SHERWOO D FOREST Art & Literary Review - John Tyler Community College
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S FOREST D
HERWOO
Art & Literary Review
2018
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE
Preface In 2017, John Tyler Community College enjoyed a well-earned measure of recognition for achieving 50 years of service. Now it is my pleasure to light a celebratory candle for the 50th anniversary of our Sherwood Forest Art & Literary Review. Since its inaugural issue in 1968, Sherwood Forest has provided a means for John Tyler students to showcase their very best creative work. When you turn these pages, you’ll find that this tradition continues. In the 2018 issue, you can expect portraits of memory and perception, provocation and defiance, vibrancy and restraint. And fajitias! Congratulations to all those whose works are honored here, for they have contributed to a rich archive of student expression chronicled in fifty issues of the Review. We’re thrilled that you’ve come along to share in Sherwood’s birthday celebration. Now we invite you to come a little further—the pages await. It’s easy. Just dim the lights. Take a breath. Make a wish. Welcome to the next fifty years!
2
1st PLACE
Witcher
Zach Zarzycki
ART
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 2018
POETRY
5
A Letter for Remembering
NON-
FICTION
by William Murfee
6 Mother’s Day
by Adam Short
7 Brown Boots & Blue Socks
by Sydney Baker 12 The White Man’s Medicine
Is Killing Me by William Campbell
8 Emotional Eruption
by Kearston Kenner 17 America’s Most
Depressing Home Videos
by Savannah Shomette
9 The Meaning of Life
by Savannah Shomette
22 Looney Bin
by Emilee Kowalewski
28 Morning Shift
FICTION 29
by Zach Zarzycki
Remembering Big Mama
by Renee Reed
35 Trip
ART
Ryan Rotramel
40 It’s Fajita Night
by Maureen Drivick
45 Rat Dog
by William Murfee
2 Witcher by Zach Zarzycki
(also on back cover)
49 Mami’s Eye
by Freysol Ruiz 4 Fresh Eyes
by Alexzane Taylor
51 Why’d the Chicken Cross the
Road? To Start a Revolution 11 MixMatched
by Guy DuBois
by Elizabeth Dozier
34 Liliana
by Terry Lynn Smith
ABOUT 53
Talia and Eliana
by Madeline Walter
54 Sherwood Forest Art
& Literary Review 2018
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW
4
2nd PLACE
Fresh Eyes
ART
Alexzane Taylor
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 2018
5
1st PLACE
A Letter for Remembering
William Murfee
Dear Dad: The puzzle we are trying to piece
together is of an old piano, beaten down and
broken and I try not to think. I do anyways, when
I see your youth in your face I smile, but it fades
as I think. Playgrounds, pianos and singing, all the
past, but I have not forgot. I wish you hadn’t either.
I have a daughter at home, Emily, and she loves you
unconditionally. She doesn’t understand, but I do.
You may receive this letter, you may not, it might be
for selfish reasoning, but when Emily bangs on
the piano at home and I tell the stories of you, I
need something to distract me from the thinking
when I lie awake at night. The nurses are kind, you
POETRY
seem to like it here, but the breakdowns and accusations
don’t get easier. Please believe me, I know you can’t
recall, but at least we have moments like these
where you remember me and we put small jagged
pieces together and you laugh and hum the few
songs you remember. You hum the songs that you
would dance to with mom, hopefully you remember
her, but I don’t bring it up. I like the peace and
pretending I’m a child watching you dance with her
in the kitchen to your favorite swing records. Next
time I visit I will bring Emily, you might not remember
her, but she will love her Grandpa all the same. She
might pester you, but you’ll eventually give in and
play dolls with her and have a smile from cheek to
cheek. If you get this letter, it’s sent with love. Your son.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW
6
2nd PLACE
Mother’s Day
Adam Short
the smell of sweat and honeysuckle
the sliding moan of far-off sirens
the cadence of the blade
chit-rip, chit-rip in the sandy soil
a high short strike like the ringing of a rusted bell
a long-forgotten flagstone sunk below the ivy
and that fading purple cane weed
called throughout the ages by more names than God
folds back to show the colors of the last pale ape
to take up tools and try to make his mark upon this earth
his name and aim forgotten
by all but he who stood that day and wiped his brow
looked sunward and thanked his mother for this spring’s garden
POETRY
and all that lies beneath it, yet unborn
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 2018
7
3rd PLACE
Brown Boots & Blue Socks
Sydney Baker
You said that we didn’t have to but you still made me.
Here we were sitting on your bed.
It was fall break. I remember because I had my brown ankle boots on, the ones
you said made me basic.
Your family just left in their car and we decided to hang back for a few hours
in the cabin.
It was the first time I went on vacation with anyone.
I knew we had become serious.
It was almost dark out and you said it wouldn’t be safe to drive back at this time.
You called your parents and let them know; they were okay with it as long
as we left early in the morning.
We went upstairs to your room. I hadn’t been in there all week because
of your parents’ rules.
I felt weird being in there, but I let that vibe slide.
POETRY
You grabbed my arm and we plopped onto your bed.
It was old and creaked with rust, but it felt safe, even though I felt something else.
I wish I could have placed it.
We’d been to second base before and you grabbed my thigh, but this time
it felt different.
I looked into your eyes: they were as brown as my boots. I made a joke to crack
the tension, but it didn’t even make a dent.
You then grabbed my waist and pushed me back — you asked if I was okay,
but I was confused. It all went fast from there.
I remember that night because I woke up and my boots were off and
only one sock.
They were socks you gave me for my birthday a few weeks ago.
As blue as my eyes, you said.
But my eyes deceived me.
You weren’t the guy I became serious with; you were the guy
everyone warns girls about.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW
8
HONORABLE MENTION
Emotional Eruption
Kearston Kenner
A volcano filled to the brim.
It hasn’t erupted in an immeasurable time.
It’s very rare that it erupts
but when it does,
it’s a beautiful painful scene
filled with teardrops and bloodshed.
An appalling and ghastly masterpiece is left.
The soul of the volcano is spit out onto
the ground.
Feared and misunderstood,
it stands idle and quiet.
