER Bill Good
14 Creative Writing Submissions
ADVISERS Neil Santaniello, Ilene Prusher, Michael Koretzky
Readers submitted their work. Have a short story or poem? Email us at universitypress@ gmail.com.
COVER PHOTO BY Mohammed F. Emran WANT TO JOIN THE UP? Email universitypress@gmail.com Staff meetings every Friday, 2 p.m. Student Union, Room 214 WANT TO PLACE AN AD? Contact Jacquelyn Christie 888-897-7711 ext. 124 jchristie@mymediamate.com PUBLISHER FAU Student Government The opinions expressed by the UP are not necessarily those of the student body, Student Government or FAU. ADDRESS 777 Glades Road Student Union, Room 214 Boca Raton, FL 33431 561.297.2960
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Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus pictured at the warehouse where he trains. Photo by Mohammed F. Emran. 3.15.2016 University Press 3
On Poetry and
Prison After being locked up at age 16, Reginald Dwayne Betts is now a student at Yale Law School, and came to speak at FAU about his experience.
Story by Brittany Ferrendi Photos by Joshua Stoughton
Reginald Dwayne Betts led discussions between readings of each poem. 4 3.15.2016 University Press
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oetry, laughter and discussion sum up the experiences shared between published poet and author Reginald Dwayne Betts and Florida Atlantic University students and staff on Feb. 18. Betts developed his poetry when he was incarcerated as a teenager. “When I was 16 I got locked up … and suddenly I was confronted with this notion that I was in prison, and I didn’t know how I would survive if I would make it out, and I wanted to make it out having not wasted nine years,” he told the audience. “I decided to become a writer out of necessity, I had my back against the wall ... I think before that I had never decided to be anything.” The author read excerpts from his poetry collection, “Bastards of the Reagan Era,” followed by a Q&A session from the audience. The event began with an introduction of Betts by English professor and director of the creative writing program, Becka McKay. This was followed by Betts reading his poem, “For the City that Nearly Broke Me.” “No indictment follows Malik’s death, follows smoke running from a fired pistol,” he read aloud. “An old quarrel, crimson against concrete and the officer’s gun still smoking.” In 2010, Betts released two poetry books: “Near Burn and Burden: A Collection of Poems” and “Shahid Reads His Own Palm.” He also released the memoir, “A Question of Freedom: A Memoir of Learning, Survival, and Coming of Age in Prison.” President Barack Obama named Betts a member of the Coordinating Council on Juvenile and Delinquency Prevention in 2012 and in 2015, Betts released his poetry collection. He is currently in his third year at Yale Law school. McKay invited Betts to the university for the department of English’s Off the Page: Events for Readers and Writers series, which invites published poets, writers and professionals to discuss writing with the local community. In addition to the department, the event is also presented by donors Chris and Lori Fluehr. “I was very excited at the chance to have him read as part of the series,” said McKay. “I think his road to becoming a poet and memoirist is unique, and I’m always eager to bring writers with a wide variety of experiences to share their work with the FAU community as well as the larger community that make up our audiences at Off the Page events.” Before his reading, Betts accompanied McKay and English professor Wendy Hinshaw to Dade
Correctional Institution in Florida City. There, Betts met with prison writers within Exchange for Change, an organization which trades writing between academic and imprisoned students. The incarcerated are anonymously paired with FAU students through Hinshaw’s Rhetorics of Incarceration class, and both classes read Betts’ work. “It was one of the most useful things I’ve done in a while,” Betts told the audience. “Betts was very interested in going to the prison as soon as he heard that we might have that opportunity available to him,” said McKay. “I think he really sees that kind of outreach as one of his roles as a writer.” Following the reading, students shared their thoughts on Betts and his career. “I actually was really intrigued by it, I think he’s honestly one of the few people who would go through the system and then become a lawyer,” said Keith Padgett, a master’s student studying criminal justice. “I like the fact that he’s trying to bring his experience and the fact that race disparity is real through creative media.”
“When I was 16 I got locked up … and suddenly I was confronted with this notion that I was in prison, and I didn’t know how I would survive if I would make it out, and I wanted to make it out having not wasted nine years.” - Reginald Dwayne Betts
A group of around 50 people showed up to see Betts speak. Some stayed after to get copies of his books signed.
