The Stony Brook Press - Volume 33, Issue 6/7, Web Literary Supplement

8/3/2019 The Stony Brook Press - Volume 33, Issue 6/7, Web Literary Supplement

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2 SB PRESS Wednesday, December 7

Vol. XXXIII, Issue 6/7

Some o us editors had oresaken our duties to our classes, quizzes, andpapers in an eort to spread the word aboutTe Press Literary Supplement. Apparently we did an unusally good job this time around because we hadmore submissions than expected, and more submissions that we could ftinto one (double) issue. So as promised, this is the Literary Supplements WebSupplement, complete with all poems, pictures, and short stories that couldnot work their way into our print issue. Now that the semester is over, at leastit should be, please enjoy some more o your peers creative works. You donthave anything else to do or six weeks, so take your time with this baby. We

certainly took our time putting it together. (Sorry!)

Alex Iosub Ali SundermierArielle Dollinger Chris PrioreDaniel Cashmar Elizabeth YooEvan Goldaper Jasmine HaenerJared Hunte Jesse SmithLiz Early Liz KaempNader Nouraee Nicole KohnPaul Longo R.J. HunekeRohit Kaushik S.F. CooperSummer Broeckx-Smith Sarah EvinsVirginia Mule Zuri annis

A LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

CONTRIBUTORS

**Cover Art and Watercolor Images By Vincent Barone**


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Vol. XXXIII, Issue 6/

Wednesday, December 7

He exists modestlyFilled with over-attering honesty, gone is he.

In a world o antasy creationsHis reality shaken,

By the realization o his participation in unwarranted rejected inatuation

Pressure mounts, social pressure risesLies a bad joke with no punch line on the horizon

As he tithes ten percent o his lie to emotional charityHe searches or peace in a ogged up world lacking clarity

Hilarity ensues as he attempts some sense o normalityLooked down upon i he stays the same

Laughed at i he tries to change

Strange hes calledWritten therapy or the problems he cant solve.For love he searches desperately

But to be spurned by the other sex seemed like his destinyUntil he nds one with an impure uture, present, and past

His only concern is whether it will lastAnd whether shell love him back

Is being alone his ate?

Hopes the eelings hes had or so long shell reciprocateShe does, giving the gi o her soul and heart

Until death does them part....

Life/Love?

JARED HUNTE


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I have nothing more to give.You understand, Id give you anything, but I have nothing moreand yet, I still give and give and giveBut its alright. I can give rom lack because o you.You give me just as much.Even when you dont have anything to give,Because I give to you.

We are a partnership, a one.But separate.Unique.

Complementary.

We give so much o ourselves,But we keep ourselves.We are not a synthesis.No, nothing that boring.Not that limiting.We are spontaneity planned.

We are as dierent as dierent can be,But yet, you are always there or me.When I was scared, you comorted me.

Kick some ass, sea bass.When I was happy, you rejoiced.

I always knew youd make it.

Always there with a smile, a joke.Lil Bit, you are better than you know, believe in yoursel.

Long arguments.Longer movie marathons.Bright yellow personality.(Id say you need a bigger body to t your heart, but I dont think they make them that big

LIZ EARLYSpontaneity Planned

We Are As DifferentAs Different Can Be


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A tear running down their acesNowhere to go, no one to seeTeyre alone, no one by their sideTeir hands dirty, covered in dirtTeir clothes ripped, eeling the cold air blow its way

through the holesTe ground hard and coldTeyre looking or something, anything to wrap their cold

rigid bodies intoTey see this mysterious body standing over them

Tey look up, their eyes scared like a little kid araido the monster hiding under their bedTe mysterious gure holds out its hand, and they slowly

put their hands in itsTe gure is none other than a young girlTe girl wraps a blanket around their cold bodies, and puts

a cup o hot chocolate in their handsHe looks up at this girl, who doesnt look at all scared,

and realizes that maybe there are people out there thatdo care

Te girl takes out a ve dollar bill, kneels down and puts itin his hands

He looks up, but the girl is already goneHe looks around, but she wasnt anywhere in sight.He hopes shell be back again, because he wants to see the girl who

in his mind is the only one who truly cares.

NICOLE KOHNThat Thing They Call Love

Reection

She never elt like this beore. Lying in bed with this man who shes known or about ayear. But to her it elt like a lietime. Toughts ran through her mind. Running awaytogether, getting married. She opened her eyes with a smile on her ace and lookedaround. But he was gone.


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Lightning stretches and sparkles like rootsGrasping, branching and eeding

Electric possibilitiesPathsRoads

Print ont paragraphsrails o titles umbling with time

Flashes o reality resonate rom each o your ngertipsCatch rain beore it slips away

Youve typed electricity ore nowShowing, eeling and living

Sounds like grasses olding solyWindsSighs

Cradling your armsIn stanzas so dirtily clean

Rock and sing notes soaring more sensationally than theyll ever knowLove space C no space R space Love.

Lightning Branches

R.J. HUNEKE

Photo By

Nader Nouraee

Gloria Tattoo


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Succulent round moundOen weepingSo sweetWarm, so

Fold meets sphericalFuzzy and smooth

So wetSoRich, so

A sharp pungent tasteMore deliciousSo strongSoPink, so

Saturated touchSticky and moistSo sweetSoWarm, so

DistinctUnlike any otherDevouringDream-likePeach, E.

