Essays - Issue 2

SHE’S MY INSPIRATION 

By Amanda Vega

Winner

2019 Women’s History Month Essay Award

Women of the past have contributed to inspiring and uplifting women of today. Women of today will inspire and uplift women of the future. Women whom we encounter on an everyday basis have an impact on our daily lives whether subconsciously or consciously. Whether it was positive or negative feedback, a compliment or a meaningful relationship each has its own contribution. That is what I have learned throughout my life. I have learned from every woman I have encountered or learned about. From my Mother to Maya Angelou, to my current social psychology teacher Dr. Kathleen Barker, each have impacted me on a personal level.

My mother has always seen the best in me, even when it’s hard for me to see it for myself. She encompasses the ability to see your best qualities which allows you to delve deeper and expand on them. She is the most positive person in my life who has the most significant impact. During a rough time where I was looking to form my own mentoring program she reminded me of my purpose and poured positivity into me. To the point where I created my own program in Columbia University Secondary school and was able to mentor girls. If it wasn’t for her belief in me and her reminders of how exceptional I am I would have never prospered.

Maya Angelou has always been one of my favorite writers. The way she was able to capture her audience and captivate them with her words where so inspiring. She was the main inspiration for me to pursue writing on a greater scale. Her story alone drove me to not only dedicate my life to becoming a better writer but to dedicate my life to girls everywhere and let our story be heard. Reading her writing reminded me that we all have something to share with each other. It reminded me that we all go through adversities and hardships throughout life, but we are all connected with each other through such experiences. It is very vital to use our voice and stand up for each other.

If it wasn’t for Dr Kathleen Barker’s positive feedback she gave me regarding an assignment in which she complimented my writing. I would have not made this submission today. That feedback quickly reminded me that I was able to connect myself and my writing to others. She encouraged me to keep improving and in retrospect allowed me to realize that I needed to share my writing on a greater scale.

Human connection is the most powerful form of connection. It is the very essence of what drives and impacts our social development within society. Therefore, it is very pivotal to establish such meaningful relationships throughout our life. When accomplished, us as human beings share positive interactions which help to improve our overall well-being. We all inspire each other to some extent.

Fiction - Issue 2

Mirror Image

By Serena Castillo

  I saw him from a distance; there was this glow that was graceful about his presence. There was a light in his eyes, the texture of his hair, the shape of his face, even the way he had walked through the store looking for clothes. His lips full and his tall dark brown skin was beautiful. He was a dream. I always wanted my man to look like that. This man was the man that I wanted --  there was no way I was going to leave here without getting his number. Jade noticed that I was watching someone, she had looked over in the direction of my gaze when she noticed I had been staring there for about twenty minutes.

“Go talk to that man already,” she pushed me in his direction. “He might just want you.”

I gave her an evil look; he had already seen at me. There was no way that I could just stand there now and not talk to him. Continuing to look through a rack of shirts, I worked my way towards him, pushing some shirts to the side in the same rack he was looking in. He smiled at me.

“What kind of shirts are you looking for?” He paused to look down at me.

Smiling back. “Nothing in particular. What are you looking for? I see that you’ve been looking for casual button ups.”

“Yeah, I wear these a lot. It’s what I wear for work.”

I gave Jade a look and she put her thumbs up to encourage me to continue talking to him. He asked me if he could buy me lunch. He invited Jade too. When I asked her if she wanted to come along, she motioned that she had to go home. He said he could drop her home. Instead of taking us for lunch he just went into a drive thru for us. After dropping Jade home, he wanted to take me back to his place, but it was already dark, and it was about to hit 9pm. It was time to go in.

“Maybe next time.” He smiled at me while he parked up in front of my house.

“We can do that. Take my number.” I typed my number in his phone and blew him a kiss.

When I got into the house, my mom was waiting up for me. She was sitting in the living room with the lamp light on. It was strange that she was waiting up. First of all, she was usually at work at this time. When she wasn’t, she was generally asleep. I remembered I was supposed to be home at 5pm to watch my younger sister. I closed the door behind me.

“And where have you been?”

“I went to the mall with Jade.”

She sucked her teeth. “Didn’t I tell you that you needed to be home by 5 so that you can watch your sister so I can go to work? It is damn near 10. I had to call out of work because of you.”

 “Mom, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Do you want me to lose track of money? You won’t have a place to sleep, food in your belly or clothes on your back.”

“MOM! It won’t happen again.”

Getting up, closing her robe, “It better not. I don’t have time to be looking for my son who wants to run around with all these random boys he meets.”

I shook my head. If this were a year ago, she would have met me at the door with her leather belt. Even though she didn’t beat me anymore, she still thought I lie about everything. She never believed me when I told her I was with Jade. She always thought I was going out with all these guys who didn’t exist.  

***

  The next time I saw him, I was on my way home from school. I was walking with Jade back to my block. He was walking to his car when he stopped to talk to me. Jade gave me a approving look and told me she would text me and walked ahead of me. He unlocked his car door and I got in. This time he told me his name: Charlie. I laughed. I thought it was funny but I’m not exactly sure why at first. But then I knew why: his name just reminded me of a young boy, not an older man. He told me he wanted to take me out and get to know me. We made a date.

Charlie was a great guy so far. His smile, his presence. But something was also a little off about him. He was a little too nice – a little too solicitous, and when people are just a little too nice to me, I think they are looking for something more that I can offer them.

The night he picked me up I made sure I looked my best. He picked me up around the corner from my house so that my mother wouldn’t ask me questions; I had told her I was going over to Jade’s for the night.