POETRY
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 2018
9
HONORABLE MENTION
The Meaning of Life
Savannah Shomette
I consider myself a student of humanity,
of the things we define ourselves by
collectively, individually —
psychology and philosophy, spirituality and atheism,
adventures and tragedies, archetypes and folklore,
angels and demons, God and Lucifer,
karma and eternal damnation and nothingness
and everything in between:
all a side to the same coin, an edge to the same sword.
The stories we tell,
the things we keep hidden
nestled in the shadows of our psyches:
individually and collectively, personally and societally.
Slam poetry and hardcore, mosh pits and prayer circles,
suicide attempts and euphoria,
POETRY
improv troupes and memoirs,
the songs that make us cry —
expressions of our souls, that which is holy, untarnished, pure;
that which cannot be changed.
Elucidating, illuminating our lives in these projections —
struggling, reaching, searching,
postulating the meaning behind life,
the reason for being:
we need truth, answers, reasons —
why am I here?
We lose the forest for the trees, the mountains for the trail.
We are grasping for a meaning,
for an indefinite truth,
a reason to be alive, to keep fighting, to keep loving,
something larger than oneself.
We lose ourselves, our knowing, our holiness
by forgetting
by forgetting that the meaning of life
is whatever we ascribe it to be
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW10
whether consciously or subconsciously,
purposefully or accidentally,
out of spite or love, whether black or white
or a shade of gray
the meaning of life is to be alive
to ascribe meaning
to craft stories and memories and poems
to carve into the stone of our minds what it means
to be alive
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201811
3rd PLACE
MixMatched
Guy DuBois
ART
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW12
1st PLACE
The White Man’s Medicine
Is Killing Me
William Campbell
NONFICTION
The Mat, the Ta, the Po and the The Mattaponi fared better than
Ni are four rivers in Virginia. many other tribes in early America.
The Mat and the Ta join in They were not victims of a genocidal
Spotsylvania County to form the foot march to Oklahoma on the
Matta, in Caroline county the Po and orders of an American president.
the Ni become the Poni. The Matta Many heart wrenching accounts
and the Poni converge to form the describe in agonizing detail the story
Mattaponi, one of the most pristine of other tribes who fared much worse
and beautiful rivers in the eastern US. than the Mattaponi at the hands
The Mattaponi joins the Pamunkey of the American colonists and their
at West Point to form the York River, descendants in some of the darkest
which drains into the Chesapeake Bay and most shameful chapters in
just east of Yorktown. American history.
Indigenous people, the original Many Mattaponi continue to live
Americans, have lived in this region in their ancestral territory and
for about 15,000 years. Identifiable, nearby parts of Virginia. These days,
distinct tribes date back 500-600 Mattaponi are pretty indistinguishable
years. One of these tribes is the from other Virginians. There are
Mattaponi, who live in the region few peculiarities of speech, dress
of the Mattaponi River and its or appearance to let a guy know
tributaries. These Native Americans when he is talking to a Mattaponi
have lived in the region for a very Chief or Princess. An occasional
long time and have a relationship clue is a common Mattaponi surname,
with America that dates to Jamestown. such as Custalow. I have run into a
Tribal leaders signed treaties in the few residents and medical students
17th century with the early settlers who were Mattaponi.
of Virginia, and a reservation
Per capita, Native Americans have
was created along the banks
served in the US military more than
of the Mattaponi. The reservation
any other ethnic group, including
now includes some housing,
many Mattaponi. The VA hospital
a church, a museum, a fish hatchery,
in Richmond provides care to many
a building that was once a school
Native Americans who are military
and tribal grounds.
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201813
veterans, and one afternoon Chief was a Vietnam vet. Like
a Mattaponi Chief was referred many who served in that conflict
to my neuromuscular clinic because he avoided talking much about it.
of muscle weakness. In casual conversation he revealed
he had been in the Army and spent
Chief had been experiencing muscle
a lot of time in the bush. Working
weakness for the preceding year or so.
at a VA hospital, I had heard a lot
It began, as it often does, with trouble
of war stories. PTSD had recently been
getting up from low places. He could
re-described and given a new name
no longer arise from a chair, or the
as the health professions recognized
couch, or get out of the car, with his
more and more Vietnam veterans with
normal ease and fluidity. When trying
the same constellation of complaints:
to get up, he developed a hitch midway
nightmares, flashbacks, anxiety and
that required focus and some extra
attempts to cope by drinking and
effort to complete the movement. As
drugging. But PTSD was not new with
the condition progressed, the hitch got
Vietnam. Soldiers through the eons of
longer and more of an additional thrust
human history have carried emotional
was required to stand. He attributed it
wounds from combat. Herodotus
to aging. Then he was no longer able
described the psychic trauma of battle
to get up without pushing on the chair
in ancient Greek warriors. Both Johnny
arms with his hands. When getting out
Reb and Billy Yank suffered “irritable
of the car he would swing his feet out,
heart” from the American Civil War.
then have to pull on the door frame
The disorder was called shell shock
and roof. He decided he should see a
in World War I and combat fatigue,
doctor. As he made the arrangements
battle fatigue or combat neurosis
and waited for the appointment he
in World War II. The term PTSD
noticed problems with his arms. The
was used to describe the disorder in
shoulders began to ache and give
Vietnam veterans. It’s all the same.
out before he could finish shaving or
washing his hair. This history suggested Chief never talked about it but PTSD
a disorder of muscle, a myopathy. was one of the diagnoses in his medical
record. Seeing him brought to mind
He worked as a carpet installer and was
jungles, destroyed villages, the cold-
by now having a lot of difficulty getting
blooded execution of a Viet Cong
up from the all fours position where he
soldier by an ARVN officer and a
spent a lot of his workday. The arm
little girl running naked down a road
weakness made it more difficult to
screaming from her napalm burns.
carry and position bundles of carpet.
All the tragedy and ugliness that was
He became concerned about his ability
Vietnam. Long hair was common in
to work and his livelihood.
the 60s and there were still a lot of
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW14
old hippies around with ponytails. profound depression of white blood
I figured Chief was just another cell and platelet counts. Intravenous
old hippie. But his long hair was a immunoglobulin (IVIG) therapy
Mattaponi custom and he chose to involves infusion of immunoglobulins
honor it. His name was not Custalow; that can suppress the immune
I did not make the connection. response. IVIG is usually well
tolerated but complications can occur.