Vagina.

Venus, what is this bubbling, milky draught?

Was this poured pure rom the breast o your thought?

Mine eyes behold the hands and the cups cra,

Tat rest near the raised red peaks that have brought,

emptation to leave behind all I sought;Sustenance the like o which my poor soul,

Need but nourish itsel with, immortal caught

Stretching her legs bridge cross times darker hole,

Enraptured in sex goddesss slow, weeping role.

Venus, mortals are not meant to do this,

Elders turn rom Natures christening glance,

ell us, this is base desire, and hiss:Tere is only love with godly romance;

But Lady, what about Christs well-placed lance?

Was his spouse not Mary; did they not love?

Immortalitys cup stiens my stance,

Do I consummate the destructive shove,

Ruin the evil organized church rom above?

Peach

V for All Time?

R.J. HUNEKE


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Whether you love me or notis not a question I have thoughtto ask.

Leaving is not an actionIve harbored in my mind

And on a long drive rom home to homeI thoughto air autumnal oliageand what has happened in a year

I ell to sleep by your sideand though you were such an angel,that was beore

Beore this and that;quiet, quiet.

Dont wake up

It will end it always does.

I love herwhy do I love them?I dont want to touch anythingat all

Its all a messthat I cannot bearand I dont want to hearyoure le

Passing through my mindis a sound a wind chimebut theres not a breeze in the airand Im lost

CHRIS PRIORE

Autumn No. 1

Wind Chimes

Dreamer


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oday I swum through the labrinth in haste

Attempted to gizzard its helm

Riding through the black-orest and cotton sea-are,

I soon shuddered, nding a realm

Where the kumquats and utterbys anchor like moss

And the rolling mulberries unwind

Where I swallow the calming electric entrail

And awake in incarnadine brine.

All voracious behemoths that clamored to climb

And rapaciously swung vine to vine

Now unurl their tight vertebrae, cling to the dust

And dislodge that vile apple rom spine.

Sometimes poems

arent supposed to make sense

SARAH EVINS

Image By

Arielle

Dollinger


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JESSE SMITH

Couch-side ConfessionHey. Isnt this awkward?

But

why

does it have to be?

Is it because its so hard to see how this doesnt end in catastrophe?

Tis part o my brain long since atrophied.

My verbal skills decline at the moment I contemplate leaving my comortable box inside riendships

made years ago and heated debate.

But its not too late or us to change our ways,

its not ate that brought us here

and to ignore this would be a mistake,

I think.

Maybe.

But youre beautiul. And its not like youre some untouchable ne thing, locked behind the sky or in

a museum,

youre a person.

And beore I see the inside o a mausoleum Id like to see you on the opposite side o a table eating

dinner with me. On a date. Because uck, youre real and Im here and youre sitting next to me and

that makes me want to taste your tongue, breathe deep your soul, caress your ace, turn you to me and

ask burning questions like, What the hell are we doing here on Earth?, Is there a God or a heaven?

and What do you think o ketchup on eggs?

And Ive already met your parents, so its not like it would be that complicated.

Who am I kidding, it would, but everything is, and why do we need to pretend like things have to besimple?

Because i they were, wed die o boredom.

But its not like I want to run away with you.

Im not in love, just a date will do.

Just dinner and a movie. Or drinks and a board game. Tat could work, too.


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Te moon looked like it was taped to the sky

last nightand the stars like they were holes in some

giants eyelid

closed about the earth. What is it that I did

to deserve the scorn o your morning breath

hot on my neck? Am I so short-sighted

that I didnt see you worn thin

rom the death o your bright-eyed-kid

perspective, or have I been dea

to the invective you pour on me

every dawn, and just now Ive cleared

my ears to hear you name the ears

you shout in our collective yawn?

I would have drawn down that yellow-white

sphereand staked it to the lawn or you to admire

just to see you cheer, even i I expired

rom the raw eort required.

But then our situation didnt seem

so dire. Passing our time on some titans

eyeball,

our backs against the wall o your parentshouse,

staring into the replace, our objectively

respective

limbs intertwined to become subjective in my

mind

unable to tell which were minehow could I have oreseen the wild

shapes that lie in between the lines

o your smile today? What part did I play

in the creation o the oreboding sound o

your erratic

heart that I could swear pounds out some

emphatic

Morse code accusation? Your eyes utter open

and Im ready or some dramatic damnation

to be bestowed upon me, and I weigh

the ways I could play my response,

but to my dismay your lip has already raised

and I cant delay nor evade, so I just pray

and you say,

Good morning.

And I

realize

that

Im probably

just alittle

bit

paranoid.

Waking Up With You


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ARIELLE DOLLINGER

Bellezarboles y ores de papel,

Podra mirarlos para siempre,Un sol y pajaro de papel, tambin,

No se mueven,Son permanentes.

Miro al cieloy veo un cohete

que esta volando sobre mi cabeza.

Pero que son cosas bonitassin carne y sangre?

Meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow, Meowmeow meow meow meow. Meow meowmeow meow, meow meow meow. Meow meowmeow meow meow; meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meowmeow meow.

Meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow, meow meow. Meow meow meow,Meow meow meow, meow! Meow, meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow.

