janus
JANUS a magazine of literature and arts ____________________ volume 48 winter 2011 ____________________ The Williston Northampton School Easthampton, Massachusetts
janus staff editors: Nick Brady Annie Zheng Pankti Dalal Rachel Deena Emma Hing Jilly Lim Henry Lombino Emily McHugh Hunter Snyder Eva Stern-‐Rodriguez cover photograph: Lake by Cam Zawacki faculty advisor: Sarah Sawyer
Contents A Caterpillar Named Joe by Greg Tuleja Breaking Free by Andrew White Plunder: A Blunder by Marcus Vik Adult Education by Emily McHugh Untitled by Nick Brady Iceland Falls by Cam Zawacki Yearning to be Loved by Elizabeth Calderone This is What We Seek to Find by Alyssa Stern First Kiss by Marcus Vik Once Upon a Time by A’Kala Chaires
A Caterpillar Named Joe (To The 2011 Girls Cross Country Team) Nearly trampled by thirty-‐two sneakers thundering down the path, but rescued just in time, a yellow whorl with black diamonds, curled up like a tiny armadillo in the palm of my hand. We wonder about the name, surely not Fuzzy or Slinky. It’s Joe. I think selfishly that it must be late in the year for caterpillars, and high time for Joe’s transformation into a swallowtail or a viceroy. I sense his bewilderment, and the need for higher thinking. But I am blinded by altruism, and neglect to notice where Joe was headed, across the sidewalk and toward the stream searching perhaps for an unseen refuge in fading sun, a local caterpillar convention, or home. He has formed an impression, we suspect, about the imperious meddling of giants, so here I am, he says with some frustration, back in the same grass. but then, with typical generosity, I know your intentions were good. A cool breeze and suddenly they’re gone, up the hill, into the woods, thirty-‐two rubber soles pounding, sixteen voices of optimism, reminiscing proudly about saving Joe from the brutal dangers of human traffic, and all he can do is get back on the trail, hoping it’s not too late, although the window is closing, and we both think about the ending of things, of cross country seasons and frostless nights, of impossible chances, and dreams. Greg Tuleja
Breaking Free A guard led Darcy outside where a prison truck sat motionless. The driver leaned up against it while smoking a cigarette. He offered the guard one and he took it greedily. With cigarette in mouth, the guard muttered, “Let’s go. Get in.” Darcy hoisted herself into the cell. Once inside, Darcy felt the breeze of the slamming door. She heard the lock click into place. When the engine started, she sat down on the lonely plank bench. Her chains rattled. She looked down at their rusted edges. The iron wove together like snakes. She noted how the closer she brought her feet together, the more it seemed like there no chains. Darcy remembered what the girls at the prison said: “The baby comes out crying, but you know that it’s yours until that doctor comes over and takes it from you. So look your baby in the eyes and say you’re sorry.” The truck pulled to the back of the hospital where a man in a white suit waited. When the door opened, heat radiated from the interior. The doctor turned to the guard and challenged, “This woman could have died on the way over from heat stroke.” The guard sniffed back, “She’s alive, ain’t she.” The doctor turned to Darcy who stood up. “You and your baby are going to be just fine, ma’am. Just keep on breathing. It’ll be over soon.” Darcy thought to herself: “That’s all I want, is for it to be over.” There were no nurses or family members waiting as she stepped out of the truck. Just two white men, the heat, and a path leading to a metal door. The guard and doctor led as Darcy and her shackled feet followed. The door opened not to a cool hospital waiting room, but to a hot kitchen full of steam. Darcy could barely breathe or see, as the heat consumed her like a wave of fog. A hand grabbed hers. It knew the way. They finally arrived at the operating room where the doctor