/

Q.uinnipiac University

273 'Mount Canm'l A,'clmC

Hÿmÿdcn, Comÿcc6cut 06518

E rors ' .£etrevs

Dear Staff and Quinnipiac Community,We want to thank all of you for your support and interest in

this year's journal. Christina and I have put our heart and soul intothis magazine to make it the best that we believe it can be. We putour heads together at the beginning of the year to try to come upwith ways to be original and experimental and we truly feel thatwe succeeded in that attempt.

When we joined the Montage staff, three years ago, thejournal still suffered from a lot of criticism and unappreciation.Quinnipiac has not been a campus that embraces its creativetalents. Many artists have been frustrated with the fact that in thepast there has been no place for them to showcase theirachievements. When we started on the Montage staff, the journalstill focused mainly on literary achievements and suffered fromlack of funding and lack of recognition.

Over the past two years, the journal has matured insignificant ways, overcoming obstacles, and fightingfor respect. It has embraced other artforms allowing creativegenius to flourish and be recognized. It also has finally begunto get its name recognized within the Quinnipiac community. Westill have a long way to go, and we still plan to improve each yeartopping the year before. We thank you for yoursubmissions and contributions to making this year's journal, thebest one yet.

We would like to thank the staff of Montage for extendingyour time and effort to the journal. Your ideas have helped thejournal rise to the level it has this year. A special thanks to Jaimie,Alaina, and Charity for helping organize Montage, we would havegone crazy without your help! Also we'd like to extend a specialthank you to everyone who submitted their creative work. Theliterary pieces, artwork, and photography were phenomenal.We would also like to thank Professor Comitini for her support andguidance along the way. We hope everybody enjoys this journalas much as we enjoyed working on it. Happy reading!

Cheers,Joyana and Christina

(Personal Notes)

Christina, I just wanted to thank you for being such an amazingco-editor, not to mention becoming such a good friend by theend of this. l'm so proud of our finished project and all I can sayis WE DID IT!! l'd also like to thank my friends and family forlistening to me during the slightly stressful times and for alwaysoffering their love and constant support. I love you all!

XOXO,Joy

l'd personally like to thank my morn for constantlyencouraging me to embrace my creative side, my dad for teachingme how "the real world" truly works, and my brothers for neverletting me off the hook. Joy, I could not have asked for a betterCo-Editor to work with! We ran into some tough days, but wealways made the best of the situation. Thank you for being such apositive influence on this journal.

Love,Christina

Cover by;Ytlaina Cugtietto

Co-Eaqtors in Chiefgo, aria Peters andChristina ÿ4cq(itish

SecretarÿjCharitÿStout

Pubhc Relations qv[anagerRaqueILeusner

Tacuÿlj Y[dvisorPatricfa Comitini

Selection Committee

Brenc(an BarWqÿichelle Colhnsqÿ4ichelle CourtsYffaina CughetToSarah DeEreitasq(atharine ÿFaron

gaimie qTioreShawna qÿitchel(Courÿney Phihps

(Diana SpiegleCharity] STout

q<atrind qÿhomas

Editing Committeetlaina CughettoCharity Stout

i q able o

to White Street

Love Storyan 91cquaintance

Long

the Dirt Eloor

Regina ÿnnC.C

ndrew RogOkayplaÿerChristina ÿcEitishC.C

qvlichelÿ ColhnsDanielÿ RuestRatharine Eaton

Prosÿqÿ4ichaeI CowanLiz qÿroisiJoyana Peters

Sarah Lusro9ÿlaina Cug(ietÿogoÿana Peters

qÿ4ichae[ Crenshawshawna qv[itchellRatharine ÿFaronqvtichelle qÿhrasherqÿelanie Rubik

Photography

Dana Owen£ilian PerezPaulÿFleck

atharine ÿFaronqÿichelÿ Courts

9Taina Cugÿeto

LoveLouis Restifo

For sun to shine directly upon my fall directly upon my face

the heavens closed beneath the clouds could be;while windows barred, apart from grace,my eyes struck blind could still yet see.To walk in a field amid fallen leaveswith the memory of something warming,changes the heart to bliss from one that grievesdespite all presence of things alarming.Through a shroud of night envelopes each day,this pall of darkness purged with merely thought;a power requisite of simplicity mayaccomplish what all else combined cannot.What barriers then stand between it all,prevent soaring spirit where one should fall?

