Saint Mary's College, Notre Dame, IN - Courier

Courier - Spring 2012

dmiller2 — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 13:47:29 +0000

Spring 2012

Full Edition

Download the full edition in pdf format (4.3 MB)

Supplemental: Tributes to Sister B.A.

Download the 1989 Courier article about Sister B.A. (pdf), or read Sister B.A.'s 90th birthday messages

Courier - Winter 2011

dmiller2 — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 16:47:01 +0000

Winter 2011

Full Edition

Download the full edition in pdf format (2.2 MB)

Supplemental

Nathan Watson, son of Patty Dunlevy Watson '88, made history when he went in for heart surgery, read more in Nathan Watson: Making History.

Nathan Watson

dmiller2 — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 14:59:32 +0000

Winter 2011

Nathan Watson: Making History

Nathan Watson, son of Patty Dunlevy Watson '88, made history when he went in for heart surgery on December 7, 2011 at Children's Hospital at St. Mary's Medical Center in West Palm Beach, Florida. Nathan was the first patient to undergo pediatric congenital heart surgery at the facility and was up and running for his 10th birthday on December 12.

Patty's story is featured in the Winter 2011 issue of the Courier. News coverage of Nathan's surgery and recovery is at:

St. Mary's Medical Center Celebrates First Pediatric Congenital Heart Surgery

St. Mary's new pediatric heart program celebrates 1st surgery

Super Legacy

dmiller2 — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:49:49 +0000

Fall 2011

Super Legacy

Saint Mary’s College alumnae who have had four daughters graduate from Saint Mary’s:

Rosemary Gauer Costa ‘48
Mary Beth Miller Dominello ‘97
Patricia Donovan Dowd ’60 (deceased)
Margaret Kirby Frailey ‘46
Nancy Van Etten Haske ‘63
Marcia Riordan Leonard ‘54
Elizabeth Byrne Naphin ’29 (deceased)
Margaret Schwerty Nolan ’25 (deceased)
Anna Mathias Openheim ’17 (deceased)
Doralil Sauer Pugliese ‘68
Eleanor Toffenetti Vodicka ‘45
Kathleen Burke Welsh ‘59
Marjorie Hall Witherspoon ’41 (deceased)

In Darwin's Footsteps

dmiller2 — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 15:49:45 +0000

Summer 2011

In Darwin’s Footsteps

by Ann Jacobson

Reading about Charles Darwin’s exciting discoveries about the unique fauna, floral, and animal species in the Galapagos Islands in black ink doesn’t even compare to actually walking in his footsteps there, say two Saint Mary’s students who have done just that. That comes as no surprise to biology Professor Thomas Fogle, Ph.D. “International learning is like a gigantic 3-D classroom where you are surrounded by opportunities to grow and become more aware and enlightened,” he says. His “Special Topics in Biology (490): Environments of Ecuador,” class travels biennially for a few weeks to Ecuador, one of the most environmentally diverse countries in the world. There, his students delve into population dynamics, interactions among organisms, the impact and consequence of human presence, and local efforts at conservation. The setting for this undertaking involves four distinct environments in Ecuador: a cloud forest, the barren Andes highlands, the Amazon rainforest, and the Galapagos volcanic archipelago of islands owned by Ecuador, where an amazed Darwin first recorded his findings in 1885.

Chemistry Major Amelia McGannon ’11 of Kansas City, Missouri, was among 14 students who ventured on this biological journey to Ecuador with Fogle last summer (2010). Before that, her vision of Ecuador’s Amazon Rainforest had been gleaned from only movies such as Jungle Book and Tarzan. “To my surprise, the parts of the rainforest that we explored did not resemble this image at all,” she says. “What surprised me even more was how much more I enjoyed the rainforest because it was not the glamorized image I thought it would be. It was raw and untouched.” Her visit to the Amazon Basin helped her to more fully grasp concepts of chemical processes learned in campus classrooms, she says.