Chief ’s muscle biopsy showed he
There is little literature to support
had polymyositis, an immune system
IVIG therapy in polymyositis and its
mediated inflammatory attack on
use is generally a last resort.
his muscles. Polymyositis causes
progressive muscle weakness and Chief did not do well. His weakness
is difficult to treat. Both the disease did not improve and the muscle
and the complications of treatment enzymes in his blood remained
have potentially very serious elevated. One reason a patient may
consequences. When things go well, do poorly is misdiagnosis. But neither
a patient with polymyositis is started the workup nor the biopsy had shown
on high doses of prednisone and the evidence of any other condition.
immunologic attack on the muscles is He simply had steroid resistant
brought under control. The patient polymyositis, an all too common and
improves and regains lost strength, unfortunate condition.
then the prednisone is slowly and
Prednisone has a multitude of
carefully tapered off, lowering the
side effects, including weight gain,
dose bit by bit so the inflammation
fluid retention, a predisposition to
does not recur. Most patients are
diabetes, osteoporosis, susceptibility
on prednisone for a year or more.
to infection, psychosis, elevated blood
That is when things go well.
pressure, cataracts and many more.
When things do not go well, the One of the characteristic side effects
disease responds poorly to prednisone, is swelling and fat accumulation in the
or recurs when it is tapered, and face that can at times cause the face
other measures are required. Some to take on a very distinctive, rounded
of the other treatments include shape referred to as a moon face. The
powerful immunosuppressants, such skin becomes sallow and fragile with
as methotrexate or azathioprine, easy bruisability and fat accumulates
compounds first used as cancer behind the neck. When pronounced,
chemotherapy decades ago. These the changes in physical appearance
medications also have many side are so typical a physician can tell at
effects, most notably suppression a glance that a patient is on steroids.
of the bone marrow, causing a Chief had gained about 15 pounds,
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201815
his face was puffy, his ankles were After several weeks off the medication
swollen and his blood pressure was up. the counts slowly returned to normal.
I started him back on half the previous
One of the most difficult aspects
dose and the counts tanked again.
of managing inflammatory myopathy
He was not able to tolerate a dose of
is that prednisone, the mainstay of
azathioprine high enough to control
treatment, can itself cause muscle
the polymyositis. There were similar
weakness to develop. Determining
complications during treatment with
whether persistent or recurrent
methotrexate.
weakness is due to such a steroid-
induced myopathy or is due to So, Chief had not responded well
uncontrolled disease activity is no easy to prednisone and had experienced
task. The stakes are high. Treatment steroid complications. Now he
of steroid myopathy is to lower the had developed side effects and was
steroid dose; treatment of uncontrolled not able to tolerate azathioprine
disease activity is to increase the dose. or methotrexate. We discussed his
situation and he agreed to try IVIG.
Chief showed little response to the
prednisone. The weakness did not IVIG has been a Godsend for
improve, the muscle enzymes remained neurologists. It is much safer than
high and other tests suggested steroids and other immunosuppressants
continued disease activity rather than and several diseases respond to it,
steroid myopathy. I started him on one often quite well. It seems to control
of the big guns, azathioprine. By this immune mediated disorders without
time the weakness was so severe he was suppressing the immune system and
unable to raise his arms up to shoulder predisposing to infection. But there
level or to raise his knees against are no drugs without side effects and
gravity. He had taken to a wheelchair. IVIG has some bad ones that are
He was also having difficulty thankfully very infrequent. The major
swallowing, a common manifestation one is acute kidney failure, but the fluid
of severe polymyositis. load can also cause heart failure and
rarely the hyperviscosity may cause
Some degree of bone marrow
a stroke or heart attack. All these we
suppression and a decrease in blood
had discussed.
counts is expected with azathioprine,
but Chief ’s white count and platelets Chief was admitted to start IVIG.
tanked. Very low white counts He tolerated the first infusion without
predispose to infection; low platelets difficulty, but over the next couple of
predispose to bleeding. I held the days his kidney function deteriorated.
medication, sat tight and watched. The He was given some extra IV fluids.
white cell count stayed in the tank. They did not help. Renal functions got
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW16
worse and worse and his urine output He began to miss scheduled
began to fall. He went into frank appointments and after a while
kidney failure and had to start dialysis. no longer came to the clinic. He
had given up on the White Man’s
The nephrology team had gotten
medicine. My last memory of him is
involved and he was transferred to
of a proud Mattaponi Chief asking
their ward for the dialysis. When I
not if I could keep him walking, but if
went by to see him it was during a
I could keep him crawling.
dialysis session. He was laying on the
dialysis recliner, a large needle in one
arm, looking up with tired eyes from
a puffy, steroid distorted face. I asked
how he was doing.
He replied, “The White Man’s
medicine is killing me.”
In the conversation that followed
I learned he was Mattaponi, and
that he was one of their Chiefs. We
talked a little about the tribe and his
leadership role in it. I had known a
little about the Mattaponi before, a lot
more after.
His renal functions gradually
improved and the need for dialysis
passed. He returned to the clinic
a few weeks later. Further IVIG
was off the table. All we could
do was continue the steroids and hope
the disease would eventually respond
or go into remission. He told me he
had about given up on the idea of
being able to walk. He just wanted
to be able to crawl. As long as he
could crawl around on all fours he
could lay carpet, at least part time,
and earn a living more or less.
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201817
2nd PLACE
America’s Most Depressing
Home Videos
Savannah Shomette
NONFICTION
It’s a Sunday and my father is out She yells my name again and again,
of town for work and my mother is becoming more and more hysteric,
high. Not the fun, hippie type of high, more and more angry. I debate
but the spoon and the needle type of between staying hidden and responding
high. She’s stalking around the house, quickly, try to decide which would be
fuming, shaking; her paranoid heroin safer, which would be best. I count
daydream paints me, her fourteen year her footsteps as they approach, try to
old daughter, as a demon incarnate. determine whether she’s wearing shoes,
Her eyes don’t recognize my own when whether she’s stumbling yet, whether I
she’s high, which is becoming more could take her on, whether she needs
and more of the time. She sees only me or needs me to die.
the shadow of demons.