laid Darcy onto a hospital bed. She murmured to the doctor, “Water, please.” He looked into her eyes and nodded his head. “Nurse, could we get some ice water in here for the patient?” In a few minutes a nurse shuffled back with a tall glass of water. Darcy accepted the gift, smiling faintly. “Thank you,” she said. The nurse left, allowing Darcy to view the guard outside waiting. She said, “Excuse me, Doctor -‐ ” “Wilson. You can call me Doctor Wilson,” he said. “Okay. Doctor Wilson. Could we shut the door?” she asked. “Of course.” He closed it. She asked another question, “Do you think we could get this chain off me?” “No, ma’am. I am sorry I cannot do that. But I want you to know that we will do everything in our power to make this a comfortable delivery for both you and your baby.” “Okay, that sounds good.” She smiled. The doctor hoped that Darcy’s baby would have just as beautiful a smile as she did. He interrupted his thoughts and said, “Okay, well, I am going to step out for a minute. Here is something comfortable for you to change into.” He handed her a white gown and left. As she undressed, Darcy sang a lullaby. Her voice had never sounded so sweet. Andrew White
Plunder: A Blunder i I have an opinion, and I daresay it is different than yours I too can spout it from the safe mountaintops of criticism And across the fruited plains of never having been President I hold every President, on a pedestal, to be evaluated Not maligned if they fail to do what I would have, could have I would not tell one of 44 people in the history of this country What he should have done. He has all the cards. I look in through a small window on the Oval Office process Have you been sitting in on the meetings? ii Excuse me while I clap ‘til my hands hurt for the leader of the free world Whether his blood is as blue as they come or if his Dad hails from Kenya He is my President. My President will not endure superficial attacks If his hair prematurely grays from the weight of the USA on his shoulders Some people are fans of the fanfare, the regal waves and handshakes Others will call it a cheap trick, but it is everyone’s cheap trick The First Lady’s staff and the President’s fill the box with a who’s who Of miracles, American dreamers, inspirations, innovations And this will be the case because people love HOPE iii I love hope too. I loved it in a DC Mall, seas of port-‐a-‐potties Oceans of believers. People who like to hear about Presidential basketball games on the Supreme Court Presidential mountain biking spills abroad. Keep the loved ones out of it. Blows too low.
No one asked to be the President’s daughter And no one has asked to be wife to an overburdened husband iv sling bull across the bow. Swiftboat that Neanderthal until History will relegate him to the ranks of Carter Drop all Ayers, don’t even call him Mr or President Because some village in Texas is missing its idiot But he’s not from Texas, no. No real Texan hasn’t lassoed. Let’s see him do it. A ranch hand photo op? Gross. He must be after the Latino demographic, maybe win Florida Take some guys down to Camp David for the weekend Take your secretary of state and your secretary of defense Why Camp David? Privacy? Isolation? Space to think? Nope. It’s a vacation, you really must be thick to believe Nothing ever happens in Shangri-‐La. Never an Accord They will probably play cops and robbers. No! Cowboys and Indians, the President’s favorite. v No life is easy. None. Every last human faces challenges And trials and tribulations. What is hard for you May not seem hard to me. I would not call someone’s Life without challenge because they were born with Money brings as many problems as it solves Mythic men as fathers yield high standards, lasting Feelings of inadequacy. Then guilt, why didn’t he get what I got? vi I respect your opinion, I really do. But George Bush won a reelection But he is not perfect. Better than Gore, Kerry, Edwards, Kucinich?