Artwork by Dana Owen

Photograph by Sarah Lusto

ScrapesSarah OeFre as

I can't believe how hard I've fallen.Peeling myself off the pavement,I look down with tear-stained eyesexamining the scrapesof wounds deeper than I've ever knownWhy was I willing to risk so much?Shaking away the memoriesI bandage my woundsPromise that they won't become scars.

The History of PathsEric C. Lind

Footprints are interesting to me.When one walks in the paths of others,The fit is never quite right and one becomes

Awkward

Either too gainly or too prancing, too broad, or too thin.

And so the only recourse is to make footprints of you own,

BUT!

Footprints are interesting to me.

The paths that others walk leave a mark or history upon the earth,and though emulation is possible,duplication is ineffective.

And so I choose to walk beside the footprints I see...perhaps for awhile,trying to learn from other's circadian and extrovertive dancethat I might dance more gracefully within the prints my feet implant.

When I cross a path, I sometimes tempt to follow,or am compelled to change direction,to follow trails of those before me.

The most fascinating thing of all however islooking back to see that someone else has followed me,though perhaps I know not why,save that perhaps they choose to dance more gracefullyvia the imprints of my mark.

And though comforting, I'd prefer to walk aside another,that company be properly keptsuch that the paths don't seem so lonely anymore.

Perhaps that is the answer to my riddle:Be awkward enough to be noticed, thatthose who leave paths to followbecome fascinated by good company rather than

their own paths where

hands

are

y

not

linked.

Photograph by Alaina Cuglietto

My One 1€ 9h S an¢lCoC.

The nTgh÷ beforeI had managedÿ $cramb(ÿn9 Foo(7$h(vto puff my c(othe5 bach onto my bo4v.A(( but my $ochÿ.H[ÿ boÿv attem#teO to warm mTneÿbut ! ÿ7ÿn't have my $ocÿ$.When ! awoÿeÿ my #[t[Fu( striped ÿocÿ (av he(pIe$$ on the F(oor.They (ooÿeÿ out oF p(aceÿFar awavÿ

They had been surprTsed at the hurrTed mannern whÿch they were tossed From the (our) bed.

I wanted to reach For themÿbut h75 body sat watchTng,studvTng mV mo\/esÿana(vzÿn9ÿ comparTn9the nTght before.

ThTs mornÿngÿhe cou(dn't see any Iÿore of Iÿeÿhear another $oundÿFee( any more of ÿe.AFter the (The was drawnÿhe ÿ7ÿsed my cheeQ sweeHvhÿs 7ntentTon- my satÿ$factTonas 7F that WOU(d ÿaQe the sÿn$ dTÿappear.Sfftv boyIn truthÿ ÿ;i((V 9ir(.

My $ocRÿ ÿ;tff( (av hel/ÿ(ess.

lO

Find Your Way to White StreetMike Castro

The subway tramps rule the underworld with their visions for a new today

The six took a break at the heel of its tracks; it needs to cover some half hour delay

And the music plays on; the homeless girl's song tells what you'd never wanna say

And the weary feeling that nearly hit the ceiling is clouded by the traveler's crusade

Strangers all around making the sweet silent sound, hoping to catch the next train

Little Johnny with his mommy got lost on something shiny, coming back from wherethey came

Well the last time I heard the chime the doors shut in my face in time; pushing awaythe rest

Canal Street is next they said

Silly Willy just lost his mind, you can ask how he's doing, and he'll say he's fine

You'll see him riding that car each time, though he never knows where it goes

Punch-drunk luck found him his last two bucks in his tightly worn jeans

And he's heading back down to the other side of town where nothing's as it seems

Took the bullet back home; no longer on his own, keeping his girl in mind

And his long work's pay is just another day; tomorrow he'll be back at nine

Photograph by Joyana Peters 11

Opposite Page: Artwork by Paul Fleck

Photograph by Sarah Lusto

12

I ran into cAt first I couldI could not brec

So I pained my emotions all over it.I painted with every color I could squeeze out of my cans.