I crawl out of my closet slowly,
I stay hidden in the furthest corner deliberately. I leave my book stuffed
of my closet for hours at a time, behind the pink insulation with all of
reading A Child Called “It” and filling my other prized possessions, the only
out emancipation paperwork, sneaking place I have managed to find that
off to the bathroom only when I hear prevents my mother from taking the
the flick of a lighter, the pop of a beer few things I still cherish. I check my
can tab. I have icepacks on my ribs and phone to ensure it still has a charge and
my skull, remnant injuries from a few brace myself against my bedroom door,
days before. The ice reminds me of my desperately trying to hear for signs of
mother’s eyes when she tried to kill the danger, for reason to flee. My mother
monster she thought replaced me. Her is standing there when I open the door,
icy blue stare had stayed fixated on my her eyes drilling into my skull, one hand
eyes, so similar to her own, as my skull already clasping my throat, the other
hit each of the fourteen steps of our reaching for the bright pink .22 caliber
staircase. There was no life in her eyes, handgun she bought last summer for
no humanity. And I’ve been noticing self-defense. She says, “Nobody will
my eyes are beginning to look more find your body.” She says, “Nobody will
and more like hers. save you.” She says, “Go back to hell
where you came from.”
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW18
I spit in her face and feel the cold in sharpie on a post-it note: “I’m
metal of the chamber press against sorry” it says, “Do not mourn me”
my forehead. I head-butt, I shove, she it pleads – both lies fabricated under
falls, I run. I run for miles. the influence of a bottle of sleeping
pills and an energy drink. I can’t hear
I call my dad when I stop running.
anything but the pounding of my
He tells me to stop lying.
heart, too quickly, too weakly. I’m
I stop telling them I love them. scared because I don’t really want
to die, I just want to kill the life that
It is a week after my mother I’m living, the person I’ve become.
committed suicide and the day of my I’m tired of suffering and want to
first Homecoming Dance. I put on the sleep for eternity.
dress I bought two weeks prior, the I call the Suicide Hotline and they
one my dad and I loved, the one she put me on hold. I drag myself to my
declared made me look like a skank. dad’s open bedroom, ten feet away,
I plaster my skin with foundation, stand in the doorway, watch him
hiding the rosacea my mother passed sleep. Thump. Thump. Thump. My
on to me, a lasting testament to face is pale and clammy, my fingers
my likeness of her. I put on black made of ice, my vision fading. I walk
eyeshadow and eyeliner, black dress away. Waking him would require me
and black heels, black lipstick and to speak, to move, to admit my defeat.
black heart. She always told me not It would require an emergency room
to wear black makeup or clothing visit and a stomach pump, more bills
because it made me look harsh, like a for my dad to pay, more guilt on my
vampire. The comparison is apt. I’m conscience. Another similarity with
dead inside and I crave blood. my mother. I crawl downstairs and
My mother was going to curl my hair eat one, two, three bowls of Special
for the first time today. I straighten K Red Berries Cereal and fall asleep,
it instead. convinced for the last time.
I awake fifteen hours later to my
It is twenty minutes into Christmas brother pounding on my door, yelling
Eve, 2011. My heart beats quickly, too “It’s Christmas Eve and you’re still
quickly, too weakly, too sporadically. asleep. Get in the holiday spirit you
My toes then my shins then my Grinch!” I get out of bed, head
thighs then my waist, one by one, pounding, acid rising in my stomach.
moment by moment, lose sensation. A mix of bile, blue foam, and
Responsiveness. My vision becomes dehydrated strawberries spews from
a tunnel. I see the words scrawled my mouth out of the open window.
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201819
I go downstairs and lay on the couch I go to school that Monday and hear
and put on my favorite movie. Ten the jeers and see the points in the
minutes later, my brother and dad take hallway, hushed whispers and stares at
the remote control and put it on a show every corner. Slut. Whore. Skank. My
about pawn shops. boyfriend finds me before first period
and dumps me, tells everyone in the
I go back to bed.
vicinity that I had “fucked” his friend,
tells me to keep my legs closed, that I
It’s the last weekend before the deserve it.
beginning of my sophomore year of
high school and my dad is out of town I fade out.
with the second girlfriend of the year.
I’m dating a senior and am friends with I’m eighteen and dating a man in a
his friends and their girlfriends. My heavy metal band with ears stretched
empty home acts as a green light for wide and ink and blood spilling down
debauchery. We are so young and so his arms, his skull. We met when he
dumb, embracing the “cool kid culture” punched me in the face at a hardcore
with open arms and empty heads. show and said I looked pretty with
blood streaming down my face.
We drink and drink and drink, shot
after shot, swig after swig. I’m told He screams for a living and doesn’t
I’ll be fine. I’m told nothing bad will stop when the work day is over; he
happen. I’m told I’m finally one of the drinks and smokes and destroys public
cool kids. I’m told nobody will ever call property to keep himself angry. We fell
me “the girl whose mother committed in love due to our shared hatred. We
suicide” again. They were right. hate the world, the people surrounding
us, the futility of life itself. He hates me
I’m propped against the oven door,
as much as I hate myself. He traces my
fading in and out, in and out. They
scars with a knife, my bones with a fist,
caution, “be careful around them,”
my brain with a hammer. He tells me
they say, “they get handsy when they’re
he needs me, that he loves me, that he’d
drunk,” they say, “you’ll be alright.” I
kill himself without me. He watches me.
fade out.
He moves in because my dad moved
I awake in a dark room. Silence
out a year before, and god I’m scared
punctuated by groans. Sweat. Pain.
of being alone in this house, so sure
Confusion. I don’t know what’s
I’d turn a corner and find my mother
happening but I can’t move my legs
standing there, still watching, waiting
and I try to scream but there’s a hand
for the moment to pounce. She never is.
over my mouth and god I try to punch,
to headbutt, to scream. I can’t. He always is.
I fade out.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW20
He begs me to stay awake with him, he says “You’re just like your mother.”
to protect him from the monsters He posts the video to Facebook.
hiding in the shadows of the room; it’s The comment section is cruel.