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Opinion
A bu rger pat ty
fro
mt
he
Co rn er
Gr i ll ,
lo ca te d
in th ec
af.
A campus resident’s opinion on the Atlantic Dining Hall’s subpar food. Photos by Andrew Fraieli 6 3.15.2016 University Press
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t’s like it wants to be hated. The Atlantic Dining Hall, known more informally as the caf, is notorious for its less-than-stellar food, and it isn’t ashamed. I once watched a girl ask that her omelette be made with “real egg,” being skeptical of the soupy concoction by Tucker Berardi that was ladled onto the griddle. The man behind the counter replied, “These are real eggs!” “Real eggs” may have made up the faded-yellow omelette brew but, like the vast majority of caf food, it was still far from appetizing. I spend a lot of money on the meal plan to eat at the Atlantic Dining Hall — $1,896 per semester to be exact — so why aren’t we getting better quality? Chartwells, the food provider of the caf and the rest of FAU, is part of the Compass Group — the largest foodservice company in the world, according to its 2011 annual report. As stated in the same report, it serves 4 billion meals a year, including to universities like FAU. Obviously, practice does not always make perfect. To add insult to injury, the caf has a knack for dishing out its most creative and tasty meals during tours and orientation. I’m sorry, but why do the one-time visitors get the good stuff — like stuffed grouper, which was delicious, I suggest you try stuffing animals more often — while I have to pay a fat sum of money to get stuck with poorly seasoned chicken and overcooked lasagna? I’ve cried more over the spongy caf chicken tenders than I did watching “Titanic.” There’s a decision process that I go through every time I visit the caf. It’s not, “Gee, what do I feel like eating today?” as much as it is, “What won’t make me despise having taste buds?” Many times, I’ve had to default to the pizza station, and that’s a sad fate. It’s almost as if the pizza was microwaved on a styrofoam plate and instead of serving you the pizza, they make you eat the plate. On a recent investigative visit to the dining hall, I monitored a batch of hamburgers that were promptly taken off the grill at 5 p.m. I visited and revisited the burgers, all comfortably nestled in their plastic bin, until I had to leave for my 7 p.m. class. By the time I left, only half had made it to a plate. Bad news for students coming in at the tail end of dinner at 7:30 p.m. I hope you like stale burgers. The only station with consistently good food is the sandwich station. But it’s as if there can be no unsolicited joy within the dining hall. The sandwich-making process suffers from horrible miscommunication and a constant shortage of ingredients. I’ve gone in multiple times wanting a roast beef on rye with banana peppers and olives, only to leave with a green tuna wrap with cucumbers.
The food at the caf is not so much enjoyed as it is choked down between gulps of soda. It exists to eat away at the souls of students until they have become numb to the plates of disappointment. A long time ago, I stopped eating for taste and starting consuming only for nourishment, as if I were on some sort of twisted cafeteria “Survivor” special. My first visit to Taco Bell after prolonged exposure to the caf was an almost divine experience. All in all, caf food is the worst. Its best meals are saved for the days that visitors and tour groups are around, and seems like it purposefully dishes out depressing
food the rest of the time. We have taken Plankton’s bait, and we are all eating at the Chum Bucket. The best way to survive the dining hall’s food? Try eating during tour hours, when the meals are actually edible. Safe eating times can be found on FAU’s website, just look for the tour schedule. From March 1 to March 15, there are campus tours every day from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., so look forward to lunch on those days.
microwaved on a “It’s almost as if the pizza was serving you the styrofoam plate and instead of te.” pizza, they make you eat the pla 3.15.2016 University Press 7
WHAT’S YOUR EXCUSE? An FAU grad brings his fight into the boxing ring, despite a serious accident. Story by Brendan Feeney Photos by Mohammed F. Emran
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D
ucking and eluding punches, throwing a powerful right-left-right combo while bouncing around the ring, Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus appears to be your typical boxer. However, the 2013 Florida Atlantic graduate has one characteristic that most boxers don’t have. Diaz Mateus, a 28-year-old Miami resident, is an amputee. When he bounces around the ring, it’s off of his left foot and a black and silver, Otto Bock Harmonybrand prosthetic leg, made with carbon fiber from the ashes of volcanoes. The name of his native country, “Colombia,” is written across the top. One semester away from graduating in 2009 — two years before FAU’s football stadium opened — the Bogota, Colombia native ventured down to Fort Lauderdale’s Lockhart Stadium to tailgate before an Owls football game on the afternoon of Oct. 3. “I was living the good life,” said Diaz Mateus, who was rushing FAU’s Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity at the time. After his friend left the tailgate, Diaz Mateus decided it was time to leave as well. “It was one of my best friend’s birthdays,” Diaz Mateus said. “So his mom and me were going to organize the house to surprise him.” The then-22-year-old never made it to the party. “I was on my way there,” Diaz Mateus said. “I think it was Lyons Road, I don’t remember anything, man.”