Would this liquefy the wall?Would this melt it like acid?

But I would not wont this even if it were possible.I pointed more than messages, more than pictures.

I pointed visions. I pointed stories.

Stories and stories of wail.

Time passed and I wondered if this wall would crumble down on me.I hoped the art critics would preserve my creation as a landmark.

So I kept painting.I keep evoking myvision.

And like some Indian sand painting,I wait for the wall to be swept away by the tide.

The wall isn't a wall anymore.

It's still there, but the shape is different now.Now it's o creation.

Now it's olive.

I run my fingers across the brick and I feel every fleck of my vision.The wall has become a mirror.

And I believe that there is no bad luck in breaking mirrors.

*Shatter*

My vision is reflected in 10,000 shards.

The vision endures.

13

Photograph by Michael Crenshaw

14

Peaceful walks down empty roadsSoftly croaking, shyly hidden toads

Sun passing from cloud to cloudIts light filtering through the cottony shroud

Tall grasses swaying in the breezeMÿjestic mountains in the distance a mirage-like tease

A field mouse scuttles across the path,In search of shelter from the bird of prey's wrath

An array of colors shimmers in the sky,Through which impressive falcons gracefully fly

They search with piercing eyes,Competing over the juiciest prize

The warmth of the day has a hypnotic effectIt becomes unimportant how far one has trekked

Then the sun begins its lazy descentShadows creep out, the day is spent

The sky is painted with fierce oranges and redAll life becomes hushed, the night they dread

Stillness settles over the land as the air becomes chillAt the edge of the path a rabbit crouches stock-still

The shadows had mercilessly spread,Before it had gotten back to its warm, earthy bed

Surging adrenaline spurs it to motionThe path must seem as vast as an oceanSafely inside it can now fall fast asleep

The night takes full hold and the darkness becomes deepNow only the soft thud of soles in the sand

Passively walking through the land

15

Artwork by Lilian Perez

16

Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn PoemLouis Resfifo

Hour upon hour with absence of reasoncoarse unknown yet consumed in endless thought;

tormented such with the act of treasonfalling upon my being, orto think naught?

For what cause? Off I wonder, purge the soul,searching for anchor in a sea of gray.

Would it be fulfilling? To complete the whole?Adding purpose to futility? Promise to the day?

Or follow as it has been done before;to turn deaf ear while such a promise breaks?

While to fight and struggle to swim ashoremight procure all the difference makes.

To act upon such matters sublime,yet love and fortune are allies of time.

Artwork by Paul Fleck

17

The Video Game HeroineChristina MoKi tish

I keep having these awful dreams

You enter the room, in all your glory

I, naturally situate myself in the best position possible

I have given up so many opportunities to be here, to win youback

You approach me

For these moments, I sleep easy, I am well.

You give me hope for our future

With memories of the past

Pictures, cards we wrote

Eye contact, smiles

Love seems to spring once again

Suddenly I am interrupted and must leave

Outside, I am informed that once I leave,

returning

But it was perfect for a moment

I need to get back inside

there is no

So I become a video game heroine

Climbing through air vents

And busting down doors

For you

Confusion encircles me

Every door looks the same

I seem to be getting nowhere

You are keeping me going

And I know that all the rules broken,

Because of that look in your eyes

I knew our love was back,

So this was all ok.

everything is worth it

18

I find a way to break down the walls of the door, and find you.

You turn to me and smile, but it's different

And I notice the manicured fingertips holding onto your

shoulder

I instantly know I've lost my chance

She reveals herself and forces a smile in my direction

I take one last look at you and return to following all the

rules.

Artwork by Lilian Perez

19

5ÿmare i Momenti Sempre Per (ug Sacri(£ove 9ÿ(ways ÿor 9liÿ Sacredÿlomenÿs)

£a Princiflessa dÿ Sacramenti

with each stare, with each kiss ÿ realize something more.

with each step ÿ take, sweet breath ÿ3qnÿ, ÿ lead/ijÿ to you.