Meow; meow meow meow, meow meow. Bitches aint shit but hoes and tricks, Meow meowmeow.

Meow meow meow meow meow. Meow, meow, meow meow meow meow meowmeow meow meowmeow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow:meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow. Meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow?

SQUEAKY

A Cats Dilemma or Why I Believe We Need Equal Rights


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SUMMER BROECKX-SMITHOh how the West winds reach to wrapand whoosh me cross burnt arms.

Tey bribe with ulgent crimson skies,height, and blazing harm.

But I know not which lovinglydragged orth to tart vacationrom worldly lives. Yet clouded eyescrave ghosts o observation.

Te heart yearns, the head yearns,

pining dreams o the depressed,the body yearns. Adventure struckyet collectively protest!

Autonomous antics mustbe evered to run away.For dead-end dreams choked to lieand lust coerce me to stay.

Conned spirits weep or mindless lossand base-torn ties o mindless too.Matte muscles beg to trudge alonebut still my soul belongs to you.

Tese words all harsh upon cruel earsI know. Piteous echos withinblend renzied up with lucid ear.Cant you please let this begin?

So while words scorn burnt vanilla love,evoked to hate me more,my war-worn heart rests West and lonelyon springtimes crashing shore.

Burnt Vanilla Love

Image By

Alex Iosub

Bare It


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Scary Story DANIEL CASHMAR

In time primordial, the ancient beings craed a world ocreeping darkness. Realizing their olly, they smashed theworld into a singularity and covered it with rock and water.

Much time has passed and our tale begins with the passingo gods to men, the age when technology ruled the minds ohumanity.

Te center o the Earth had become the goal and the intriguebrought Him orth to lead the task. Burrowing away at thesurace and piercing the rock that guards, it spiraled deeper anddeeper. Te temperature increased exponentially as they nearedthe boiling mass o liquid re beneath. Tis was prepared or, ashumanity had grown wise, and yet their naivety persisted. Teshielding o the drill allowed them to swim through the moltendeath and begin to drill into the nal security.

Te thick iron shell reluctantly allowed the entrance othe drill and a thick ethereal tentacle sprouted vigorously rom

the crack. It stabbed through the translucent glass o the drilland into the shivering hearts o the bold yet asinine explorers.Several tentacles budded o o the original and stabbed intotheir brains.

Te tentacles dug into His brain, revealing the inner earand darkness o him. Mouth agape with the visions o horror, hismind begged or end. o know the true terror o the universe, toknow the ate o all lie, He ell to his knees and He became onewith the horror as did they all.

Once again, the world rom which death cometh had risenand the ancient beings had passed. Te tentacle smashed theiron cage rom itsel and began its expansion, absorbing thepower o the re that ows. With this kinetic expansion o

energy, it broke away at the rock and entered the domain humanity.

Frozen with the horror o the gods, they did not resist th

coming uneral o Earth. Te growing darkness ate througthe limited expanse o the world and reached to envelope thglowing night. But humanity had indeed grown wise and wno longer limited to their blue birthplace.

Aboard the Starship Seawol, a crew had assembled combat the oe using strong magnetic orces. Te darkly glowinonce world grew larger, grabbing at the Moon and devouringwith the black horror. Large slabs o magnetic metal had beerooted rom the remainder o their solar system and the eterndoom continued inserting the terror o death among the planet

Te Starship Seawol had succeeded in its mission to contathe primordial darkness by creating a new magnetic shell aboit. But a piece had escaped, a perpetually-silhouetted Him, an

He comes at night to drive minds to insanity. I tell you thimy son, so you may know o the threat we battle every nighOur minds, our grasp on reality is that which He seeks and thhorror drives many to the solitary constant o our universedeath.

With your quizzical look, I wish or you to speak and athis question you have. One question only, my ather. What a Seawol? ell us what you think it means to be a SeawoUpload a short video o yoursel to Youtube and send the link [email protected] showing your school spirit!

Photo By

Liz Early


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Lauren wasnt a model by any stretch o the imagination,but she wasnt ugly either. And she had decided lastnight that today was going to be the big day. oday

she would sit next to a totally random stranger on theExpress bus, like she did every day, but instead o pretendingto listen to music or check the messages on her phone shewould say good morning and how are you doing? and tryto carry on that most basic o human interactions; a simpleconversation, no strings attached.

It was a crisp December morning and mist hung in theair. A crowd was gathered to board the buses in South P.Tere was no way Lauren would make the next bus, and onthe one aer that she would probably be standing.

At least I wont be the only one late or class, Laurenthought. Everyone had a 9:50 class, which had already started.

She had been thinking about the whole thing or a whilenow, the way she usually did, pondering the what is and themaybes and trying very hard to talk hersel out o the idea.Te problem, according to Lauren, was that our society hadevolved, impossibly, into an anti-social one. Sure, everyonewas on Facebook and texting all the time, but headphonesand the Internet had made physical human interaction amere ootnote o daily lie.

She worked through the crowd and managed to nd aseat on the second bus.Good morning, she said.