3:00am and I wake up in two hours to He is victorious.
get ready for class and he screams that
It takes six months of therapy for my
demons are emerging from the walls,
therapist to convince me to break up
engulfing us, surrounding us. I’m only
with him. It’s 3:00am and I have class
surrounded by him.
at 8:00am and he’s still scolding me
I’m nineteen and trying to find a for getting the wrong type of almond
reason to be alive, something to milk, “didn’t you know it’s sweetened
love, something beyond hatred. I’m vanilla or nothing?” I sigh and he
nineteen and I feel empty and my takes it as a sign of defiance. He
doctor told me my heart was going smacks me. He grabs my wrists. I spit
to give out soon, my bones already in his face. I tell him to leave, to get
hollow, my skin blue, my hair falling out, to never speak to me again. He
out in clumps. He tells me to eat punches me in the nose.
more. He tells me anorexia nervosa is
He says, “But you’re so pretty covered
a phase. He tells me I’ll still be skinny
in blood.”
if I gain twenty pounds.
I eat. I’m twenty and I’m single and
I’m living alone and I don’t have
I eat and I cook and I clean, I work
any friends or family to call when
and I study, I go to therapy and I lie.
things get bad. I’m on 20, 40, 60, 80
My boyfriend is afraid that I’ll leave
milligrams of antidepressants per day
him, afraid I’ll love myself too much
and have called the Suicide Hotline
to love him, afraid that if I’m no
four times this week. I got put on hold
longer so broken I’ll notice the pieces
twice. I see shadows in the corners of
missing from him. He tells me I’m
my home, I see demons in the corner
worthless, that I’m nothing without
of my eye, I hear screams. I pry the
him. He tells me nothing will get
knife out of my hands, throw out the
better, that my therapist is a liar, that
razors, pour out the vodka. I eat.
this is as good as it gets. I believe him.
I don’t stop eating.
He watches me.
I’ve gained forty pounds in a year,
He throws insults and beer bottles
undoing six years of dieting, of
and cans of open paint. He films me
starving, of purging and diet pills and
crying and screaming and fighting.
laxatives. The mirror, never having
From behind the camera he says,
been a friend, now becomes the
“You’re acting insane right now,”
enemy. Every time I catch a reflection
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201821
of myself I see my mother, the demon I never thought that waking up in the
still haunting me, lurking somewhere in morning wouldn’t feel like a death
my eyes. The red face, the love handles, sentence. I never thought that I’d be
the dead blue eyes. I’m becoming my loved and that I’d love others in return.
mother. I never thought I’d be able to eat a
piece of chocolate cake without guilt. I
I guess in a way I’ve always been
never thought I’d be happy to be alive.
like her.
I’m alive. Despite it all, I am alive.
I’m twenty-one and I’m dating a man
I guess I’m not as much like my mother
who loves me, who encourages me to
as I thought.
eat, who helps me clean my wounds. I
have friends, so many friends, so many
messages in the group chat, so many
plans for the weekend. I’ve painted
my home and hung up twinkle lights.
There are no more shadows, no more
monsters hiding in the dark. I have
two dogs that are simultaneously the
dumbest and cutest things I’ve ever
seen, and they love me. I eat seconds at
dinner and dessert whenever I want.
I haven’t picked up a razor in a year.
I’m twenty-one and even though I
could legally buy vodka, I don’t. I
meditate, I do yoga, I write, I let myself
cry. I mourn my losses. I mourn the
tragedies. I grieve. I heal. I learn.
I learn that as clichéd as it may sound,
everything happens for a reason.
Sometimes that reason is simply to
make you want something better, to
reach for a life you want to live instead
of the life you were given. Sometimes
that reason is to prove to you that you
can overcome anything. Sometimes the
reason is irrelevant.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW22
3rd PLACE
Looney Bin
Emilee Kowalewski
NONFICTION
I have always been “pee shy.” “My mom said yesterday that she’d
I avoid public restrooms whenever be here,” I replied. She had visited
possible, and even at home, I’ll turn every day for the full ninety minutes
on the bathroom fan to muffle the that she could see me since I’d been
result of downing a two-liter of admitted. Hopefully she’d bring food,
Walmart brand cola. But here, there’s like she had been. Hospital meals
no privilege of privacy to indulge my were comparable to cardboard in
rituals of avoiding embarrassment. I taste and texture.
knew that if I wasn’t finished soon, the
Carol smiled. “Well, that’s just
nurse might need to come through the
great. Go ahead and wait in the
door-less entryway to check on me.
lounge until she arrives, okay?”
“Jeff, are you doing okay?”
The lounge. As if it were some sort
a cheerful woman named Carol
of hang-out area where my friends
asked. Shit.
and I would chill after school, instead
“Yeah, just a sec.” of a place where the nurses could
watch all the kids in the ward at once.
I focused on relaxing, implementing
The lounge looked like a kindergarten
some of the skills I had learned in
classroom; there was a table for
my anxiety therapy. I didn’t think
coloring (which was a mandatory part
this was the type of stressful situation
of the daily schedule), the television
the counselors had been referring
was always blaring some G-rated
to, but I figured I had to make use
Disney bullshit, and there were many
of the information somehow. When
places to sit. Every chair was too cushy
I finished, I quickly walked out of
and every table was bolted to the
the bathroom to the sink next to the
ground. The whole place was baby-
nurse’s station. Carol followed me to
proofed. There were double-paned
make sure that I washed my hands.
windows that allowed a lot of sunlight,
I avoided her gaze, as I had been
and feel-good pictures crowding the
doing the last six days.
walls—pictures of kids riding bikes
“Visiting hours start in about together, a little girl with a puppy, a
twenty,” she said. “Are you expecting boy laughing with his friends while he
anyone? Or did you just want to make strummed on a guitar. Gross. I walked
a call tonight?” in and sat next to Jessica.
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201823
“Hey,” I said, hoping that would “There is a comfort room
be enough to start a conversation. My open, would you two like more
personal therapist, Greg, had suggested privacy?” Carol asked through her
that I practice “letting my guard down” permanent grin.
this week, whatever that meant.
“Of course, we’d love to go in the…
“Hey,” Jessica responded in a comfort room,” my mother returned.
soft voice. She seemed nice enough, I wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh
but had been through a lot. The or cry.
day before, she had admitted during
We were led into a small, square
“sharing time” that she uses every drug
room with one wall comprised entirely
under the sun, and her twenty-seven-
of a giant chalkboard. Doodles of
year-old boyfriend has let her trade sex
hearts and flowery phrases like “you
and violence for heroin. I wasn’t sure
are important to someone” and “you
what to say after my weak attempt at a
are stronger than you know” peppered
greeting. There wasn’t a thing that we
the wall. As I sat on another cushioned
had in common, except that we were
seat, the chalk dust building up on
both locked in a vacancy. I looked at
the ground immediately attacked my
the television that was playing Frozen
sinuses. My eyes watered as I held back
and tried to make time move faster.
a giant sneeze.