The trip is also designed as an intercultural learning experience, Fogle says. Such experiences include spending a day with the Quichua people in the rainforest, touring a part of Quito that was built by the Conquistadors 500 years ago, and dining on local delicacies, like native guinea pig. Mona Rodriguez ’12, a biology major from Madera, California, found daily life in the Galapagos Islands (which are only about three percent inhabited) as rich of an experience as seeing its biological wonders. “Coming from the States, this was a totally different environment for us. It was eye-opening to see and experience firsthand what local life is like for the small population of people who live on these islands, specifically for young kids going to school,” Rodriguez says. McGannon says that while applying what she learned in the classroom to actual environments was valuable, “the most monumental thing I learned had nothing to do with science. Interacting with the natives and experiencing their everyday life opened my eyes to how materialistic many of us are,” she says. “Many of the Ecuadorians that we came into contact with had very few tangible things, but were immensely happy and loving. This approach to life encouraged me to live more simply and take less for granted.”

Rodriguez’s post-graduate career goals include medical research in Oncology. “This trip opened my eyes to how a big portion of the world lives. I would like to go back someday and help in the small villages that often go unnoticed simply because they’re hidden in remote locations without modern technology for easy modes of communication,” she says. “I learned that 25 percent of Western pharmaceuticals are derived from rainforest ingredients, which is quite remarkable. I think there’s great potential for the rainforest in terms of research applications for modern medicines.” After graduation, McGannon plans on taking a year to work and gain more life experience prior to attending graduate school. “This trip to Ecuador opened my eyes to all of the possibilities that the field of science provides,” she says.

Both students agree that textbooks and classroom learning is greatly enriched when it extends to the real world, especially in new, faraway environments. “Now, I have a greater understanding of many different ecosystems from first-hand experience of living in these different environments and observing for myself in conjunction with a strong academic background from the material presented in class,” says Rodriguez. “It was like an episode of the discovery channel, but it was real and we were experiencing it for ourselves. Everything grows bigger in the Amazon…from trees to spiders! The entire program was an experience. We walked in Darwin’s footsteps and we traveled our own. Everyday brought textbooks and things we’ve learned to life.”

In the summer of 2012, another group of Biology Professor Thomas Fogle’s students is planning to venture to Ecuador to explore its four distinct ecosystems as part of his “Special Topics in Biology (490): Environments of Ecuador” class. Fogle came to teach at Saint Mary’s College in 1979 after finishing his graduate work at North Carolina State University. Other requirements of Course 490 include structured classroom learning, readings, and student projects sequential to the summer trip as well as students being charged with maintaining their own extensive journals, using Darwin writings as a model for their own, Fogle says. They are additionally required to write term papers on their travel experience upon their return to campus.

The itineraries for the trips to Ecuador have been slightly different, but with the same goals of studying Ecuador’s four distinct environments. Planned highlights of the class trip during the summer of 2012 include students:

flying to Quito, Ecuador high in the Andes mountains and travel north near Otavalo, a dry and grassy area, for a day-long hike around a volcanic lake at 11,000 feet above sea level.
traveling six hours to the Amazon basin, taking a hike along the way in a high-mountain rainforest (or cloud forest), home to more than a dozen of the 160 Ecuadorian hummingbird species. They’ll stay in an eco-friendly lodge in the rainforest and travel by motor canoe to various sites along the Napo River.
visiting an animal rehabilitation center where animals are protected from hunting and the pet trade, both which flourish in the Amazon.
returning to Quito to fly 600 miles west to the Galapagos, an archipelago of islands owned by Ecuador, where they will live on a boat for a week, traveling between islands learning about the plant and animal diversity there. They can also snorkel and swim, sometimes right off the boat.