Morning, the Asian replied.At least the skies are clear, she said. Lauren understood

that weather was critical to any small talk.Mhm, thats good.So where do you commute rom?Home, the Asian said.Wheres that?East Setauket.Oh. Whats that, like, twenty minutes? She had no idea

where East Setauket was.en actually. Not even.Oh thats it? Must be convenient.Mhm.Lauren lived in Kings Point and had to run over three

people to make it to campus in an hour. She hated EastSetauket and everyone who lived there.

What year are you here?Freshman.Really? Cool. Do you like it so ar?Its alright.How have your classes been? Te bus was only now

pulling out o the lot.Mixed.What are you taking? asked Lauren.

Math, which is easy. Physics, which is kind o hard. AnChemistry, I dont even know why Im taking, the Asian sai

Tats a pretty tough load or your rst semester.

Apparently my orientation leaders didnt think so.took a lot o AP classes in high school and Im Asian so thegured I was a real brain or something. Fuck that. Its agood though.

Doesnt sound too good. Do you know what you wato do?

Not get in trouble or being late to class.I mean in general.I dont know, get good grades.What about aer school? Like in lie?Oh, I dont know. Med School probably, i I can get i

Or nursing. Or architecture.

Its okay i you arent sure. You have time.I know. But I get depressed thinking about it.You shouldnt be. Do whatever makes you happy. T

was the biggest load o crap and it had trouble coming out Laurens mouth. But someone had said it to her once wheshe was down and she remembered eeling better aerwardAnd who knew? It could be true.

Well, the Asian continued, not depressed like suicidor anything. Just depressed like when you gently push aacorn into the dirt with your thumb. Tat kind o depressed

You know most kids change their major like ve timeright?

Tats comorting.Do you have any siblings?One. Older.What does she do?He teaches kindergarten in the city.Ah, okay. I see. I could never do that. Kindergarten.

would be too much like day care.You dont like children? the Asian asked.I do. Just not all at the same time.You know the bad thing about good times is that the

pass.Huh?But thats also the good thing about bad times.Te bus turned the roundabout onto Circle Road an

kids were making their way over the crosswalk rom thdormitories to the academic buildings. Some were runninand others only ast-walking. Te kids on the bus were halawake now as the caeine set in. Lauren watched one coupcross the street, hand in hand.

S.F. COOPERInto the Dirt


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Petrichor and Earth ROHIT KAUSHIK

Autumn is a time o dying. As winter encroaches uponthe world, a wave o ading and atrophy precedes it.Slowly, the earth gives itsel up to the cold. But orall the destruction that autumn brings in its wake,

it remains the most beautiul o seasons. It is sel-immolation.For a brie moment, the world lights up in its own demise. I theseasons are meteoroids, incessantly crashing through our lives,autumn is a meteor. Tough it may disintegrate as it plummets,it does so with unrivaled elegance and splendor, and much likeseeing shooting stars, it is a time or memories and a time orwishes.

As I start a long walk home, I remember this. Te trees areablaze with their own decay, and I join in with the same abandon.My eet seek out the dried, shriveled leaves. Te harmony ocrunches orces a smile on my ace. It is an old happinessone

ound young and never orgotten. Te road is busy with peoplecoasting through their day, but I let them watch my ckle dancedown the sidewalk. Le, right, right, back, quick hop orward,a kick ahead.

Not quite out o breath, but breathing deeper, I slow andtake in the air; its dry but rich on my tongue. It lingers, cleansingmy palate o a rich and decadent summer. I walk again, savoringthe tasteearthy and aged. I know the leaves I had so gleeullyreduced to dust add to the eect.

A breeze whips past and completes my image o the season.Te leaves on the ground all up; the leaves on the trees alldown. Te sky is cloudy, but or once, it is acceptable. Te snug

embrace o my coat provides a unique warmth which can onlybe elt and appreciated in the presence o the cold that makesthat very coat necessary. It is a marriage o opposites that makesme eel more complete.

As the breeze dies down, the sky begins to drizzle. Its tobe expected, but it is not part o my ideal. Te rain disrupts themarriage and lets the cold penetrate my skin. It is a reminderthat winter comes next, a cruel season when autumn is solemnbleak when autumn is radiant. I walk aster, but the sky matchesmy pace. I lazily and haleartedly try to resume my dance, butthe crispness o the leaves has been drowned. I can no longerhear their satisying, comorting crunch. All that is le is a hinto resistance beneath my eet and only the suggestion o eeling;it is the ghost o a ghost giving up beneath my eet.

Te walk no longer holds its appeal, and I continue toquicken pace. Te air has soured on my tongue. Te sophisticated

vintage has become waterlogged. Te moistness encouragesthe chill into my body. Tere is nothing le in it to savor, and Idiscourage mysel rom acknowledging the winter within.

I arrive at home not yet soaked and with enough drynessle in me to ee inside. I call out and am greeted mostly bysilence. I do hear the sound o people moving about, but the

noises only serve to emphasize the deeper silence o the housIt is the sound o people not talking. I know it well, and entgingerly, knowing what lies within. Te silence, straining at mentrance, is orced to resettle around me and the noises I brinbut it perseveres and embeds itsel once again into the houand the air.

Tere are broken dishes on the oor. Red, yellow, white, angreen shards litter the kitchen. Teir crunch beneath my shoesa blight on my mood, but, like the silence, it breaks. I perseverTis too is an old memory; this too is not easily orgotten.gather mysel up and clean the debris. Te memories o mealong ago shared get tossed in the waste alongside the remnano meals recently consumed.