Lÿhtly speaking, ÿ whisper in you ear at nÿht@ing you'dhear, but you are already fast asleep

Brushing your hair back,kissing your soft, w&oming cheek.

q want you to know...well, q can not tellyou.

sneak in secrets at n{ÿht, sacredmoments

while you arefast, peacÿlly asleeptellyou things,

mistakes ÿ maÿ, moments ÿ wish

to only share with you.

love you for sure, this ÿ know.

But, *breathes in* ÿ do not know

what to tellyou, what ÿ shouldtellyou,andwhat ÿ shouldnot tellyou.

*exhales*

while you sleep, ÿ stroke you arm, ÿ doonee proposed to you,

know you heardme, buryou were, yes again, fast asleep.

{Dar/ÿng angel, these sacredmoments ÿ sharewith only you.

*rolle closer to his body**whispers in his ear* ÿ want, well, what

really want is, welllet meput it this way...

Lei 'e /ÿ un voglio.

(YOU are the one r! want)

2O

Photograph by Shawna Mitchell

21

Kick at the Dirt FloorMichael Cowam

I walked back to the campfire but it had died and no onewas around. I opened up a tent. They were there sleeping. Icouldn't go to sleep now. She could. She could probably fall

asleep without much problem. I hadn't had good sleep in four

days.

It was Saturday night. Late. Thursday I woke up terrified

at 9 in the morning. Unable to get back to sleep. The room

spinning.It made the drive a lot harder the next day. It made

eating even worse. I couldn't finish a small sandwich. The

liter and a half of water was done before I made it out of

Jersey. I got lost. I got scared. I just wanted to be sure ofsomething solid. Something I could hold close.

Sitting around the fire all that I wanted was some

company. I didn't know anyone. My friends were asleep. Some

people were up in the site next to mine. Drinking, laughing,

talking, smoking. I wanted to walk over there but I couldn't.

It was late. The cold was climbing up my leg, working into my

lungs. I didn't feel like talking. I just wanted to listen toothers so I didn't have to think. Thinking was what made it so

bad. Things weren't supposed to be like this. Maybe they were.

Maybe this need to happen. It wasn't even that bad. I just

think too much. The long drive from the bus depot after she

left. She was supposed to be with me for that drive. For that

night. It just wasn't how things were supposed to go. And nowI'm stuck feeling selfish when she's the one who needs the

support.

The fire was just the remaining red embers. Every now and

then a flame would shoot up, ash flying into the trees then

landing on me. The flame would return to nothing just as quickas it started. But for the brief moment of it being there I

was happy, less alone, comfortable in the fleeting second of

warmth.I had arrived early on Thursday, waited around for her to

show up. Visited friends but the breath has been sucked from

my throat. I couldn't talk; couldn't pay attention. Sitting

around the fire a few days later the feeling was back. But now

it was a pain. It hurt to speak, hurt to breathe, hurt to

swallow.

The show had been amazing. I was becoming comfortable

with her. We were touching, dancing, holding, together. Mythroat cleared and I could talk. We drove back to her house. I

wanted to grab her hand. Hold it close. I couldn't.

22

Sitting over the dying fire. I had been shy since birth.When it comes to girls I hate making a move. Going in for thekiss. What if she turned away? What if I was bad and didn'tknow it? She wouldn't tell me.

She was faced away from me. We were touching, holding,

together. There was this beautiful girl lying in my arms. She

kept telling me that my heart was beating so fast. I feltembarrassed. I couldn't help it. I was lost. I was scared.

Next time she faces me I'll do it. Next time I promise. Ikiss the back of her neck. She's not turning. She knows me too

well. She knows what I'm thinking. She knows how shy I am. She

wants me to put effort into this. She knows what it means. My

heart was beating fast. My hands touching her lower back

slightly. Fingers brushing her side lightly. Trying to relax.Giggles and moans. The fire pops, an ember lights. The

warmth grows and hold me. Alone.

I grab her, roll onto my knees and steady myself above

her. I grab her face and look her in the eyes.

Hi," she says.

Without a sound I lean in and kiss her.

I couldn't fall asleep again. I was laying there, my face

buried in her hair, breathing in her beauty. Sinking inside ofthe smell. The fire was growing cold. But it didn't bother me.