My mother paced right up to
My mom turned around from
the nurse’s station at five o’clock on
shutting the door behind her, saw
the dot. She talked to Carol before
the liquid pooling on my lower eyelids,
turning around to smile at me with
and broke down into tears. She
puffy, blood-shot eyes. I stood up and
smothered me where I sat, attempting
walked to her, bracing for impact. Sure
to comfort me.
enough, she opened her arms for a hug.
Being a foot-and-a-half shorter than “No, Mom, I just— “
me, I had to bend to a nearly forty-
five-degree angle just to return her “Oh, honey, I am so sorry. I know
embrace, which she indulged in until you wanted to come home today, but
my back began to cramp. the doctor said you need to be held just
for one more night. We all want you to
“Hi, Jeff,” she said, her eyes already come back home, but we want you to
filling with tears. feel better first,” she said, patting circles
on my back like she always does when
“Hey, Mom. Did you bring food?”
my sisters or I cry.
I asked. She laughed, and held up a
bag of sandwiches and a drink she’d “Mom, it’s fine, really. I wanted to
picked up from the gas station outside leave, but it’s cool. I just had to sneeze.”
of the hospital.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW24
She leaned back and squinted at was a key opening the door. Carol
me. “Okay, honey,” she said, smiling. stuck her head in and smiled wide.
She clearly didn’t believe me.
“Knock, knock! You have another
I suppressed a sigh. Leaning visitor!” Carol said. She beamed as
forward, I grabbed a sub and she pulled the door closed behind my
unwrapped it. “How are things?” older sister, Ann.
I asked, taking an enormous bite
“Can I have a sip of your soda?”
to prevent me from having to say
she said, smiling at me. She didn’t ask
anything else for a minute or so.
how I was, or crush me with a hug, or
“Things are good. Amber lost look at me like I was a bomb about to
two teeth today. She bit a fork really explode. I chuckled as I pushed the
hard, and they just popped out!” she cup of sprite toward her.
laughed. “She misses you so much,”
“Welcome to the looney bin,” I
she said.
said, and she laughed over the sound
Before more waterworks could of my mom saying “Jeff, that’s awful!”
start up, I grunted through my dinner,
“‘You are stronger than you
“Mom, oh my god, relax.”
know’” Ann read from the
“Sorry, sorry!” she rubbed her eyes chalkboard. “Sounds like something
dry. “Just promise you’ll call her?” a pansy would say.”
I nodded. Minors weren’t allowed “Well, it was probably written by
in the psychiatric ward, in case any a girl. Most of the depressed and
of the patients act up. I wasn’t totally suicidal teens here are female.”
worried about the patients we had
“Really?” she squinted at me.
now, but one girl had been removed
“Well, are you gonna pick up some
from the hospital the other day to be
hoes while you’re here?”
moved to an outpatient care center—
she had a habit of stealing the crayons “Ann! That’s very inappropriate!”
from the coloring station and trying our mom gasped. Then she looked at
to drive them into her eyes during me, laughing my ass off, and smiled.
“creativity time.” She needed more “Not here. Have any girl in the world,
long-term care, so they sent her away sweet heart, just no one here.”
instead of sending her home. I didn’t
want my ten-year-old sister seeing “So, how’s life,” Ann asked. She
anything like that. knew the whole story, and she knew
I didn’t want to talk about what had
happened, so I described my day. I
Mom was finally starting to talk to
told her about my room, and how the
me like I wasn’t broken, when there
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201825
army cots we slept on were god-awful. “Hi, honey!” Mom stood to hug
She made fun of my pink hospital socks him. My sister and I said “hey, Dad,”
with rubber grips on the bottom, and together in a dissonant chorus.
suggested I teach the other patients
“Hey, Jeff, how are you feeling?” he
to wear them upside-down and slide
asked in his deep voice.
through the halls in them. I told her
about the ridiculous “sharing time” “I—I’m fine. How are you?” I
ritual until we were both red in the face asked. I had not expected him to visit.
from laughing. He’d come for family counseling, and
to meet briefly with a social worker, but
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Ann asked.
he hadn’t religiously attended visitation
I stopped talking to see our mother
hours like my mother. Mom even
sobbing softly. Again.
looked surprised. She clearly hadn’t
“It’s just so nice to see you laughing talked him into coming to visit—he’d
and acting like yourself again,” she said. come on his own accord.
Ann rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you too, Ann stood, making room for our
Mom. Jeff probably doesn’t want you dad. “I’m gonna see if the nurse will let
to be sad, that’s what they’ve got him in me out to use the restroom,” she said,
here for.” and quickly dodged out the door that
Carol had left open.
Mom smiled and rubbed her face.
“Alright, I’m done, no worries.” “I’m doing alright,” he said. “I’m
sorry you couldn’t come home tonight,
Yet again, the key jostled in the
they said they wanted to do more
door, and Carol’s blinding smile broke
tests?” He sat in a plush chair, keeping
into the room. “Well, isn’t someone
his back stiff and his hands balled on
popular tonight!” she said. Behind her
his knees.
entered my father.
“Yeah, they need to make sure the
Ann took her feet from the small
antidepressants mix okay with the
stool in front of her, sat up, and crossed
sleeping medication,” I replied.
her legs. My mom quickly wiped any
leftover tears on her face and gave him “Right,” he said. He looked at my
a surprised smile. I picked up the trash mom. “Honey, do you think I could
from my dinner and shoved it away in talk to Jeff alone for one minute?”
the grocery bag it came in. I crushed
“Sure!” She stood up. “I’m going
the bag to make the wrappers as small
to buy you another soda, since your
as possible.
sister stole yours,” she said. She smiled
encouragingly at me. I guess that was a
step up from crying.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW26
Mom walked through the open “Okay.”
doorway and closed it behind her.
Silence reentered the room. I
The “click” of the lock echoed off the
enjoyed the lack of conversation, but
walls of that incredibly tiny room,
my father was clearly struggling with
and settled into a quiet that seemed
something to say, after years of not
deafening by comparison.
saying much of anything.
“Did they not feed you dinner?” “So, do you miss your friends?”
he asked, looking at the sandwich he asked.
wrapper.