“The impact from the guard rail and the brakes on the bike, it cut off my foot. It threw me 50 yards. But when the guy found me, I was still conscious ... I started hopping around on one foot and then I just collapsed and I was done.” - Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus
Diaz Mateus was driving his lime-green Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R at 90 mph when he collided with the guardrail. His former youth group best friend — who Diaz Mateus hadn’t seen in six or seven years — found him on the side of the road. “The impact from the guard rail and the brakes on the bike, it cut off my foot. It threw me 50 yards,” Diaz Mateus said. “But when the guy found me, I was still conscious. I went and put the password on my phone, you know your mind’s still working and I remembered it. And I said ‘Hey man call my cousin,’ meaning my best friend. ‘Call my cousin Salomon and tell him to come so we can look for my foot, so I can leave.’ That’s what the guy said I told him. He said I started hopping around on one foot and then I just collapsed and I was done.” The removal of his respiration tube is Diaz Mateus’ first memory after the accident. “It almost felt like a movie,” recalled Diaz Mateus. “I felt like I was on drugs, I didn’t know where I was … I didn’t even know what was going on, I thought people were trying to kidnap me, or drug me.” “I’ll never forget that when I saw the doctor I kept asking for my mom, my sister, my family,” Mateus continued. “Then when my mom got there I kept telling her to call the priest, because I wanted to tell the priest my sins. Something inside of me [needed to talk to him]. I didn’t know, I felt like I was going to be gone or something.” Diaz Mateus’ mom, Nahyla, remembers being with friends when she got a call from her daughter saying that her son had an accident and was taken to the hospital. “She told me it was just a scratch, but in the deep of my heart, I just knew something was wrong,” she said. “That time I drove from my friends house to the hospital was an eternity for me. It was horrible.” Diaz Mateus had six surgeries performed during his two weeks in the intensive care unit, including an insertion of screws to his crushed pelvis and
the amputation of his right leg — directly below his right knee. He remembers crying when he found out he would need an amputation. Worried about becoming a burden on his family, he remained in the hospital until Nov. 3 — exactly one month after his accident. On the day of his release, Diaz Mateus was asked if he could use a wheelchair. Not sure if he physically could, Diaz Mateus was determined to find a way. “I was like, ‘Shit, I don’t know. But I’m going to get the damn wheelchair if that means I can leave,’” Diaz Mateus recalls. “I was rolling on the floor, I was like a lizard. I was just trying to get in that damn wheelchair.” Diaz Mateus left the hospital to stay in a hospital bed placed in his own home to let his wounds heal. Though doctors told him it would take six months, Diaz Mateus healed up in two weeks. “They told me, ‘Give it six months so you could get fit for a prosthetic, because you know you still have your scars,’” Diaz Mateus said. “I went in there with the wounds. I would just put gauze over the blood, and fuck it man, I would just walk. I didn’t care, I was up and walking not even a month after I got released.” His sister Maria Alejandra Diaz Mateus noted that she knew it wouldn’t take long for him to recover. “He was supposed to be in the hospital for a lot longer than he really was,” she said. “He took it upon himself to get out of bed, put on a prosthetic and start walking.” Despite having to adjust to a new prosthetic, Diaz Mateus said everything came naturally for him. It was then he started trying new things out. That’s how he and boxing became formally introduced. “I loved boxing my whole life,” Diaz Mateus said. “Every day [after the injury] you’re like, ‘I’m going to try this out.’ After my accident it was like turning on and turning off a light switch. I just started picking everything up after my accident and was like, ‘Man I just need to get everything done,’ because you never know when that light switch is going to turn off again.” “I just wanted to do something for myself. I don’t have to depend on anyone, I can do this myself with my injury.” He started training in 2014 and after a year, he met his current trainer, Carlos Albuerne. They train together every Monday through Friday for an hour and a half or two hours, in a blue warehouse in the middle of Miami, which they call “La Finca,” or “The Ranch.” “He works hard,” Albuerne said. “He’s happy every day, he wants to work hard, he’s a super nice guy … I want the best for him.” The respect is mutual. “[Albuerne’s] an angel from heaven,” Diaz Mateus said. “This guy works with anyone you can think of. He’s worked with hall of famers, world champions.” Former Olympic gold medalist, featherweight and lightweight champion Joel “El Cepillo” Casamayor and former