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... Susan Hammond|The Dinner Party Sadly, it is soon time for our guests to leave. We show them to the front door and watch as they walk to their cars. I look at my young son, fresh faced and handsome. He is on the cusp of such an exciting time in his life. The teenage years are so full of fun, but peppered with important decisions that can change a life irreversibly. Princess Diana climbs into her Mercedes S600 saloon and James gets into his pride and joy a silver Porsche 550 Spyder. They both turn and look directly at my son as they purposefully put on their seat belts, and he understands what they are telling him to do. Then they both drive off into the cold, black night. Books by Lali Stums Page 17  ...

... Susan Hammond QEP Essay Contest finalist The Dinner Party My rich, red rosewood table is set with the finest silverware. It sparkles with twinkling Baccarat crystal glasses and four places are set with delicate white china. There is a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket on the buffet, as I anxiously await the arrival of my dinner guests. Princess Diana is the first to arrive, a vision of elegance in a vintage Christian Dior red silk gown. I offer her a glass of champagne, which she graciously declines. The bell rings again and I am delighted to see James Dean smiling at me through the glass door. The last and most important guest is my teenage son, since this dinner party is especially for him. We sit down to dinner, and I am relieved to discover that Princess Diana and Mr. Dean seem to like each other, and they chat comfortably together. I signal the caterer to begin serving the first course. My son looks slightly bemused, idly picking at his lobster risotto. He thought it was an unusual request when I asked him to have dinner with two dead people. No doubt he will update his Facebook status later this evening, in an attempt to impress his online friends. Diana is a charming guest, telling us about her charity work. She seems especially proud of her time spent in Angola, attempting to highlight the daily carnage that occurs around the world because of landmines. She glows with pride as she recounts her experiences, only to break off suddenly and her face clouds over with incredible sadness. With a catch in her voice, she half whispers, I had so much more to do. I had so many children that needed my help. James Dean looks at her, nods solemnly, and then gently lays his hand upon her forearm. I know exactly what you mean he said. I, too, had so much I wanted to do. I didnt expect to die at twenty-four. They both have tears brimming up in their eyes, but James blinks rapidly to chase his away. Diana lets her tears roll slowly down her sorrowful face, openly mourning the life that was so violently and unexpectedly stolen from her in an instant. Page 16 Susan Hammond|The Dinner Party Sadly, it is soon time for our guests to leave. We show them to the front door and watch as they walk to their cars. I look at my young son, fresh faced and handsome. He is on the cusp of such an exciting time in his life. The teenage years are so full of fun, but peppered with important decisions that can change a life irreversibly. Princess Diana climbs into her Mercedes S600 saloon and James gets into his pride and joy a silver Porsche 550 Spyder. They both turn and look directly at my son as they purposefully put on their seat belts, and he understands what they are telling him to do. Then they both drive off into the cold, black night. Books by Lali Stums Page 17  ...

... Edward J. Mattimoe II #4 With Laces ties tightly And Fingers crossed lightly Left thumb on top of right Smiles keep you warm at night Rosy-cheeked, rosy-hipped Fat-lipped, now youre flipped Cars, Bars, Men, and Boys Life youve traded for some toys Get it back, Take a class Shake your hips, lose that ass We get a prize to come in last Smiles fade too damn fast Fading in, Panning out Hips now sag, lips cant pout Greedy smiles turn in flight Smiles keep you up at night Negative Space by Jessica Roelofs Page 15  ...

... Edward J. Mattimoe II #4 With Laces ties tightly And Fingers crossed lightly Left thumb on top of right Smiles keep you warm at night Rosy-cheeked, rosy-hipped Fat-lipped, now youre flipped Cars, Bars, Men, and Boys Life youve traded for some toys Get it back, Take a class Shake your hips, lose that ass We get a prize to come in last Smiles fade too damn fast Fading in, Panning out Hips now sag, lips cant pout Greedy smiles turn in flight Smiles keep you up at night Negative Space by Jessica Roelofs Page 15  ...