I breathe in deep when Im nished. Te air is stale, andseem to taste a hint o bitterness that I know isnt truly there

venture out o the kitchen to the upper oor. Te stairs, almoa century old, complain at the injustice my body causes themTeir groans announce my arrival, and I pointedly ignore thlack o a response. wo separate rooms, two separate silencgrow dim and harsh as one. Tey do not look orward to beindisturbed, and I am happy to comply.

I pass by the rooms and step into the bathroom. Its dimlit and ar rom pristine; it remains a welcome sight. I throo my clothes and step into the shower. I turn the hot rwait, and then turn the cold. Te water goes rom burning, reezing, to warm, and then nally one step below burninSteam billows around me. Te air is once again moist, but it

a warm moisture. It brings back the warmth that the rain tooout o me. I breathe it in again. Te breath is tasteless; vapor htaken over completely, drowning my senses.

As my body becomes accustomed to the heat, I delicateturn up the hot water, daring it to try to burn again. I continthis until the heat can go up no urther; the penetrating chill hbeen purged rom my body, but I know better than to get useto it. I grab a towel, dry mysel, and wrap it around my bodpreparing mysel or the cold that lurks outside the curtainsstep outside, and eel the chill again attempt to insinuate itseinto me. I hastily dress and leave the bathroom behind me.

Te silence is still hostile, and I leave that too behindcontinue my retreat until Im outside and back in the autumchill. Its no longer raining. I orego my coat and instead lmysel eel the cold. I take another breath. Te sour moistuo the rain is gone. Instead, it le a reshness that minglwith the surrounding decay. It is a warm smell, and it is mucappreciated. Petrichor and earth mingle inside me, bringinback silent memories. Autumn is too quickly exhausted angiven up to winter, so I look up at the bonre o the trees anmake a wish.


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It was nice meeting you.It was nice meeting you, too.

It was a normal exchange. Its a ormality, right? We utterthose words whether it was actually nice meeting someoneor not.

But what i it actually was? What i it actually was nicemeeting someone, and then that person walks out o ourlives orever, leaving us with only those ve dreadul words:It was nice meeting you.

Is it ate? Does ate exist? Do we see that person againi were supposed to, or meant to? Or do we decide whathappens?

Teyre age-old questions, with good reason.She sat in the ofce o the small local newspaper she

was interning at that summer wondering why shed just lethim walk away with his sparkling eyes and rm handshake.Hed poked his head into her little corner, uttered the ever-so disappointing words, It was nice meeting you, ashed asmile in her direction, and walked out the door.

Ideally, the story would have played out like this:She got up rom her chair, ollowed him out the door,

caught up with him and asked him i he wanted to get coeeand talk. She knew next to nothing about him, but somethingin his eyes, something she couldnt quite pinpoint, made herintent on nding out more.

He held the door open and they walked into the coee

shop. Sipping her vanilla latte, she listened intently to htales o traveling to Europe and Arica. Why was it th

stories about Europe and Arica seemed so picturesque anperect? Tere was corruption and malice there too, wasnthere? Maybe they just seemed better because they wethe unknown, she thought.

She told him that the arthest shed been rom home wCanada, and that shed always dreamt o traveling the worlShe told him o the articles she was working on or the papeShe told him about her hobbies, her art and her music. Anhe listened, looking at her as i she were the only person the coee house, maybe even the only person in the world.

Tere was just something about his smile. She wanted say something unny just or the chance to watch him smiand hear him laugh one more time.

But thats not how it happened.She got up rom her chair, walked to the ofce doo

stepped onto the pavement outside, saw him walking dowthe block, and then she turned around, put her hand othe doorknob, twisted it, and stepped back onto the sacomortable, carpeted oor o the ofce.

She imagined that his image eventually aded into thexpanse o the sidewalk and the trees and the houses ancars.

And he was gone.

Nice To Meet You ARIELLE DOLLINGER

Photo By

Liz Early


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It all happened so quickly, yet at the same time everything wasmoving in slow motion. I moved to click to the next slide o

my presentation, and there was a knock at the door. Everyoneturned to look and see who it was.Come in, I shouted. It was my secretary. Each person in

the room noted the grave look that covered her ace. I knew thenthat the six months the doctor had promised would never be. Teclicker ell rom my hand.

* * * * *People like to say, its the little things in lie: the little things

people say, the little gis they give. Ive come to realize that itsreally only about the little time we have and the little collectiono cancerous cells in my wies body. Te short, little sentence thedoctor used, Im sorry, and the little pleasure I had le in my lie.I someone had told me how much the little things would ruin mylie, I probably would have tried to live abigger lie. Now lookingback it seems like it happened so long ago when I rst ound out.

It had been a sunny day and I had just gotten back rom work.My wie was in the bedroom ironing clothes. She looked up, saw meand smiled. She was walking towards the bed to lay a shirt downwhen I took that as an opportunity to attack. I tickled her and sheyelped. I continued. I ran the tips o my ngers along her neck andarms, moved down towards her ribs and stomach, her most ticklishspot. When I went to unbutton her shirt I elt it. Something thatshouldnt be there. A lump, right near her heart. We both stoppedlaughing. She just looked at me and slid o the bed.