Probably. If I like to shoot guns, fell trees, and listen to music about it That would automatically make me stupider, less cultured than you. Just as burying fish with my corn does or wearing gold rings around my neck People are different, how about preaching tolerance and diversity? Diversity is not just color, creed, and religion. Diversity of thought Within a person is just as important as within a quantity. I can enjoy Bach and Lady Gaga or Dallas, Texas Ranger and Hamlet I live in a country where I am free to choose what I want to like But if I get up on a soapbox, I sure as hell hope I have Some intelligent things founded in fact to say to my fellow Americans. v George Bush does not care about black people. You heard it here first, From the lips of producer cum rapper cum mogul in need of rehab. Do not look at his record on race, initiatives he has pushed. Trust Ignorati, when was the last time you heard something that wasn’t true? Stupid is as Stupid does, sir. Marcus Vik
Adult Education Clint Foxworthy lived in a small trailer in an unmapped forest of Oregon. He was born there and he would probably die there. Clint was happy with his life because he didn’t know anything else. Today was a particularly special day because it was raccoon mating season and Clint was going hunting. He woke up at 7:25 AM, put a bottle of water in his deer skin backpack, and left the trailer. After hiking through the forest for five minutes, Clint reached a place he referred to as “the hunting grounds.” He walked along the smooth pavement, the sun causing drops of sweat to roll down his naked head. Clint’s left thumb began to ache. He considered it a sign from God. “JACKPOT!” A raccoon was sprawled across the pavement, a few inches left of the yellow line in the middle of the road. Other than its missing foot, the raccoon was in great condition. Sure, its fur was matted with blood, but that could be washed off. Clint grasped the raccoon by its bushy tail and jumped off of the pavement as a black Sedan drove past him. He carefully examined the raccoon, checking for maggots, worms, etc. “It’s so fresh! It must have been hit last night,” Clint held the raccoon in his arms as if it were a small child as he walked back to his trailer. “Today is my lucky day.” Clint turned the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. He carefully placed the raccoon on the kitchen counter next to the stack of Playboy magazines he had collected throughout the years. He put on his only record, Daryl Hall & John Oates Greatest Hits, and began sharpening his Wusthof knife. After the knife had been sharpened to perfection, Clint went to work on the raccoon. His butchering skills were pristine, up to par with the greatest butchers in the world. His hand cut flesh and bone with an effortless ease. Clint used every part of the raccoon. He used the fur to make hats and gloves, the bones to make small flutes, and the meat to make his special raccoon stew. Clint removed all of the edible meat (which included every body part) and put it in his refrigerator. 10:25 AM The day was getting hotter. Clint walked outside and laid the bones and skin to dry in the sun. He saved a foot for Walt: raccoon feet were Walt’s favorite treat. Clint wiped his hands on his denim shorts, the only piece of clothing he owned (other than animal skins). 10:30 AM Every morning Clint played a game of solitaire. He owned one set of playing cards -‐ the same set for about forty years now. He had found the cards in the parking lot of a local strip club. Today Clint rushed through his game because he was particularly anxious about his stew. Stew days were always nerve-‐wracking for Clint. “It’s a stew day today, Walt.” “Meeeeeeow.” “Don’t worry, I won’t make it too salty this time!” “Meeeeeeow.” “Don’t say that, Walt. You know that I ran out of squirrel meat last week. I promise it will be delicious.”
11:00 AM Clint turned the record over and took the raccoon meat out of the refrigerator. He found a rusty pan and filled it with the raccoon meat, a stick of butter he had found in a trash can the day before, some acorns, salt, and plenty of water. Usually he added a few red berries from the forest, but they were scarce this time of year. The meat would need to cook in the oven for two and a half hours before being put in a pot. 1:30 PM Clint took the pan out of the oven. “Smells great, Walt!” “Meeeeow.” Clint emptied his pantry. Everything would go into the stew. “Everything” included a jar of expired dill pickles, a can of Goya beans, plenty of paprika, a tablespoon of salt, and a teaspoon of pepper. “Don’t worry Walt, I won’t forget the secret ingredient.” Clint’s secret ingredient was beer, preferably Sapporo (a Japanese brand). Luckily he had scavenged half a can in the trash of a sushi restaurant. Clint’s stew usually cooked for around four hours on low heat, in order to obtain maximum tenderness and flavor. 5:00 PM “Stew is ready, Walt!” Clint and Walt sat down to a beautiful feast, with Hall & Oates playing quietly in the background. ...The student body’s got a bad reputation. What they need is adult education. Back to school it's a bad situation. But what you want is an adult education. Emily McHugh