Cat Cleary: Asking Questions that Have No Right to Go Away

dmiller2 — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 15:38:20 +0000

Summer 2011

Newly appointed to the College’s Board of Trustees as a full-voting student trustee, Catherine Michels Cleary ’12 believes in…

Asking questions that have no right to go away

by Ann Jacobson

Cat Cleary

She thinks she first heard it said by a Sister of the Holy Cross at Saint Mary’s, but Catherine “Cat” Michels Cleary ’12 is not certain. She immediately put it to paper as she often does with words that inspire. Ask the questions that have no right to go away has stayed with her ever since and become her personal motto. “Questions that have no right to go away are those that beckon us to pay attention to things we would rather ignore,” says Cleary. “In response to them, we often say we’re too busy, don’t have enough time, or they’re not our problem. I interpret this statement with a gendered lens, as I do my whole life. These questions for me have to do with power dynamics, equality, social class, social norms, and sexuality.”

Cleary says her eyes were first opened to “the impact that race, age, and class have on the lives of women” after she participated in an alternative spring break program through the College’s Office for Civic and Social Engagement, as a first-year student. She and four other Saint Mary’s students went to Indianapolis to learn about women’s issues in urban environments, and heard speakers on issues that included sexual assault, human trafficking, and teen homelessness. They visited shelters for abused women, the Indiana Women’s Prison, and Girl’s Inc. of Indianapolis, whose mission is to inspire girls to be strong, smart, and bold.

Inspired by that experience—and by her grandmother, Audrey Cleary, who served several terms in the North Dakota State Legislature, and no less by her parents, Julie Michels and Paul Cleary, Catholic educators, who nurtured their daughter’s feminist beliefs and the importance of a faith-filled life of service to others—Cleary set about preparing herself for a future in public service. She sought a student-designed major under the Women’s Studies (WOST) Program, focused on public policy, law, power, and privilege along with a minor in Spanish. Cleary also tailored her learning approach beyond the classroom to educate her firsthand on the complex legal and social issues women face. “I have no reservations about saying that the great majority of my learning here at Saint Mary’s has happened outside of the classroom,” says the Fridley, Minnesota, native for whom the classroom serves as her springboard for learning.

By example of her work, volunteer, full-time classroom studies, and internship experiences, Cleary might serve as inspiration to those of us who might believe we do not have enough time as we are too busy to pay attention to issues that we think are for others to solve. (See sidebar featuring some of her accomplishments). This summer, she is interning with the Indiana Coalition against Sexual Assault (INCASA) in Indianapolis, a 25-year-old organization dedicated to eradicating sexual assault against all individuals. Admitting that her involvement in so many extra-curricular activities definitely tests her ability to balance her commitments, “it is incredibly fulfilling,” she says. “I’m at a point in my life where each day I find myself interested in a new career, but I find they all revolve around my desire to advocate for women, in the non-profit sector. I also plan on running for public office in the future.

Saint Mary’s has helped me by fulfilling my spiritual and academic needs, by challenging my commitment to serving others and most importantly, by giving me room to grow.”

Summer 2011 - Courier Online

dmiller2 — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 15:03:10 +0000

Summer 2011

In Darwin's Footsteps

Students travel to Ecuador and get to walk in Darwin's footsteps on the Galapagos Islands.

Study is Broad on this Study Abroad Experience

Research program on Little Corn Island, Nicaragua, leads to insight and opportunities.

Commencement 2011: Honors and Awards

Commencement 2011 honored outstanding students, professors, an alumna, and a distinguished guest.

Asking questions that have no right to go away

Newly appointed member of the Board of Trustess, full-voting student trustee, Catherine Michels Cleary ’12.

Full Edition

Download the full edition in pdf format (2 MB)

Commencement 2011: Honors and Awards

ccox — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 12:36:13 +0000

Summer 2011

Honors and Awards

Commencement 2011 honored outstanding students, professors, an alumna, and a distinguished guest. Saint Mary's College presented the following awards and honors this graduation season.