What the hell is that? I asked slowly, my voice soaked in

anger and worry.Its nothing; just a lumpcould be anything. I looked down

at my wie, not believing what Id just heard.Could be anything?! It could be a I didnt say the word.

Why didnt you tell me? Have you spoken to a doctor?Silence ell around us.Alright, ne, whatever. With that I stormed out o the room.Not the best choice. I should have been there or my wie,

should have told her that things would be okay. Instead I got angry.Angry mainly because there was nothing in my direct power that Icould do about it.

I went back upstairs and saw her sitting on the chaise lounge

watching V. She was sort o just staring in the direction o thetelevision and not really at the program itsel.

Hey, Im sorry or getting upset.Its alright. Dont worry about it.We have to go to the doctor.I know.More silence.I walked over to the closet and grabbed her jacket. Lets go.Te car ride wasnt as painully awkward as I thought it would

be. I drove, eeling every single change in elevation, and my wisang along to the music that dried rom the speakers. We arrive

at the hospital and were directed to oncology. Aer signing in, mwie was called in airly promptly. I sat in the waiting room anlooked at the people that surrounded me. Some had hair loss rothe chemo. Te doctor told us we would have to come back inew days to get the results, but reassured us that it was most likenothing. I heard my wie let out a sigh o relie. I didnt calm quickly, however. I thanked the doctor and we le.

Much to my joy, the car ride back had produced moconversation. I attempted to act as i nothing had happened at aWe discussed silly things like the game coming on tonight and whwed eat or dinner. Still, a thought lingered in the back o my min

We sat on the couch, eating delivered pizza. My wie was veinto the game, cheering or her team all along the way. Whenwent to commercial I muted it. She put her slice o pizza down anlooked at me. I let out a pu o air and turned to ace her.

What i hes wrong?Who, the commentator?Te doctor! What i it is something? And there I wa

shouting again.Well well nd out when the time comes, she stated calmlyYou know, thats the same thing that the doctors said to yo

mom, that it was probably nothing, but it wasnt.With that my wie got up, took her slices o pizza and walke

o.Tat night I slept on the couch.

When we went to the doctor those ew days later, we didnreceive the news we wanted. It was a tumor, and she had mothan one. Te doctor spoke to us about treatment options, nono which seemed ideal. Regardless we went along and set uappointments or chemo and radiation. Later that day she callher dad to tell him everything. Te only thing I could pick up rothe conversation was, Aw, it will be okay, Daddy.

You would think that treatment wouldnt make you eel worsI am quite certain my wie elt better beore. Now shes alwaexperiencing nausea, her hair is thinning and shes always tired anin pain. And although some o her tumors were removed, some stremained. It was aer three months o this that my wie decided

stop treatment. At rst, I elt as i she was giving up, but I wanther to enjoy what she had le o her lie. Te doctor told us thwithout more treatment she had approximately six months to liv

A week later, our house was sold. We came to the conclusiothat it would be too big or just me, and decided to take this time do all the stu we always wanted to do. We rented a sports car androve across the country to see her dad. Along the way we stoppto see dierent landmarks people always talked about. Her dad w

very happy to see us since it had been a while. I took him or a dri

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a couple o times; I think he loved it. He and my wie spoke aboutwhen she was younger and about her mom.

Eventually I had to return to work; they only gave me so muchtime o. I could tell that she wanted to stay, so Ile and promised to return on the weekends. It

was during this intermission, the very next weekthat she suddenly ell ill. I took the earliest ightback.

* * * * *I ran into the hospital and straight to the

desk. Te lady told me which room to go to. Bythe time I got there they already had all sorts otubes and wires connected to her. Her dad sawme, nodded, and le the room. I went and satdown beside her, taking her hand in mine.

Hey, I said. Not asking how she was sinceI already knew the answer to thatnot well. Ikissed her on her orehead.

Do you remember when we rst begantalking to each other?

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Yes, Iwhispered, I do.

And how I would just ask you a bunch oquestions? I looked away and squeezed herhand tighter, not responding.

Do you? she asked again, then sheelaborated, Tings like, i you could buy anycar what would you buy? and i you could visitany place in the world where would you visit?

She turned and looked up at me. Her

movements and breathing were labored.Do you know why I asked you those

things? She paused a moment. I gured thati I knew the answer to those questions, I couldbetter picture a lie with you. Tat i I knew whichcar you wanted, I could imagine us zipping alongthe French countryside in it. Tat i I knew whatyour avorite dish was, I could picture us eatingit on a Friday night. Ten she stopped andlaughed, I remember that rst time we met, I asked what cologneyou were wearing. Later that same day I bought it. Ten the rsttime you came to my apartment I sprayed just a little bit around,

so that it would seem amiliar to you and you would stay longer.I looked down at her; the grey ace I had grown accustomed to

seeing was oddly bright. Tis is what happened to her mother. Forsome reason, cancer has this way o tricking you. You think thatthat person, your loved one, is getting better, but theyre not.

I love you so much.She looked at me and smiled, I love you too.Ten she continued to reveal all these little things I never knew.