There are fires In Centralia, Pennsylvania Deep inside the coal mines. They’ve been burning since Some accident back In ’61. (Scientists say They won’t ever stop Until they’ve run Out of fuel) Isn’t that beautiful? That something so bleak So finite in nature And so dark, can turn Itself to something So infinite? I’m burning And scientists say I won’t ever stop Until I’ve run Out of fuel. Nick Brady
Iceland Falls by Cam Zawacki
Yearning to be Loved It’s not money that I’m wanting. It’s not beauty that I’m seeking. I wish to hold Love securely, and I want Love to embrace me wholeheartedly. It’s not fame that I’m looking for. It’s not wisdom that I’m searching for. I dream of dancing with Love forever more, even when Music stops its mighty roar. It’s not Bravery who calls to me, or Ego in his arrogant voice. It’s Love who sings smoothly, Driving like a Rolls Royce. She’s always aglow, closer than my shadow. Leading me to my friends and family. helping all through this galaxy. Love is not a parasite, yet she cannot live unless we unite. With every heartbeat she pumps through me. Love will linger eternally. Elizabeth Calderone
This Is What We Seek To Find This is what we seek to find, A feeling that’s so divine, If I told you I love you, would you mind? This is one thing that we all could share, A feeing some of us may fear, This feeling is so fulfilling, An experience you wished for, an unusual feeling you never felt before, It is the key to the expected or unexpected, Love is what we all created, Now the fact is, I love you, And this is a question for just us two, Do you love me too? Alyssa Stern
First Kiss I’m at a party, laughing. Try to ease a tenseness in my head and stomach. It’s the summer and I’m a little overdressed and sweaty. This is shaping up to be kind of a crappy night. I only see people I’ve never actually met and the basement has the stench of burnt marijuana. I walk up the stairs, heading out the door. I see her. She is glowing in the doorway, a laugh on her face. Will Powers’ family room is filled with laughter and the rhythmic giggle of his brother Peter. We could have been watching Austin Powers. Will’s phone keeps trembling with texts from his neighbor Caylin. My leg is jumping up and down on the ground like a bouncy ball. My stomach hurts a little bit. I let out a slow quivering breath. “Alright, let’s go,” Will tells me. A little grumpy, but matter-‐of-‐factly. I get up. I feel no less nervous. We go downstairs. Will kicks his feet out from under him making a loud and measured sound on his way down the staircase. I try to make as little an imprint as possible, auditory or otherwise. “What are you guys up to?” Will’s mom says, looking up from a batch of unrivaled chocolate chip cookies. Will answers with a mumbled and grumbled “Caylin’s.” “Ok, well, be back before ten. I can’t have you out while I’m asleep.” We both nod in assent as we put on shoes in his mudroom and leave. I doubt Will and I said anything to each other. We have been close since Junior Kindergarten. He is, at the very least, one of my best friends. But he is not sentimental and does not like getting personal. Maybe I said something funny, maybe he did. We walk across his paved parking lot and a stretch of his gravel drive way. I walk on the wooden side of the huge sandbox we used to play in. After some grass, we are at a low gate. I really like that gate. We used to open it up and swing it open when we went to play on Caylin’s trampoline. It is sturdy and the wood is well hewn. A line of trees meets us on the other side of the gate, along with giggling and some more grass. I feel someone grab me quickly and hold me tightly in a hug. Her name is Alexa. She was a few inches shorter than I was with long dirty blonde hair in bangs, and braces. She was my girlfriend. I thought she was beautiful then, and she is now. Though to be fair, cute might have been a more appropriate description. Alexa was vivacious and smart and hardworking too. I thought she was cool. I feel embarrassed just thinking about it now. It seems so trivial looking back on it, but she meant a lot to me and there is really nothing trivial about her.