World Boxing Organization heavyweight champion Shannon Briggs are just two of the many accomplished boxers Albuerne has worked with. However, it’s not necessarily Albuerne’s resume that attracted Diaz Mateus. “He doesn’t care that I have one leg and I like that,” Diaz Mateus explained. “He doesn’t see me any different, he’s not going to take it any easier with me. If I’m dropping my hands and he’s going to hit me in the face, then I want him to hit me in the face. I like that about him, he doesn’t look at me any different.” Diaz Mateus said that the American Boxing Association does not allow him, or any other amputee, to face able-bodied competitors. With the help of Albuerne, Diaz Mateus fought his first official match in a National Amputee Boxing Association bout in San Antonio in October of last year. He won by unanimous decision. According to Ahmed Elbiali, a 14-0 professional boxer signed with Al Haymon — who represents the likes of Floyd “Money” Mayweather, Amir Khan and Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. — Diaz Mateus was thrown into that fight without ample training time, yet was still so prepared he had the match won before it ever started. “He left to fight someone he doesn’t know, who he never heard of, and he was into it,” Elbiali said. “Coach said, ‘Ahh I don’t know if you should do this, these people in boxing put you in bad situations.’ [Diaz Mateus] was like ‘Nah bro, I got this. I want this.’” 3.15.2016 University Press 9
Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus has been training with his coach Carlos Albuerne (left) for a year.
Albuerne admitted to being nervous for Diaz Mateus prior to the fight. Though he believed Diaz Mateus could compete, he’d never seen him in an official match before.
“You’re going to go in there with one leg and people are going to take advantage of you. People that know me know that I won’t take no for an answer ... I’m not going to stop doing what I want to do because I’m afraid that something’s going to happen.” - Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus
Diaz Mateus hopes to face a fighter with two legs someday, but like his injury, he refuses to complain about it. “You just got to respect the rules, but I feel like I’m able to fight someone with two legs … hopefully in America eventually they let [amputees] fight someone with an able body.” Elbiali agrees that Diaz Mateus has the skill set to fight anyone, emphasizing 10 3.15.2016 University Press
Diaz Mateus’ “serious power.” And not just for someone with one leg, but noting that Diaz Mateus has serious power for any boxer. “He hits hard, I didn’t believe that when I first saw it,” Elbiali said while remembering a sparring match he watched Diaz Mateus fight in. “This one guy, he knocked him out cold and you could hear it from outside. People came in and were like ‘What was that?’” The able-bodied boxer was wearing headgear when Diaz Mateus knocked him out. Diaz Mateus feels that the reason he isn’t allowed to fight able-bodied competitors in an official match comes from issues of fairness. NABA is the only organization licensed for amputee boxers, and Diaz Mateus thinks the boxing association doesn’t want to be sued from a fighter who may be fighting at a disadvantage. Diaz Mateus says the boxing association isn’t the only group that’s told him what he can’t do. “People I know, all the time they’ll be like ‘Man you already went through a motorcycle accident and you’re going to give your mom a heart attack,” Diaz Mateus explained. “‘You’re going to go in there with one leg and people are going to take advantage of you.’ People that know me know that I won’t take no for an answer. The way I feel is like your destiny is already written. I’m not going to stop doing what I want to do because I’m afraid that something’s going to happen. I’m going to stop doing it when I want to stop.” His sister admits to being one of those people who tried to convince her
brother away from boxing. “I was like ‘What are you doing?’” Maria said. “I was concerned. I didn’t want anything happening to him … I tried convincing him not to.” ”It’s weird seeing him in a boxing ring. We didn’t think he was capable … but I’m at ease knowing he’s happy doing it.” Diaz Mateus said he enjoys when others underestimate him. “Once I go in [the ring], I feel like something comes inside of me,” Diaz Mateus said. “I feel like something takes over my body and if I get hit, I just feel I want to knock your head off. If I feel like you hit me or my leg is hurting me, I feel like that’s just adding more fuel to the fire. Like I’m just ready to knock your head off so my leg don’t hurt no more.” That pride comes from his Colombian heritage, which means everything to him. “I just want to go back in life and make my family and country proud,” he said. “Go back and they look at me and are like ‘you know, that guy’s Colombian, Colombian people got big hearts. They have that blood that doesn’t give up. We don’t let the bad times bring us down.’”