Valedictorian: Samantha Wassel '11
Lumen Christi Award: Jingqiu Guan '11
Saint Catherine Medal: Laura Glaub '12
Maria Pieta Award: Professor Patrick Pierce
Spes Unica Award: Professor Nancy Nekvasil
Commencement Speaker and Honorary Doctorate of Humanities: Therese Johnson Borchard '93
Honorary Doctorate of Humanites: Colleen Barrett

Samantha Wassel '11
Valedictorian

Samantha Wassel excelled both in the classroom and on the College’s cross country team. She finished classes a semester early, earning a grade point average of 3.987 overall and 4.0 in her English writing major. Along with classmate Kathryn Lynch, Wassel received the English department’s top writing award, the Laurie A. Lesniewski Creative Writing Award. “The award is given by the department as a whole, and Sam was our unanimous choice,” English Professor Max Westler says. "What makes Sam a writer is not just her talent or ambition, but how much she cares about getting the words on the page exactly right. That means putting up with a high degree of frustration, but Sam has always been patient. And you can feel her focus, her intensity, and her sense of purpose in every sentence she writes."

Her academic and athletic performance earned Wassel the 2011 Academic and Athletic Achievement Award. Coach Jackie Bauters calls Wassel one of the finest athletes she’s ever coached, saying, “Sometimes you meet an athlete and you just know they are going to be different, they have that extra ounce of pixie dust to make them magical.”

Wassel’s cross country achievements include bringing home an individual title her freshman year with a 19:39 in the 5-kilomter race; landing a spot in the regional meet her junior year, and finishing the 6-kilometer course with a 25:19; and, in her senior year, scoring for her team in five of six races, and competing at the regional meet again.

Wassel plans to go to graduate school and ultimately make a career of writing. A native of New Carlisle, Indiana, Wassel and her husband, Andy Wassel, currently live in New York.

Jingqiu Guan '11
Lumen Christi Award

Jingqiu Guan of Chengdu, China, received the Lumen Christi Award, which honors an outstanding Christian woman. The recipient of the award is traditionally someone who has excelled in leadership and loyalty to Saint Mary’s and whose presence has had a profound effect on the College community. Guan majored in economics and French and earned minors in mathematics and dance.

Faculty and students alike know Guan as an enthusiastic, positive, and engaging woman. In fact, one of her faculty nominators states, “A visit from her to your office makes the day more special.” Her kindness and thoughtfulness touch everyone she meets.

Guan is a talented pianist, dancer, and linguist. Her outstanding academic record has resulted in her being accepted to every graduate school to which she applied. She will attend Harvard University to study international education policy, turning down Stanford University, the University of Notre Dame’s Peace Studies Program, and the University of Iowa’s graduate dance program to which only four students are chosen each year. The acceptance to Iowa is especially significant because Guan only started dancing at Saint Mary’s, not younger.

Guan has a passion for dance and has performed annually in the dance recital at the College. She completed the Saint Mary’s Intercultural Leadership Certificate program and has been active in presentations of Chinese culture on campus. She also acted as the mistress of ceremonies for the showcase during the celebration of International Student Week on campus. She has also helped to organize the China Night program where this year she performed a dance with the daughter of a faculty member. This year she traveled to her homeland with the Women’s Choir, serving as an interpreter and dancing during concerts.

Additionally, Guan served as the student representative to the Alumnae Board and was a member of the Center for Women’s Intercultural Leadership’s International Advisory Board.

Guan embraces each new opportunity in life with an eagerness to become the person she was created to be. No doubt, her attitude, talents, and faith will help her achieve her dream of creating her own non-profit organization that would use arts education to promote social justice and peace.

Laura Glaub '12
Saint Catherine Medal

The Saint Catherine Medal honors a sophomore or junior who demonstrates high standards of personal excellence and scholarship and who contributes to the College community in the spirit of Christian leadership. The award commemorates Saint Catherine of Alexandria, the patron saint of scholars, especially of women scholars. Kappa Gamma Pi, the National Catholic Honor Society, sponsors the award.

The 2011 Saint Catherine Medal recipient is Laura Glaub ’12 of Okemos, Michigan. She is a communication studies major with minors in women’s studies and social work. As stated on her award citation, Glaub is passionate about a wide variety of causes and demonstrates the integration of heart and mind that reflects the best in Holy Cross education. She is known as an innovator who constantly seeks ways to bring people together to make the world a better place. Her list of accomplishments is long. She created the Love Your Body Week and worked with several departments to raise awareness about negative body image and its effects on women. Her work on this and other projects reflects her life philosophy: “Respect for all, flavored by joy.”