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Zero to Heaven in Seven LIZ KAEMPF

he girl sat at a table acin the window. She likes tosee the people who come in and out o the bar. She

used to dress hersel down; jeans that werent skintight, a teenage boys box-shaped t-shirt, and anover-sized leather jacket that she ound at a truck stop whenshe lived in LaFayette. She never wanted to draw attentionto hersel when she rst began to requent the bar, but thatnever stopped the 40-somethin-year-old men rom tryna tocheat on their average-lookin wives with her.

It wasnt until aer she broke Bill ank MacKenzieshand that they all le her alone. So she started dressin likehersel again once they were good an scared o her. Sleek,orm-ttin black rom head to toe. She had curves that wereunusual or a white woman.

She used to nurse a high-ball o tequila every night, butshe switched to whiskey ever since he strolled intuh town aweek ago tonight. Te guitarist was young, lean, and clean-shaven, with pale green eyes you couldnt see til he took ohis porkpie hat.

He walked slowly intuh the bar only a ew minutes aershe did each night. And hed head straight to the corner othe room, gingerly remove his rusted guitar rom its case, sithunched over it with one leg propped over the other, orminga triangle, and let his ngers roam ree.

Te notes oated through the smoke-lled air o theestablishment quietly and almost unnoticed. Tey gainedcondence aer the rst een minutes or so, as i he always

needed to quietly warm-up, or himsel more than anyoneelse. Aer that, sad, deep notes pierced through at variousspeeds and most everyone stopped to watch and listen.

Te girl reused to pay any attention to this oreigner,and she was good at it, at rst. She would swing her hips upto the bar to ask Sal or somethin new.

Aint nothin wrong with my tequila, darlin.She pursed her lips. I never said there was. I just cant

drink it while this guy plays, she qualied, shootin her eyesback toward the corner where the blues man sat.

Why not?Dunno. But it dont make me eel sorry enough.

You need to eel sorry or somethin?Dunno. Dont think so.Te bartender tried to see intuh her with no luck. She

never spoke this much beore. So whatll it be then?She scanned the bottles against the wall and settled

her eyes on the bottle o Johnny Walker Red and nodded.Sal showed surprise with two highly-raised eyebrows andobliged her at no charge. She wrapped her ngers around thesmall glass. Tere was a chip around the rim that she chose

to ignore.She did this every night or six nights. On the sevent

she didnt walk immediately back to her place by the windowHer breathin slowed as the quick notes o the guitarisurrounded her and she was compelled to see him. Shleaned her back against the bar top and watched his ngeglide gently across the arm o the guitar. It looked eortleand she couldnt help hersel, she wondered what those handwould eel like. On her skin. In her hair. Against her

He stopped.He stopped playin and looked up out o his hat and sa

her, as i or the rst time. Teir eyes met and she elt hbody shiver and tense. She couldnt help hersel.

She looked away.She stared at the dusty scratched oor and then the slow

mournul sounds o the stringed instrument returned to the void it had created, reverberatin against the walls anenguln the patrons. She le.

She was lost in her own conusion and never noticed thmusic stoppin or the bar door openin to release the bluman.

You were starin at me, he said with a voice in oppositiowith his music. It was smooth, like sunlight and honey.

Scuse me?You might have thought I didnt notice you, but I di

How could I not? He took slow steps towards her. And yobeen starin at me too.

He was in her space, entirely too close, but she wasnmad. As a matter o act, she was quite surprised. Her skielt hot, like everythin underneath it was boilin, her ngetingled at the tips and she didnt eel like she could keep hbalance or much longer.

Well have you? Been starin I mean? She could eel thwarmth o his breath as he questioned her. He never brokeye contact. He peered into her big, brown orbs and coulsee the reection o the moon. But thats not what he wsearchin or. He was waitin or that icker. Tat momenthat proved she wasnt real. Tat she was a lie.

What are you? he asked her.

She was stumped temporarily. Aer several moments intense starin that elt like years has passed, she said, Donyou mean, who are you?

No. No, I dont. What. Are. You. What are you?! Hvoice rose with the last three words and he stepped in closto her. She stumbled backward and would have allen ovhad he not grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her iHis stare attempted to burn her alive rom the inside. I sthave time. Seven more years. What the hell are you doi


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here? WHA HE HELL ARE YOU DOIN HERE?!Her strength and aggression returnin at this crazed new

threat, she pushed him o and took several quick paces awayrom him.

What the hell are you doin here? she screamed back.It elt good. Like drivin 150 mph on a deserted highway. Like

breakin anks hand. I didnt have a uckin problem untilyou got here! With your guitar and your stupid uckin hatand your

He was so ast. She hadnt even blinked and he was soclose to her ace again, but it was dierent; calm, gentle.Youre human, he said quietly, as i he hadnt expected thewords or or them to be true. She didnt respond. How wouldshe? Come with me.

He waited and saw phases o anger, ear, and skepticismin her eyes.

Please?

She probably shouldnt have consented. In act, shdenitely should not have gone with him. I it werent or thknowledge that she was absolutely certain she could kill himher legs would never have let her leave. Tey knew betteHer whole body knew better. Te car ride to somewhepassed accompanied by his lugubrious, bass-toned whist

that didnt stop til the car did. It is so impolite to stare, hreminded her with a boyishly irresistible smile. She wanteto hate him. She wanted to punch him and break a bottover his head. Instead she ollowed him into his middle-onowhere shack o a house.