We were different in so many ways. Similar in the ones

that mattered. It just needed time to grow. But there I was

next to the fire alone while she was back at her real home

away from college. Distant. Even when she comes home she's far

away. At school it's even worse. The flames had stopped

attacking; the logs were charred and black. I understood why

she wasn't there with me. I understood but I couldn't

comprehend.Why wasn't I enough to make everything better? Why did

this have to happen right now? What did this mean? When wouldI be able to see her again? I walked away from the fire as

another flame struck out against the black of the October

night. Reached the tent. Laid in my sleeping bag. Imaginedthat the extra blanket was her. Without any tears. Without any

yelling or loud noise. My head swimming in emotions I couldn't

comprehend.

Cold, Scared, Alone.

I still couldn't fall asleep.I would fall asleep for an hour and then wake up. I'd

pull her closer. Tangle my legs with hers. Kiss her forehead.

Anything to feel something real in my arms. Something that Ididn't need to explain with words. Just something real.

23

t eradicatesOne last look at ÿur hod3

last hate#ulglance at lhe hot water

Ies

hs}!ou

true.

Photograph by Joyana Peters

24

Artwork by Alaina Cuglietto

25

NowReÿimaAnn FfamulaTo

Gathering the swiftly wrapped packages that are seen heldtightly in her arms.

Hearing the sound of her jacket crinkle as she wraps it around

her pale, cold body.

Watching the snow fall, just as she walks across the bridge toher car with the door held

open by her driver.So delicate and beautiful, her hair covered in white crystals,

curls embrace her cheeks and

Keeping them warm, bright red lips blow out steaming air fromthe winter season

Her hands look so soft, innocent, like they have never been

touched by a soul.

She walks as if, seems as if there is nothing to be had wrongin her life.

Her body is kept so sensible, bundled in the warm clothesready for any snow storm to hit,

yet her heart she wears on her sleeve.

or so she tells everyone, even herself, she is trying to hide

it,But she has a heart for others.

Her lips reach out for his in her dreams.

I think so" she once said when she was asked if she was in

love.

Now, wondering, is she in love?[ Does she walk that path...

She seems so simple, yet so complicated each time I watch her.

She is hiding something, other than her heart.

Gracefully she skims the streets each morning, exercising,

taking in each fresh breath.

Thinking then, why is each exhale so harsh?She is asked one last time, one last time gracefully, simply,

and exhaustingly,Are you in love with him?!

I think so.

No, this time...tell the snow, tell me...your conscience...

As the tree branches made their noise and swept as far back as

they couldwith the snow flakes upn them,

Her conscience asked...

Are you in LOVE with him?[I tell the world conscience, I am."

I am in love with him..

now, at least I know."

Do you think he will take me back?["She licks her frozen glossy lips wondering about that question

every snow frost day,

26

he will, he will, he willshe slowly whispers so silently to herself everyday each

crisp, sunlit mourn.She continues her life like a mysterious beautiful woman with

snow swept hair, soft and

Delicate hands, and gorgeous eyes, eyes that hide everythingso well.

She does lose herself, in his eyes.

Now, the snow falls again.

Photograph by Katharine Faron

27

Photograph by Joyana Peters

Love's ArmsC.C.

All these days are flying byAnd I have little to remember them by,

Except structured schedules and lonely poems.Love's arms around me can be the only solution.

When love was knocking down my doorPounding, so hard

I could only think of how I wanted to be alone.How lovely independence was.

Yet now,Independent as one can be

I can only think of the sound the door had madeWhen the pounding wouldn't stop.

28

Artwork by Katharine Faron

29

I cooked, cleaned, and mothered while still keeping up mygrades. Mother thanked me for my maturity on a regular basiswhich was as much of a reward as I hoped for.

Griffin and I gave mother as much admiration as we couldwithout becoming overly superficial. We slept with her atnight and spent weekends inseparably together. These were theweekends where we would travel upstate to watch the leaveschange. As I sat in our rusty red station wagon on our wayback from our day out, while my brother slept and motherdrove, I could not help but think of how sick my mother reallywas. At this point it was rounding about two years since herdiagnosis. Her hair was becoming thinner and thinner everyday. Her beautiful dark hair that was always parted on theright side of her head, the hair that always found a way tofall over her emerald green eyes, was now disintegrating. Ithought of this as God's silent way of warning me.