Glaub is very involved in student organizations and clubs, including the Student Government Association, Residence Life, Dance Marathon, the Belles Against Violence Office, Student Activities Board, and more. Through the Office for Civic and Social Engagement, she has climbed ladders for Rebuilding Together and tutored children for the College Academy of Tutoring program.

Blessed Basil Anthony Moreau, founder of the Congregations of the Holy Cross, spoke of the need for the value of zeal, and this zealous, joyful life is embodied in Glaub. She demonstrates what people are capable of when the heart and mind are integrated, and when we approach others and the world guided by the values of respect, compassion, and service.

Glaub received the award at Honors Convocation on May 8. Students, faculty, and staff nominate candidates for this award and the Academic Affairs Council makes the final selection. The name of the recipient is not revealed until the Convocation.

Emma Hoffman '11
Outstanding Senior Award

The Alumnae Association Board of Directors presented the Outstanding Senior Award to Emma Hoffman, a biology major from Oak Forest, Illinois. The award recognizes a student who exemplifies the spirit and values of the College. The recipient also carries out the beliefs of her faith in daily living and is distinguished by scholarship, leadership, and outstanding dedication to Saint Mary’s.

Since her first year, Hoffman has been active in Campus Ministry, participating in retreat ministry and group presentations as well as serving as a liturgical minister and peer minister to her fellow students. “Emma exemplifies what a Saint Mary’s woman can become: Someone eager to serve and know more about the world in which we live,” says Regina Wilson, assistant director of Campus Ministry.

Throughout her four years at Saint Mary’s, Hoffman gained the confidence to pursue her passions for biology, traveling abroad, and involvement in student government. As a first-year student, she was elected president of her class. As a sophomore, she was a member on the Class Board, and as a junior, she served as Student Government Association mission commissioner. In her senior year, she stepped up to the role of student trustee on the College’s Board of Trustees.

Studying abroad was an integral part of Hoffman’s Saint Mary’s experience, including participating in the Rome Program her sophomore year. Her senior research project took her to Little Corn Island in Nicaragua, where she tested a water purification system as she fostered memorable relationships with the poverty-challenged locals. This experience allowed Hoffman to combine her love of biology with her desire to serve others.

These experiences have combined to teach her the crucial skill of being able to state her opinion with confidence. “As my senior year comes to an end, I do not have to worry that I will be lost in a crowd,” Hoffman says. “My leadership abilities will set me apart. My path is not certain, but the tools and friends I have gained at Saint Mary’s will always hold me in good stead.”

After graduation Hoffman returned to Little Corn Island and will stay there for a year to do biology related projects. She also plans to apply to graduate school to study environmental health or apply to the Peace Corps.

Patrick Pierce
Maria Pieta Award

The Maria Pieta Award was established in 1976 in honor of Sister Maria Pieta, CSC, a teacher and administrator at Saint Mary’s College. The award recognizes outstanding instructors of freshmen and sophomore classes. The recipient of this year’s award is Professor Patrick Pierce, chair of the Department of Political Science.

According to his award citation, Pierce is recognized for his consistent commitment to and excellence in teaching young women. These qualities are evident whether he’s working with students in or out of the classroom. He not only demands the best from his students, he also goes out of his way to help them meet that demand. A student writes in her nomination that Pierce once made her redo a paper: “Instead of giving me the poor grade I undoubtedly deserved, he wanted to make [sure] I truly understood the material. He was not going to let me fail.” His students appreciate this dedication, with one student calling his teaching “the most valuable to my growth as an independent and analytical thinker.”

Pierce’s strong relationship with Saint Mary’s students continues well after graduation. He stays in contact with alumnae from his department, often helping current students make connections with them. Each year, he arranges for three alumnae to return to campus to talk with current students about how the major has played a role in their careers and about the transition from college to career.