“[Coach Carlos Albuerne] doesn’t care that I have one leg and I like that he doesn’t see me any different, he’s not going to take it any easier with me. If I’m dropping my hands and he’s going to hit me in the face, then I want him to hit me in the face.” - Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus
His sister Maria noted that life hasn’t been easy for her brother, “but he takes full responsibility and he keeps going. I never seen anyone have that same drive … He doesn’t let his accident define him.” The biggest inspiration behind Diaz Mateus’ drive is his grandfather — who had to stop going to school in third grade to help take care of his family, according to Mateus. The boxer said that when his grandfather was growing up in Colombia, if a liberal saw a conservative, or vice versa, a gun would be pulled out immediately. If someone from one party knew where someone of the other party lived, they may burn down their ranch, or house — even if the entire family was inside. “Me losing my leg is nothing compared to what he’s been through,” Diaz Mateus said while rubbing his eyes. “Just thinking about him and all his stories growing up. His struggles, his times in Colombia, they were rough.” Diaz Mateus hopes to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and turn his own negatives into a positive, by not shying away from his injury and instead trying to inspire others with it, like his grandfather did to him. “I like it when I’m walking and people are whining about the little things in life. Like they break a nail,” Diaz Mateus said. “Then they see me in the gym working hard and they’re like ‘Why am I even whining that I just broke my nail on the treadmill? I mean that guys over there busting his ass on one leg.’” Therefore the amputee boxer thrives off the motto, “What’s your excuse?” His girlfriend Carly Grimes, an FAU senior history major, said that motto — which Diaz Mateus wears on his shirt and even uses as his email address — fuels her boyfriend and pushes him to get through the days where his leg may not be feeling the greatest, because when others see him pushing himself, it inspires them to keep pushing as well. “That’s the mentality that I like. If I’m busting my ass, you should be able to do the same. [I] try not to belittle people but try to give them a little boost … if you’re not doing things right, you’re not cheating anybody, you’re just cheating yourself.”
Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus with his coach Carlos Albuerne. They train every Monday through Friday for about two hours.
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Andres Felipe Diaz Mateus’ prosthetic leg is made with carbon fiber from ashes of volcanoes, and has a sticker representing his native country of Colombia.
Diaz Mateus said he does sometimes wonder if he’s been cheated, feeling like he could do a lot more if he had two legs.
“I think he’s ready. He looks different, he looks better … he’s a much better fighter now than before.” - Carlos Albuerne
“But me crying or thinking about it is not going to make my leg grow back,” Diaz Mateus said. “The only thing that bothers me and affects me is that I had to put my family through that. Even if I lost my other leg, that wouldn’t bother me, that would make me want to live even longer. I’m the type of person that if 12 3.15.2016 University Press
something happens to me and people doubt you, or you feel like the things are against you, that’s more fuel to me. So if I lose my leg and both my arms, it don’t matter. It’s going to fuel me to do more.” Diaz Mateus’ next fight will be on March 26 in San Antonio. He will be fighting in the 150-pound weight class. Though boxing isn’t currently in the paralympics, Diaz Mateus hopes to impress as paralympic representatives will be in attendance for his fight. “I think he’s ready,” Albuerne said. “He looks different, he looks better … he’s a much better fighter now than before.”