Dinner was nice. We went to this fancy restaurant in a residential part of town, then to a movie. After the movie, it was still a little early so we went to get some ice cream from a little ice cream shop by his house. He told me he wanted to take me home with him. At first, I hesitated. He noticed the look on my face and told me he would take me back home if I wanted him to. But I thought again to myself, I was ready; I was interested in getting to know him some more. I agreed to go back to his house with him.

Tonight was the night. I was going to lose my virginity. On the car ride to his place, all I could think about was how bad it was going to hurt. I screamed in my head, but I was excited. Suddenly, I fell asleep.

***

I woke up in a dark room. My mind was blank; I could not fully open my eyes. My heart beat faster and faster. The window was a one-way mirror that showed my own reflection back. The room was cold but dry. I could hear the sound of breathing on the other side of the mirror. “The room is sound proof,” he said from the other side. He also told me that even if I wanted to scream for help, I couldn’t. If I wanted to cry, no one would hear me. I was in a basement. There was another window- like structure on the far left of the room. I thought it would be my escape. I tried to climb up on the chair to break it open but it was not a window, just a thick piece of plastic taped over the wall that gave off a weak reflection.

***

I don’t know how to feel about anything anymore. It feels like I’ve been in here for five years. I’ve been counting the days though. Next to the cot I sleep on, under, I have been scratching the pavement with the number of days I believe I was in here. Forty-six days.

            I’ve tried to escape too many times – that’s when he first started to beat me. I fought back the first few times, not anymore. I am always tied up when he comes down now. I am bound to this bed.

I hate the smell of flowers now. Roses to be exact. Every night when he comes into the room, he brings a single rose with him. He would place the rose on the cot and would walk into the bathroom on the other side of the room to draw my bath.      

           He draws my bath, comes to take me into the bathroom and then bathes me. I cry. He takes the wash cloth and lathers it with soap. He washes my back, then my chest, then finally works his way down to my penis and then my balls. I cry more. My bare-naked body exposed to and hurt by the beautiful man. I would have given him all of my love. How could the one person that I tried to love been the one person who is killing me every day?

Every time I start to cry; he beats me with a leather belt. I cry harder. I miss my mother. All I could think about is my mother.

When I do get out, I know that no man will ever love me again. No one will look at me the same because I’ve been run through. Beaten. Abused. Who would want someone who is broken? It hurts. I might die here.

Poetry - Issue 2

Grandma Hilda & The American Hostage

By Brianna-Christine Alicea

She is happiest on sunniest days
Her pale, supple skin
Her bright, antimony shirt
Her coconut eyes
Sluggish drag of violaceous slippers
Soprano Spanish springing from wall to wall
16 mint green plaster walls made her apartment
Broken beer bottles, ambulance sirens, police wails, 3 am shrills: a city-banshee
Her husband the brutal police officer
Seclusion was the crime
America the cell
Her frailty confines her to bed at twilight
Puerto Rican flags tucked away in sullen brown drawers
Sunset sets permanently

“Moonshine”

by Cherish Pierre-Louis

The clouds shroud it

Cover it to give it this

Iridescent gleam

My vision is foggy

my words a slur

I sway in my chair

The floor creeks remind me

I’m a person

not an object

The moon is claustrophobic

With all those clouds

It glows to get away

I get away

I stay away from the crowd

I want to see the moon’s

Opalescent glow

I want to see it change

Watch as it moves closer

And as it moves away

I love it truly

I love you

Like the moon in a nutshell

With your mirror transparency

Your clear comfort

With your glass cover

Your liquid warmth

With all your changes

Your phases

Your craters

Your layer is tough

Your gravity is

greater

Your illuminance

Your exuberance

The moon in my sky

LEVELS

By Aricelys Turay

I wanted to think you were

different,

Yet I knew you were the same.

Since our first conversation,

I knew the game we were playing

But I still leveled up to 1

Level 2 came around,

Where I stood my ground and you liked it.

Level 3. We stopped talking

Level 4. You reached out

as if nothing had happened.

I told you what I wanted.

You said you respected that.

Yet you started your manipulation

I ignored. But you were my temptation.

Level 5. You broke me, made me

Abandon my dignity.

Level 6. We went back to Level 1. With a twist

Of reality, Level 7.

Game Over

Sweet Treat Foodie

By Catherine Jones

I want the caramel taste from a Haagen-Daz

ice cream bar, with a chocolate nutty shell.

To let the caramel linger on my bottom lip

for a long while before licking it off

slowly with my tongue, undressing,

removing the shell piece by piece with my teeth.

Let me see the true beauty of white snow on a stick.

Let me inhale this treat’s cooling air

that shivers my spine, make my teeth chatter

when I bite down on the sugary pure white cream

going slow and steady

I want to let some melt down my throat

to cool my throat while the rest can leave

a white sticky trail out of my mouth

run down the corner of my chin

Let me nibble and suck

on your remains that might be left

on the hard wooden stick.

#Hashtag Pantoum

By Kira Ollivierra

The biography of #Hashtag

A normal boy who died

What killed him was his bag

For that his mother cried

 

A normal boy who died

Forgot to play a role

For that his mother cried

In turn his life it stole

 

Forgot to play a role

Or remember the talk

In turn his life it stole

He’s an outline of chalk

 

Or remember the talk

For his license and registration

He’s an outline of chalk

5 o pulls no hesitation

 

For his license and registration

#Hashtag reaches and pow

5 o pulls no hesitation

Social media’s response, “how?”

#Hashtag reaches and pow

Don’t go into your bag

Social media’s response, “how?”

The biography of #Hashtag