The sky darkened almost as black as my dress, the leaves, ascolorful as a box of crayons. I held Griffin's hand tight ashe sobbed. My tears were not allowed to emerge for I knew if Ibegan, I would not be able to cease them. I was thirteenyears- old standing before my mother's grave; and I could nothelp but think this was not supposed to be happening,especially to me.

It has been nearly ten years since my mother's death. Each dayI wake I am thankful, and as each autumn passes I make sure towatch intently as the leaves change. As the leaves change fromgreen to yellow and tumble down, I am reminded of my mother'stransformation. It does not sadden me anymore; that is mysecret. As each day goes by I know I am growing into a womanshe would be proud of.

r-

=_

©

31

SightAndrew Rog

I see :

Sun reflection classic stop dream

Wake to cold toes extending beyond bed sheets

Made more of imagination than textile warmth.

Payments credited by electronic wire, rubber

coated, sent by

Hydropower. (Optometrist sees all).

Smoke mingling on hypnotic message board

bulletin

Controls push pin logic of back bending ashengreyFree carbon breeze hung visible dreams

Of constant float.

Fifteen teenage boys disperse to climb tallpines

At her suggestion that we had poisoned

ourselves minutes prior.

She was beautiful, accurate, gruesome, though

I had no need to be told of my own veins.

Wild excitement of madmen, half- crazed telling

me

Grinning wide- mouthed, foul- breathed

insinuations

That I would die lonely too.

I was almost able to comprehend, he grinned.

Perpetual cough muffled violent blast of posthoc conclusions

Ruptures deep sleep never silent flash of

marshmallow

Shaped black powder projecting heavy artillery

Till blackened smokestacks of battleship fillwith salt water.

32

Abandoned and dejected A-Frame, rented for

short time

To produce copious crops of tea

Littered with bottle caps,

Dust webs and spider mites.

Small pack of young drunks in the early morning

Returning home from livations

Cease walking

Before a colossal red brick worship house.

There is a shopping cart visionary screaming

And banging fists on the inspiring churchentrance.

We say nothing and join her

And bang fists on the inspiring churchentrance.

Discordant dilemmas of alcohol in the eyes

As man life vodka stomach and ponders

Oblique muscle contraction

And the night's guitar string melodies.

Consolation in non-acceptance

Because my differences

Don't assimilate, do alarm:

Northern spruce tree, forlorn amongst

palms.

Artwork by Dana Owen

33

Artwork by Michelle Coutts

34-

What is Love?Okayplayer

Is it when that person is the only one on your mind?Saying to yourself, "I wish you were mine"

Is it that one verse in a songthat makes that person's name run on and on?

Is it that warm feeling you getlike watching a beautiful sunrise?

Is it that time late at nightthat thinking about that person makes sleep a fight?

Is it looking into that person's eyes,knowing that this feeling isn't a lie?

Is it when that person is in your head 24/7,making you feel like she is a gift from heaven?Or is it finally telling that person how you feel

hoping to make this burning emotion with her realIs this love? I don't know?

But if you find out let me know...

Photograph by Shawna Mitchell

35

Stages of a Love StoryChristina HcKi tish

I.

I sit in this lonely corner

as you wipe your feet on the doormat.

The vibrations rush through my body

send chills down my spine.

You walk towards me

pick up my trembling hands,

And whisper softly

about things to come.

But my hands are still trembling,

my heart barely beating.

I am scared.

I want nothing more-

than to be with you,

but these hands shake my entire body

blur my sight,

cloud my mind.

I wonder

what it would be like to step out of my skin

and leave these trembling hands behind?

II.

We watch eachother's lips

forming words

which cause tears to rise and hands to tremble.

My heart burns

each time

you speak.

I never wanted this

(or I will tell myself that)

Because I am afraid.

Because I sleep deep beneath the covers,

and have nightmares-

which echo the words we speak

36

III.

The future, if any, seems grim.