Good teaching requires commitment and perseverance, and Pierce exemplifies those qualities, the citation states. An avid runner, his love of sports includes a love of basketball, and he has long served as the academic advisor for the Saint Mary’s basketball program. A former player notes: “He has given academic advice to many members of our team and has articulated to the team how academic life and athletic life correlate. He has made us all better students on the court and in the classroom.”

Whether on the sideline of the basketball court, in the office, or in the classroom, Pierce’s teaching is characterized by a passion that students find infectious. As one student puts it: “The main focus of his teachings … is strengthening an understanding of democracy and increasing our passion for political participation, regardless of political affiliation.”

Professor Pierce received the Maria Pieta Award at Honors Convocation on May 8. Students, faculty, and staff nominate candidates for this award and the Academic Affairs Council makes the final selection. The name of the recipient is not revealed until the Convocation.

Nancy Nekvasil
Spes Unica Award

The Spes Unica Award recognizes a faculty member’s eminent service to Saint Mary’s College. Contributions can be in the area of teaching, scholarship/creative activity, and/or service. This year’s recipient, Professor Nancy Nekvasil, chair of the Department of Biology, has demonstrated exceptional dedication to the College in all of these areas.

According to her award citation, Nekvasil models selfless devotion to the College and exudes boundless enthusiasm for teaching and scholarship.

She has been a member of many committees, including Student Affairs, Academic Standards, Faculty Affairs, Admission and Scholarship, Rank and Tenure, Curriculum, Assessment, Grievance, and General Education. She has shared her expertise as a faculty member by mentoring new faculty in her department and through the College mentoring program. She has supported the College’s writing program, once serving as a co-director. At one point, she even put her love of teaching on hold to help the College as an advisor in the Academic Affairs Office.

As stated in the citation, Nekvasil gives tirelessly to her department. As chair of the Department of Biology, she led her department through an external review and is now leading a curricular revision. She is the advisor for two student clubs. In one of her particularly demanding roles, she counsels students who intend to go to graduate school in the health care disciplines. She makes four-year plans for these students, advises them, and writes letters of recommendation.

The recipient of the 1990 Maria Pieta Award, she is recognized as an extraordinary teacher. After only five minutes in conversation with her, one sees her love for teaching and her students. She demands the best of her students, supports their efforts, and takes great delight in their success. Her office door is always open, and students appreciate her support. As one student says in her nomination letter, “Whenever there was a low point . . . [she] was always there telling you that she believes in you.” A teacher-scholar, Nekvasil shares her love of her discipline and helps students develop their own voices in that discipline.

Professor Nekvasil received the Spes Unica Award at Honors Convocation on May 9. Students, faculty, and staff nominate candidates for this award and the Academic Affairs Council makes the final selection. The name of the recipient is not revealed until the Convocation.

Therese Johnson Borchard '93
Commencement Speaker

Therese Johnson Borchard ’93 is associate editor of PsychCentral.com, where she contributes to the award-winning blog, World of Psychology. She also writes the daily blog, Beyond Blue, on Beliefnet.com. Borchard is author of Beyond Blue: Surviving Depression & Anxiety and Making the Most of Bad Genes and The Pocket Therapist: An Emotional Survival Kit. A columnist for Catholic News Service, she is also coeditor, with Michael Leach, of the national bestseller, I Like Being Catholic: Treasured Traditions, Milestones, and Stories.

Delivering the Commencement address at Saint Mary’s was a dream come true for Borchard. “I think being chosen as the Saint Mary’s Commencement speaker is the highest honor I can think of. Not even winning a Pulitzer Prize would mean more to me,” she says. “Much of who I am today was formed in my four years at Saint Mary’s. The school is really part of my soul because it was there that I found the courage to be me.”

Borchard received a degree in religious studies from Saint Mary’s College. She also received the Lumen Christi Award, the highest honor conferred on a student. She earned a master’s degree in theology from the University of Notre Dame.