“Yeah, I want my phone back.”
“Yeah, but it’s not good, so Mom
“They’re probably really worried
brought me real food.”
about you,” he said.
“You always could clean a plate,”
“I guess.”
he chuckled. His posture hadn’t
relaxed. “So, Jeff, how are you really?” I shouldn’t have been surprised
that he was struggling so much. His
“I’m fine. Ready to be out of here,
effort to make conversation was
but I’m okay.”
alien to both of us. I guess twenty
I didn’t ask what was up with him; dosages of Demerol and a stomach
he’d speak his mind if he wanted to. pump somehow makes me more
He was obviously uncomfortable, as approachable.
he had been every time he saw me
Carol’s cheery face popped in the
that week. “Well, I was just wondering
doorway. “Alrighty! Visiting hours
if there was anything you wanted to
are ending in about five minutes. Did
talk about?”
you want to use the phone while it’s
“Uh… not really? I mean, I’m open?” she asked.
okay now.”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to call my
“Well,” he said, “I only ask because little sister,” I said.
the choice to end a life is a very
“No problem, sweetie, just go wait
serious one, even if it’s your own.”
in the lounge while I walk your family
“Um, okay?” I tried not to let his out.” I didn’t even look at my dad as
words sting. Even if it’s my own? I left.
My dad took a deep breath. “Look, “I love you, Jeff. See you tomorrow
I know things have been hard for you. I afternoon,” my dad said, and the deep
just want you to know that your mother rumble of his voice quickly mixed
and I are here for you,” he said. with Carol’s saccharine one, escorting
him through the locked door.
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201827
Once I entered the lounge, I sat
back by Jessica at the coloring table.
I grabbed a piece of paper and a red
crayon, and didn’t say a word. Forget
Greg and his social coaching; I was far
too exhausted to speak or try to make
friends. Unfortunately, the silence was
broken for me.
“I wish my whole family would
come to visit,” Jessica said softly. I
looked up from blank piece of paper in
front of me, and saw my mother and
sister walk up to the nurse’s station,
have a short conversation, and walk
toward the locked entryway to leave
with my dad.
“Yeah,” I replied. It was all I had
energy to say.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW28
HONORABLE MENTION
Morning Shift
Zach Zarzycki
NONFICTION
This is how you wake up; this is how off; sitting on the deck while your
you forget who you are; this is how mind comes into focus; the sunrise is
you remember who you are; this is damaging your skin; water aerobics
how your body makes coffee by muscle starts; this is how your perception of
memory; this is how you scream along water and human tissue begins to blur;
to Hop Along lyrics; this is how you this is where the synchronized kinetic
avoid crashing your car on Rocky wobble of 65 year old women blends
Ford at 4am; you arrive 15 minutes into a dance; this is how the dance is
early; the front door is locked; you sit set to a sped up remix of “Eye of the
in the parking lot for 10 minutes; the Tiger;” this is how you listen to your
front desk staff arrives; a verbal ritual manager rant about her personal life;
between us; morning how are you? morning I just think white people deal with oppression
how are you? always said in unison; a lot too; Mmmm.
never an answer; this is how you clock
on; this is how you grab the keys and
radio off the rack; this is how you open
the doors without spilling your coffee;
this is how you smile at Dev; this is
how you pretend you don’t know he’s
cheating on his husband; this is how
you unlock the guard shack; this is
how you check the chemicals; this is
how you fall asleep on a backboard
and hallucinate an angel selling you
dabs; this how you vacuum the pool
without falling in; this is how you talk
to a lap swimmer; this is how you
avoid eye contact with a lap swimmer;
this is how you learn about capital
punishment in the middle east from
a lap swimmer; this is how you listen
to Ted Talks while the pool is empty;
this is how you get yelled at by Kate;
this is how you imagine telling Kate
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201829
HONORABLE MENTION
Remembering Big Mama
Renee Reed
NONFICTION
“My grandchildren are just as we would be given the very prestigious
good to me as my children,” my job of washing her hair and putting
grandmother said many times after the Fanciful blue rinse in it. Her tiny
we were all grown. “They give me my frame of about 4’11” seemed massive
flowers while I’m living.” to me as a child, and I would marvel as
an adult years later that her build was
There were 19 of us, and she
so petite. I wondered if it was she that
loved us all as much as if we were all
had changed, or if the difference was
her spawn, although she was always
in what I saw from the perception of
quick to point out that she didn’t think
a child of 5 and the more discerning
anymore of one than she did any of
vision of an adult in her 40s. I suppose
the rest. She often said the same thing
it was probably some of each.
about her five children, four sons and
one daughter, my mother. Yet, even Sometimes there were as many
though she showed no favoritism as eight of us staying with my
among us, my grandmother made each grandparents on their small farm in
of us feel special, like the prettiest of rural Central Virginia. All our parents
the bunch in the garden of flowers she had jobs in the city and, as we got older
nurtured and loved too. and depending on childcare and work
schedules, we would stay with them.
All of us called her Big Mama, and
They were always happily awaiting
it was a name passed down from the
another grandchild to feed.
older grandchildren. She was not a
large woman, except for her bosom, The wood kitchen table was round
and yet the endearing grandmother with a huge pedestal base, and my
name seemed to suit her. She had grandmother always kept an oilcloth
medium brown skin that was as smooth on it, partly to make it look nice, and
as that of a baby. Her eyes were a also because it was easy to wipe off and
mixture of hazel and light brown, and keep clean. There were sometimes as
she had a dimpled smile that could light many as eight chairs around the table,
up a room. Her silver gray hair was as but one section was reserved for a small
soft as cotton, and as each of the female rugged-looking wood bench. The three
grandchildren were old enough to or four youngest would sit on this pew.