The Ear Game Story by Cody Williams | Special to the University Press
H
eat poured through my window and onto my muddy face, forcing me to wake up like it knew that torrential darkness had been roaming throughout the house. I had been dreaming. I was in a vineyard, where a tall and graceful man with a skinny, straw-like neck and a woman in a plastered, prune-colored dress were sitting on a pile of grapes which rose and multiplied, their round and plump faces the size of a veteran’s ankles. The two had seemed to be acquainted with each other, with a sort of awkward moving of the eyes, like realizing that they were characters, and hence unimportant. As the grapes burgeoned, they expanded until they burst into an exaggerated ocean. While the woman struggled to keep to the surface, the man paused, then swam away like it hurt to be saved. And now there was a burning sensation in my eyes, and I decided that it was from all the juice I drank last night. I was a juice addict, as my father called me. Back then, we’d get it in the jumbo bottles they sell in Sam’s. He’d say “Order up!” and I’d pretend to be ordering from one of those pubs on TV. “A nice and easy,” I’d say, and he’d slide me a glass of juice as it sloshed all over the kitchen table. I’d drink wildly, getting splotches of purple all over my shirt. “An art,” he’d say. “Spontaneous little marks like finger paint.” He said I was spontaneous, a happy mistake. Momma would come in, saying “Freaking Fargo,” her lips like a dark and sugary blueberry bubblegum. And with a tired clap, she’d go to her room and not come out until it was time to eat. I didn’t like when she yelled. I’d hear my father’s soft tone seeping under the doorway and mellow, spreading out under momma’s shrill, but tired and unreasonable voice until finally, at the front door 14 3.15.2016 University Press
Creative Juices
Illustration by Ivan Benavides
one night, her voice had no room to grow in the wide, space-less world beyond home. But the house was far from what I’d gotten used to know, the loud back and forth abounding, and rising in the front door. I could hear in momma’s shrill voice, her saying the same thing over and over. “Just, don’t. Please, go.” And each time, a further reach to a crescendo. “Just don’t! Please, GO!” These were the words I’d hear in the ear game. It was something my father taught me to do in situations like these, and I can imagine that at the other side of the doorway, he’s pushing the inside flaps of his ears in and out, letting the sound truncate and sprinkle like tiny grains of glass. A kaleidoscope effect. I do this every time, half smiling, because I remembered the juice and the sloshing, but I also imagined the way my father would crumble under her words, and I didn’t want to see him so vulnerable. But I was tired of waiting. I wanted to see him. Slipping into the front, where my mother stood, flailing her arms and crying, what I saw and heard had suddenly brought that sour taste on my bottom lip, how the taste of grape had soured. How the jugs of juice were now fancy, half empty bottles with skinny necks. She was screaming, “Just please, don’t go,” at an empty doorway. I stepped away, caught in between something of a world too surprising to be real, but too real to be completely true. “But that’s how it always is. One day, you’re seeing one thing, and the next, something completely different. Life is just unreal like that,” Momma would say when she gave me that squinted eyed look before she hit the table hard with the bottle and sent me to bed with a swig of juice that made the house revolve around me until I went to sleep with my head spinning. I’d asked her why she wouldn’t stop — wouldn’t stop yelling.
“Because I need to fill this house. I need to fill this room. I need to fill myself with what I can’t hear if I stopped.” I felt a lump go down my throat like a large grape to the empty pit of my stomach, like I was supposed to know what this meant, but had nothing to digest it with. She’d clutch the juice tight. “Because he won’t come back, no matter how many times I tell him.” Then, she’d get louder. “He won’t come back!” That night, I found her rocking and holding a bottle close to her chest like a teddy bear. “Are you okay, momma?” I asked. And she wearily nodded. “Everything’s okay, baby.” And I’d drink my juice and go to bed, waiting to push my ears in and out the next day — drink the juice — hear momma cry, hear, “everything’s okay.” Until eventually, all I’d hear were fragments of my mother’s voice being swept up by the wind coming through the doorway. I’d come out as the room twirled, saying, “Everything’s okay, momma. Everything’s okay.” It’s night, and momma’s in her usual place in her room with her back against the door, clutching her juice and humming softly to herself. I’m holding the bottle, sloshing the red around in my mouth. It is sour at first, but sweet, filling my stomach with something like a light heaviness I’d never known. I’m holding it to my chest, thinking of momma, hearing bits of sirens outside like I no longer needed to play the ear game to divide the world into pieces. I’m watching the stars outside my window start to spin and dazzle. I hope daddy comes back.
“Creative Juices” is the UP’s open-submission creative writing section. Send your screenplays, poems, short stories or any interesting composition to universitypress@gmail.com. If we like it, we’ll print it.
These were the words I’d hear in the ear game. It was something my father taught me to do in situations like these.
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