I cannot grasp these feelings

This regret

This jealously

Or the reasons for my actions

My thoughts,

My tone of voice

When I speak to you

And you say-where did you go

And I say-I don't really know

Because I don't

Know anything,

And I don't

Have anything

IV.

Loneliness is

4:30am

Saturday.

Staring into deepdarkness

with eyes soggy

from the never ending

tears.

Blurring sight

with sound effects

from misshaped mouths

that cry out

too often.

Artwork by Michelle Coutts

Photograph by Alaina Cuglietto

38

Life is Only an AcquaintanceC.C.

Has my luck run out?

Apparently I was using it for the wrong things,

cause nothing have I wanted more than this.

It has been a long while since this feeling has grazed myheart.

Now it is shaking me to the core.

Things I should've done, the way I would're been happier now

Everything happens for a reason, yet

what is this reason that would make me feel as miserable as

this?

Want to have faith, want to have hope,

but my patience is running short.

And when patience deserts me, where does that leave my heart-

where does it leave my head...

Certainly not anywhere I want to be.

And yet I wonder

why is it so bad to be with myself?

Why must I find someone to keep me happy?

I need someone to replenish my energy.

I thought that you would supply it.

But I'll always want more.

Life never stops where you expect it to,

and it will never wait for you.

Even if you have to stop to tie a shoe,

would.

like any good friend

39

Too Damn LongMicheZZe CoZZins

I tried, but it died.Even put my own life aside,

And for what?But to have you destroy everything

That I saved.

Once was enough,Six times was crazy

I finally begin to realizeYou are just too damn lazy

To put an effort intoSomething everyone wants...

And you have it.And you lost it.

Do you even sleep anymore?Or are you still so sure

That you did nothing wrong,You were right all along,

It's ok to hurt theWho would have died for you

The one,

Who saved your life that nightAnd who did nothing but fightTo keep your friendship strongBut this has gone on too long.

Too damn long.

4o

What are you gonna do

When the world comes after you,

And you realize that what you need

Is in her eyes.

The eyes you filled with tears,

Even after all these years

And you were the one

Who forced the parayzed to run,

Away from the madness

That you caused.

Photograph by Michelle Thrasher

4ÿ

Growing UpJoyana Peters

Every summer growing up my family went down to visit our familyfriends in Virginia. Their son Paul and I had grown up together as chil-dren in New York, and then they moved away when we were about 9years old. Paul and I remained friends over the years and kept in touchthrough letters. As time went by our relationship changed, as graduallywe hit puberty and began to see each other for the boy and girl that wewere becoming. There was one summer in particular that has alwaysstuck in my mind.

I was about 13 years old that summer; my family went down to visitfor the 4th of July. The families decided to go to a barbeque over byanother farm nearby. We all piled into two cars. I sat in between Pauland his little sister Melanie. Paul and I talked about what had beenhappening in school, how different this year had been at junior highand how hard our finals were. Melanie kept trying to get me to playBarbies with her. I tried not to be mean, but she was being so annoying.We finally got to the barbeque and we all spread out and did our ownthing. The parents went off and started drinking with the other adults.Meanwhile, Paul and I began our usual game of the last couple of sum-mers, "trying to ditch the little kids."

There was a brook that ran through the property; Paul said it wasreally cool because it led up to a dam at the end after a good fifteen-minute walk. We decided to walk it knowing that the kids would be tooscared to follow us into the woods. The woods were really cool andthere was a nice breeze that blew through the trees. I felt goose bumpspop up on my uncovered arms. As we walked it began to get darker asdusk slowly settled on top of us. We carried little glass jars with us tocatch fireflies later. As we walked through the woods, the groundbeneath us slowly began to slope up as we began to climb up a hilltowards the dam. Faraway in the distance we began to hear the noise ofrunning water, signaling that we were getting closer. The sun began todroop in the sky and hide behind the branches of the large treesmaking funny, shadowy outlines of the leaves on the ground in front ofour toes.

Along the way Paul pointed out different plants explaining theirnames and differences to me. I made fun of him saying that he wasbeginning to sound more and more like a country boy to me. As it gotdarker it became harder to see as we climbed our way through thetricky path. I stumbled over a root and Paul caught me by the arm. Hishand slowly slid down my arm and he began to hold my hand. Wecontinued walking that way for the rest of the way to the dam: sweatyhands clasping each other, trying to match each other's strides, ner-vously trying to anticipate what came next.