move up to that level of responsibility,
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW30
Family members were not the only from us, and her aversion for lying was
ones to be fed at that table. When even stronger. She would always say
visiting my grandparents, you would “If you’ll lie, you’ll steal,” and would
almost always find Big Mama in the get “it,” with “it” being the switch. To
kitchen. Visitors would come in the make matters even worse, Big Mama
front door, walk down the hall and would make us go out in the yard to
pass through the dining room to enter get our own from a tree, and warn us
the heart of her home. Although that we’d better not come back with
she had a gas stove for cooking, Big anything she thought was too small. I
Mama would be standing close to the remember walking out into the yard
wood stove she preferred, wearing with tears streaming down my face to
a full length apron that served as a look for a switch, knowing I better not
protective shield to cover her cotton take too long to find one. When Big
housedresses. All were greeted with a Mama would fan that rubbery twig
smile, and whether family or stranger, around my legs it would make them
young or old, saint or sinner, none feel like they were on fire. I jumped
could resist her hospitality. around like a cat on a hot tin roof
promising not to do whatever I had
Farmers believed in a big breakfast
done again.
so sausage, bacon, eggs, fried apples
and/or potatoes were standards. Since my grandparents had
Some days there would be pancakes, strong religious convictions, on
fried fish or fat back, for variety. Sunday mornings, unless we were at
Bread was baked daily so biscuits, death’s door, we attended the Baptist
corn bread or rolls were always ready church where my grandfather was
to eat, and a pot of greens, beans, a deacon. My sisters and brothers
or stew would be sitting on the stove and I sang in the junior choir, and
waiting to be scooped into a bowl. we sat in the balcony behind the
Her fried chicken was known for pulpit so we had a clear view of
being the best in the county, and every everything that was going on and,
cut of meat she roasted melted in your as children do, we would always find
mouth. As children, we would eagerly something or someone to laugh at.
pick blackberries on the hottest day of My grandmother and grandfather
summer if it meant she was going to did not play about our behavior
bake a roll. No matter what was fixed in church, and made it clear there
it was always delicious, but she never would be trouble for us if we acted
used a recipe or measured ingredients. up. Sometimes, though, it was hard
to keep a straight face. I can still see
Even though she was a kind and
the middle-aged sisters, Ms. Minnie,
soft-spoken woman, Big Mama would
who would have so much face powder
not tolerate disrespect or “sassing”
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 201831
on that she looked like she had been waiting for us as we’d come downstairs
dipped in a barrel of flour before she to start the day.
left home, and Ms. Myrtle, who would
We all had chores to do depending
sit with her legs open so you could see
on our age, size, and sometimes sex.
her garters and the underwear that
There were outside and inside chores.
came down almost to her knees. Big
Inside chores ranged from dusting
Mama would throw a look our way to
and setting the table for the youngest,
remind us we had better stop now or be
to making bread and washing clothes
sorry later, and we would try our best
using the Maytag wringer washer, for
to control ourselves.
the oldest. Whatever job we were
Most of what I knew about religion assigned, it had to be done right or we’d
as a child, I was taught from within have to do it again. After repeating a
the walls of that church. However, job a few times, we finally realized we
Big Mama, who referred to God as might as well do it right the first time.
“The Master,” showed by her shining There were also major projects that
example how to apply the scriptures required a lot more time and energy
to everyday life. It was her own that were not done as often.
interactions with others in the church,
These jobs were done twice a year,
community, and most of all her family,
and included very thorough cleaning to
especially her grandchildren, that
get the home ready for the spring and
demonstrated what the words faith,
summer months and church revival in
forgiveness, compassion, patience,
August, and a winter transformation
understanding, sharing, and most
in preparation for Thanksgiving and
important, love, really meant.
Christmas. The house had to be
My grandmother enjoyed staying spotless from floor to ceiling, and every
busy, and she made sure that we didn’t nook and cranny had to be dusted and
have too much idle time either, so the polished. Walls were vigorously rubbed
work ethic was instilled in us at a very to remove any trace of a smudge or
early age. The day started, literally, at mark that one of us might have left
the crack of dawn on the farm. My behind. Windows were washed with
grandfather was always the first to get vinegar and water, dried with old
up, but Big Mama would never be far newspaper, and curtains or drapes were
behind, quickly swinging those size hung, depending on the season. The
seven feet that didn’t reach the floor old linoleum floors were scrubbed so
over the side of the bed. Since she was clean you could eat off them and then
always the last one to go to bed, I think waxed to give the worn out color new
she would already have the agenda for life. We would rub and polish until that
the day planned the night before, and eight-room house was immaculate and
would have our assignments ready and everything had a sparkling shine.
SHERWOOD FOREST ART & LITERARY REVIEW32
Since everyone usually ate in the that might have happened fifty years
kitchen, the dining room was reserved ago with such detailed description
to entertain when guest preachers that you could almost imagine being
spoke during the week-long summer there. “This was Aunt Ruth’s, and she
revival or when my grandmother gave this to me when Buck and I got
was hosting her women’s group. married,” she said about a treasured
An elegant, delicate chandelier with antique lead crystal vase, and we
eight globes hung from the ceiling knew that she was talking about her
and antique furniture in rich dark mother’s sister. Her Aunt Ruth had
brown wood gave the space a grand died before we were born, but we all
look. There were two china cabinets knew her through my grandmother’s
standing on opposite walls and stacked stories. Everyone she shared with us
with an assortment of fine china, was a part of the family’s history and
porcelain, crystal, and silver. Each Big Mama was the link that connected
globe on the chandelier had to be us to our heritage.
taken down, and every piece in those
Many years later, my two sisters and
cabinets would have to be delicately
I decided to visit my grandmother early
removed. Once the cabinets were
one Saturday morning. In her early
completely emptied, they would be
nineties at that time, age prevented her
dusted and the glass panels on them
from being able to do housekeeping
cleaned until they had a luster to
chores the way she used to, but all of
match their contents. All items would
us were grown with homes to clean
be hand washed and dried until they
and children of our own to raise.
sparkled, and then carefully restored
This Saturday morning, though, we
to their original place.
waited until she answered the door,
As we performed this very delicate her hair in pink sponge rollers, with
operation, Big Mama told us the our scrub buckets, gloves, mops, and
history behind each treasured item, cleaning supplies in hand. “We’ve
and we would listen intently, feeling come to get what you need done the
privileged, no matter how many times way you taught us how to do it.” The
we might have heard it before. Our look on my grandmother’s face was
grandmother was a master storyteller, the priceless picture worth a thousand
and would playfully mimic speech words that told us how she felt. Before
and mannerisms. She loved to talk we began our “labor of love,” she
and had a remarkable memory, so insisted on fixing us breakfast.
she was able to tell you something
JOHN TYLER COMMUNITY COLLEGE • 2018You can also read