... April Moeller Runner-up in the QEP Essay Contest A Personal Essay A sense of belonging is something many people take for granted, but I didnt really experience it until I returned to the United States at the age of fifteen, after living overseas for six consecutive years as the daughter of a U.S Foreign Service officer. My freshman year of high school in Brussels, Belgium ended with a dread of moving; it would be the eighth time in my short fifteen years. But this dread wasnt based on the reluctance to pack up, leave my friends, or go somewhere new; these were familiar feelings, and consequently, much easier to handle. This time it was different. The thought of returning to the United States - my place of birth, but a place to which I felt no real connection - was terrifying. My thoughts were a jumble and my stomach was perpetually knotted. What if I didnt like it there? How could I possibly call this foreign place my home? Adding to my frustration, the question, Are you excited to be going home? was repeatedly posed. While always responding with a forced smile, I would silently exclaim to myself, Its not my home, I dont have a home! I was also anxious about having to attend a U.S. public high school. I had been accustomed to international schools, where almost everyone knew what it was like to move all the time. I feared that American kids would view me as a foreigner because of my lifestyle or the funny international accent I had acquired through my travels. The dread of being alone, of having no one who could relate to my experiences was overwhelming. A sense of detachment overcame me; I didnt feel comfortable calling myself an American. So, with all these emotions ricocheting inside me, I packed up my life and flew with my family to the United States of America. Therefore, it was a great surprise, that on the first day of marching band I was surrounded by people introducing themselves and offering to show me around. As soon as they knew that my family and I had just moved from Belgium, everyone wanted to know the rest of the story. I wasnt alone during lunch, I was invited to parties and to the movies, and I was teased as if Id been around forever. The welcome I received was so warm that I became skeptical of their sincerity. I kept waiting for them to lose interest in the new girl. But they didnt. The people I met those first two weeks were my best friends throughout the year and continue to be my friends even now that we are thousands of miles apart. I have truly never felt such a warm welcome upon arriving at any place I have ever lived. Over the course of that year I found lasting friendship and my sense of belonging. I have a place I can call home, and Im proud to call myself an American. Page 14  ...

... Greg Mika Then Silence Squealing tires on the pavement The crash of metal on metal Squealing tires on the pavement The crash of metal on metal The sound of metal on the pavement Wrinkled metal hitting earth Wrinkled metal hitting trees The sound of loud hissing Then Silence Bells ring and horns sound Voices yell and boots hit the ground A diesel engine roars Sirens wail and air horns sound Brakes squeal and doors slam Voices yell and boots hit the ground One young life breathed its last Then Silence A slight moan and the sound of breath Voices yell and boots hit the ground A slight moan and the sound of breath Another young life just holding on The whirr of rescue tools and metal crunching Voices yell and boots hit the ground Doors slam and sirens wail Brakes squeal and doors slam The whup whup whup of helicopter blades Voices yell and boots hit the ground Doors slam and boots hit the ground The whup whup whup of helicopter blades Then Silence The ringing of the telephone The squeaking of a bed The ringing of the telephone Feet hit the floor Soft voices on the telephone The clunk of the receiver Soft voices in the air The other young life breathed its last Then Silence Page 13  ...

... Kevin Ferguson Lonely One The road I walk is a lonely one Where shadows creep and light theres none No moon or stars, no bright-lit sun The road I walk is a lonely one The road I walk is a lonely one Where friends are gone and lifes no fun No one can help, no one can come For the road I walk is a lonely one The road I walk is a lonely one Where coldness makes my heart go numb No feelings left, not even some The road I walk is a lonely one The road I walk is a lonely one Where voices sing and voices hum No one knows where they are from I fear of what Ill soon become Before the end is reached and done Of this road I walk, the lonely one Caitlin Conan Page 12  ...

... Kevin Ferguson Lonely One The road I walk is a lonely one Where shadows creep and light theres none No moon or stars, no bright-lit sun The road I walk is a lonely one The road I walk is a lonely one Where friends are gone and lifes no fun No one can help, no one can come For the road I walk is a lonely one The road I walk is a lonely one Where coldness makes my heart go numb No feelings left, not even some The road I walk is a lonely one The road I walk is a lonely one Where voices sing and voices hum No one knows where they are from I fear of what Ill soon become Before the end is reached and done Of this road I walk, the lonely one Caitlin Conan Page 12  ...

... Crystal B. Lambert Posthumously Sylvia is alone upstairs, Braiding ribbons through her hair And putting flowers in strategically natural positions. Ted, get off your ass and tell her that you need her Like I need her. Assia is on the phone, but her voice Is distant, and Sylvias resonates down the stairs like angel. Sylvia, do you recall that day in the strawberry fields? You were an angel, Pink and laughing, sad when I saw you from the upstairs Of the barn. I know your secrets from that day: I heard your voice Call out in alarm, I saw your hair Disheveled and messy. When you catch a glimpse of her, You cannot help but cry -- her hands are beautiful in that position. Sylvia, he said, you put me in a fucking awful position. You sat, frozen, praying for an angel Or a miracle. You thought surely youd be saved by thinking of her Face. In that big house, upstairs, You bathe Angelica and smile as you brush her hair. You are peace and beauty at the sound of her voice. Sylvia, I regret that I could never voice My true feelings. All I could do was sit each evening, in the same position, And watch the light absorb into your hair While you carefully boiled our angelHair pasta. I never followed you upstairs. Ted always said, I cannot stand her Habits, that Sylvia. The way she changes her Voice When you come around. I saw your gaze, the way you stared At him with nothing but contempt. You had him locked in position. You are crying while Angelica Sits behind you, runs her fingers through your hair. When they found you, I ran up the stairs to fix your hair, Left you in a delicate position. I never really liked her Much -- for me, it was always your voice, my angel. Page 11  ...

... Encaustic by Jessica Ritenour Page 10  ...