42

Finally, we reached the dam and sat down on the ground next to it.It was beautiful. The stars were out in the sky and unlike home in NewYork there were no buildings here to block the view. We laid down onour backs in the tall, green grass and could see the navy blue skystretched out for miles with gorgeous little diamond specldes decorat-ing it. It was one of the most beautiful moments I have ever experi-enced in my life. As we laid there Paul began to point out some of theconstellations, "See over there? That's the Big Dipper. And over there?They call that Orion's Belt." As he talked, I noticed that slowly he wasinching closer and closer to me. I smelled Doritos and hot dog on hisbreath. Suddenly, my face was facing his. We laid there looking at eachother for a couple of seconds. I noticed an ant climbing a piece of grassnext to my face. Finally, he leaned in and I felt his warm lips closing inover mine in a wet kiss. As he pulled away I felt my lips curl into anuncontrollable smile. It was perfect. Then he turned away immediatelyembarrassed. "So, uhm I guess we should probably head back right?"he asked. "Yea they'll probably be looking for us," I answered. Westood up and brushed ourselves off and began to head back to theothers.

As we walked back silently into the dark woods I realized that ev-erything would be different now. No longer were we childhood friendswho had swum in the same kiddy pool together and danced in thesprinlder. No longer were we the kids that had held hands and gonetrick or treating and climbed trees and gone bike riding. We were be-coming teenagers now, and there was no going back. That simplicity oflife was gone, from now on there would always be awkward momentsand there would always be complications.

For the first time, I was actually afraid of growing up and losingeverything I knew. I was entering into uncharted territory. Then sud-denly, Paul reached out and tool< my hand. I looked over at him andsaw him smiling at me. I realized then that everything was going to bealright. As so many other times before, we were in this together. Thiswould just be one other adventure to add to the list.

43

44

Danielle Ruest

Layer by layerNever cut straight throughYou let it do the damageYou let it stick with you

The first layer is goneThe second's wearing thin

And right before you know itYour outside's your within

And all I'm left to questionIs why can't you dig straight through?

If you never look at what is thereHow can you live with you?

Now you have to find the piecesThat melted long ago

Patch them backAnd force them back

Make a new top layer for show

I wish this didn't happenBut still i'm glad I know

I'll push you throughBut I know you

Your outside's your within

And all I'm left to questionIs why can't you dig straight through?

If you never look at what is thereHow can you live with you?

Now you have to find the piecesThat melted long ago

Patch them backAnd force them back

Make a new top layer for show

I wish this didn't happenBut still I'm glad I know

I'll push you throughBut I know you

You've got nowhere to go.

4-5

A Leap of FaithKatÿarime Farom

Trust in me

Think of what I can be

Look past my age,

Hy occasional rage

Peer into my eyes

There lays no defenses, no lies

Don't let me pass by

All I ask is just try

You won't be sorry, I promise you

I am loyal and true

I do nothing half-heartedly

Always I give all of me

Dormant treasure lies inside

It could be yours if you tried

You'd find support,

A study fort

Someone who understands

To take you to unexplored lands

A devoted listener

Who'd seek a cure

A fighter by your side

A caring guide

A gentle touch

A hug, a sturdy shoulder when it all becomes too much

Give it a chance

Don't walk- dance

Defy all pretense

Let down all defense

Be open to all

Don't be afraid to fall

46

There's mere to me than you know

A beauty, an inner glow

It can't be seen with a glance

You must be patient, take a chance

I'm complex, I won't lie

But without depth I'd rather die

Take a leap, fear not what is deep

Let faith guide,

Throw aside pride

You may be surprised

The best things are often disguised.

Anonymous Photograph 47

Photograph by Sarah Lusto

48

On behalf of Montage, we would like to thank the followingpeople for their continued support throughout the production

of this magazine:

Patricia Comitini

Scott Hazan

The Chronicle

WQAQ

The Yearbook

The English Club

Suzanne Mahle

49

| \