She was about to ask him why she was here when htook her hand, without orce, and led her inside and sat thedown at a shabby table with old wooden chairs.

Ive never told anyone beore. He paused. He swallowehard. She was beyond conused and kept quiet. I was nevable to play beore. Not this well. Watchin him struggle w

nerve-wrackin. He seemed so composed

the bar.Teres this story, about Robert JohnsoHe played guitar like the devil himsel. Tesay he sold his soul to get his ngers movilike they did. I didnt believe it at rst, butwas desperate. Piss poor broke, no home, nnothin. So I did it.

He stopped or too long. Did what? shasked. He lost her beore they even le the ba

I sold my soul.She laughed without meanin too. H

barely breathed and she musta looked somkind o silly because she hadnt heard herselaugh in a long while and she orgot the souno it. Im sorry, she said, politely and quietl

You dont believe me?Well no. I mean, Im supposta believ

you made a deal with the devil?Not the devil. A demon. She laughe

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again. And apologized again. Why would I make somethinlike this up? Dont make a lick o sense. But I met this negroellah and he told me about the crossroads. Gave me a boxwith some Hoodoo stu in it. Bones, dirt, owers. old meall I hadta do was put a picture o mysel in there and buryit. Ten Id get real good at the guitar. Nothin happened so Ilooked around and then there was this pretty lookin girl juststandin there in the middle o nowhere. She smiled at me,and then her eyes turned red. Like someone turned a lighton, quick. And I knew it worked. A demon was right therein ront o me. I made a deal, sold my soul, and here we are.I got seven years le to play that there guitar beore the deviltakes me away.

Te girl realized why he had stared her down so hardbeore. Why he was so angry, so ar rom the way he was

with her right now. What he was lookin or when he lookedintuh her.

You really believe all that, dont you?He lightly placed a hand against her cheek, I saw it. Im

livin it. Im proo.You know no one ever gets this close to me without

havin a ew bones broken?Ive got bones to spare.Her eyes narrowed but a smile crept through her lips.

Very slightly.He terried her. Tis stranger. Te blues man. Tis

oreigner. Te guitarist. He was too gentle. His eyes were too

kind. He couldnt hurt her or he wouldnt.And he was so ast.His mouth was pressed against hers beore she had even

blinked. But she was kissin him back. Kissin like they wereteenagers, like they had known each other or lietimes. It t,their lips. She could hear her heart poundin in her ears andher cheeks ushed red with blood.

Ten he pulled away.You never told me your name, he said lookin intuh her

eyes but this time not waitin to see the icker.You never told me yours neither. He laughed, soly,

like a schoolboy with a crush. Dont.

Dont what?She leaned intuh him this time. Dont tell me your name,she said mimickin his quietness. With an unidentied easethe guitarist lied her rom her waist and placed her on topo him, legs allin to either side o his and the chair. Terewas a seamless removal o clothin rom above the belt whilethey kissed, breathin heavy. A urry o hands moved alongwarm skin, explorin oreign territory with the elation o a kidon a joyride. Te calluses on his ngertips, consequences oyears o bein awul and wonderul at the guitar, lingered out

o her hair, slid down to the small o her back and kneadeintuh the inside o her thighs. Her arms circled his neck anher body rose and dropped as her hair ell tediously againhis cheeks.

She ought clumsily with his belt buckle when he pickeher up and walked them to his bed. Everythin he did wswi and so, but the girl didnt think about that right nowShe didnt think at all, just acted. She dug her ngernails intuhis biceps while he breathed into her neck, and she inhalesharply and arched her back when the guitarist kissed heinch by inch, down the length o her chest to her stomach her hips.

It wasnt until hours later that she actually ound hiasleep next to her. He was peaceul and she couldnt help bnotice how angelic he was. How could this man have sold h

soul to a demon? Everything about him is too sweet and tokind, she thought as she watched his bare chest rise with eacbreath. Te moon was sinkin but its light still cut througthe windows and a glowin stripe ell on his shoulder.

Seven years is a long time, she thought. A minute or so her watchin him sleep passed. Or not long enough.

Her heart umbled.Te thought gave her a chill and a sickenin knot in he

stomach. She slid as quietly out o his bed as she could. Shound her pants by the window, her shirt hangin o one othe wooden chairs. Her panties had somehow made theway under the table.

Te table where he conessed to her.She couldnt just leave him like this. She was dressed antip-toed to his side o the bed. She leaned in and only bareheard him breathin. She almost changed her mind, but hlegs were nally tellin her to get the uck outta dodge alreadShe kissed him gently on the cheek, Good-bye, Blues Manshe whispered. She grabbed her boots and didnt put them ountil she was on the street.

Would he wake up beore I got back to the bar? Whats hgonna say when he wakes up and I aint there?

She wondered i hed ever nd her again. It wasnt likelShe was always good at runnin away. Ten she wondere

i thats even what she wanted. Not to be ound. Te knwas rollin around in her stomach when she heard a motrunnin behind her. wo minutes later she was stickin hthumb up in the air to snag her ride back intuh town. Te cslowed to a stop next to her and a nice-lookin negro ellagave her a nod to get in with a tip o his straw hat.

Zero to Heaven in Seven cont.

Documents

The Stony Brook Press - Volume 33, Issue 6/7, Web Literary Supplement