We probably all just sat down on the grass. Will, me, Caylin, Perry, Sarah, and Alexa. I don’t remember what was said in that time before ten o’clock. I do remember the hand holding and cuddling while the others mocked and ignored us. Perry drove guys crazy, me included. She was very good-‐looking and even more flirtatious. I had asked her out earlier that year, but she said no because she knew Alexa liked me. But maybe Perry didn’t like me. Perry is hitting on Will, she always is. There is a mutual attraction between the two of them like they could end up married. Caylin and Sarah were probably trying to hit on him too, Will has always attracted girls. Before we know it, Mrs. Powers yells from the gate. We have to head back. We leave with pleas from the girls to sneak out in tow. We do not really acknowledge them. We walk back to some undoubtedly funny, but also embarrassing commentary from Mrs. Powers. She never ceases to make me laugh. She is one of the funniest people I know. And she made chocolate chip cookies. There are some waiting on a cooling rack in the kitchen. Will pinches a piece off one and I grab the rest. We go back to his TV where his other younger brother Eric is playing a James Bond video game. Will kicks him out as only an older brother could. He finds some forgettable movie on HBO or something. I can’t concentrate anyway; I am too distracted at the prospect of sneaking out. I’m pretty afraid of getting in trouble. I never see it as the stereotypical crippling fear that plagues the nerdy but as something smart. Nothing good will come of getting caught sneaking out. Especially when people know it is to see a girl. Mrs. Powers climbs the stairs and goes to the laundry machines, behind closed doors at the other end of the room. She narrates doing the laundry for the benefit of our ears, as much as for those of the dogs, or her own. I laugh, Will shakes his head and probably asks in his head, “Why can’t she be normal?” Mrs. Powers bids us goodnight and walks down the hall to her bedroom. “So do you want to go back?” Will says, nonchalantly and with his eyes lazily on the TV. We would not be sneaking out, just going back. He knows me well and adds, “my mom really doesn’t care.” After this assurance, I give something in the neighborhood of “sure.” Will lets Caylin or Sarah or Perry in on the plan. He texts someone. We watch a little bit more of whatever. My anxiety is slightly heightened. I am a little tense and I feel a little sick. Will turns off the TV and looks at me. “You ready to go?” I say yes and get up quickly. Will moves noiselessly on down the stairs this time, but I don’t know how and they creak a little for me. I follow Will across the kitchen, not all that carefully. In the mudroom we put on our shoes and we are out the door. I turn around to close the door slowly and quietly. I jog to catch up to Will on the gravel; it crunches but we are not worried. Back to the gate, and over into Caylin’s. I don’t think the girls moved. All four of them, sitting around right where we had left them. Alexa and I hug or something.
There is a conversation going around that we are not a part of. I hear Sarah or Caylin say something about how this is such a “paaaarty.” I said something, trying to sound tough or cool about alcohol. It falls flat and is ignored, though many people would each get drunk on that spot in years to come. The conversation goes on but nothing happens. Perry clings to Will while Sarah and Caylin talk about guys from another school. I’m nervous. I just feel nervous. I’m sitting on the ground with my hands behind me holding my body up. Alexa is sitting in the V of my legs leaning lightly against me. I don’t remember how it happened but we were alone, Alexa and I. Someone probably made an excuse. More likely, no one was coy enough for that and there was a catcall as they left. Alexa and I are standing. I twirl her like we are dancing. Out, then in. She has her back to me and I hug her. I twirl her out again, then in with her back still to me. I look down at her and she turns her head up to the right and we kiss. “Hi Marcus,” Alexa half yells in a stilted voice. Each letter of my name stretched out awkwardly. Acknowledging and undercutting the tension. I flash her my own crossbred of smile and grimace, raise my hand in recognition and turn off into the kitchen. Marcus Vik
Once upon a time I hid myself Behind drawn curtains I’d sit and wait patiently until needed Praying for help that never came and counting days passed by Once upon a time I ran through forests Quick as a whispering wind I flew by Leaving trail nor sound behind I became that spirit that you’d only dream about But never see Once upon a time she took steps over water Toe. Balm. Heel. She made her way across that sea of broken steps Never feeling the worst Nor hoping for the best She just moved Unaware that the possibility of her demise was lurking beneath the dark waters Her gaze remained on her love And she walked As I danced behind drawn curtains Feet pointed Legs straight The shadows of developees shifted behind drawn sheets Once upon a time my fear of being seen swallowed me whole Shortened my breath and brought me to my knees Rays of light dissolved as dust settled on the evening sky I would creep out of hiding places Pirouette my way to my next destination with adrenaline fused veins How I adored that feeling Once upon a time I saw the lights Developing a new persona Leaving speechless the ones Ioved I no longer cared
Whipping teased hair and white smiles No longer feeling the unrealenting strangeness But the unforgettable freedom I chose to never leave… A’Kala Chaires