Colleen Barrett
Honorary Degree Recipient

Colleen Barrett, president emeritus of Southwest Airlines Co., received an honorary doctorate of humanities. Barrett has consistently been recognized as one of the most powerful businesswomen in America and serves as an inspiring example of a strong and successful woman. The definition for success is different from person to person, Barrett has said. In an interview for the Horatio Alger Award for Distinguished Americans, she said, “Success is definitely not a paycheck or a title. For me, success is being able to answer ‘yes’ to the question, ‘Did I make a positive difference today?’” Barrett worked her way up the ranks at Southwest Airlines, a company that built its reputation on excellent customer service. She started with Southwest at its inception in 1971, stepping down as president in 2008.

Little Corn Island Leaves Big Impression on Students

gobrien — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 13:55:09 +0000

Summer 2011

Study is Broad on this Study Abroad Experience

Ashley Cook '11, Chelsea Crane '11, Professor Tom Fogle, Emma Hoffman '11, Mary Burke '85 (Chair of the Board of Trustees), and Megan Weinandy '11 pose together at the "Celebrating the Education of Women in Science" event at the College on March 26, 2011.

In the summer of 2008, two Saint Mary's College biology students were the first to participate in a pilot research program on Little Corn Island, Nicaragua. At the invitation of Mary Burke ’85, who owns a resort there, and under the guidance of biology professors, the students conducted research for their senior comprehensives. Things went so well, the program continued and grew to four students each summer. Through the summer of 2011, 14 biology students have spent two months on Little Corn working on senior comprehensive research that includes testing the quality of well water; introducing water purification to the native population; and cataloging the fish species and the condition of the coral reef.

Chelsea Crane ’11 and Ashley Cook ’11 did underwater research on Little Corn in the summer of 2010. Crane, an avid videographer on land, shot footage on the ocean’s floor, capturing compelling shots—like schools of fish darting around the students as they went scuba diving. It has Crane dreaming of a career shooting underwater video for television networks like National Geographic. Meanwhile, Cook's underwater adventures will continue in the summer of 2011 with an internship off the coast of Africa (read more below). Emma Hoffman ’11 and Megan Weinandy '11 spent the summer of 2010 introducing simple water filtration systems into homes there, improving the water quality for the island’s natives and redirecting the course of their careers as well. They returned there after graduation for another summer of research. All four students say the time spent on Little Corn Island was life altering.

Watch underwater video that Crane shot and interviews with the students in this news clip, which appeared on WSBT-TV. Professor Nancy Nekvasil, chair of the Department of Biology, is also interviewed.

Oops! It seems that you do not have the most current version of the Adobe Flash Player. Please click here to download it.

Chelsea Crane ’11

“Little Corn definitely changed my career path. I started out as a biology major planning to apply to medical schools, but ruled that out pretty quickly. I wasn't sure what else to do with the major but I knew I loved traveling and so when the opportunity came to do my senior comprehensive on Little Corn, I jumped on it,” Crane recalled.

“The project was a perfect mix of photography and research. It was an adventure and I have Mary Burke and the wonderful professors in the Department of Biology to thank for it. It was because of my experiences on Little Corn that I now have this unparalleled passion for marine biology. I plan on returning to Little Corn to become a certified dive master after which I will hopefully find more research opportunities in a graduate program.”

Ashley Cook ‘11

“Before going to Little Corn Island, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after graduating,” said Cook. “Last summer, I spent two months scuba diving off the coast of Little Corn conducting fish and coral surveys. From day one, I knew it was a field I would be involved with the rest of my life.”

The experience is already paying dividends for Cook. In the summer of 2011, she was completing a summer internship at the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago and in September she was scheduled to travel to South Africa for a two-month internship studying great white sharks with the organization Oceans Research. She plans to obtain a PhD in marine biology and become a researcher and college professor.

Emma Hoffman ‘11

“For three years I worked toward my application for medical school, but as I was getting ready to leave for Nicaragua last summer I decided to stop my application and see how I felt after my time there,” said Hoffman. “While on Little Corn, I implemented a home water filtration system for residents, which is effective at removing bacteria and is a practical option because of its low cost and easy use. From this experience, I realized that environmental health is a growing field and would allow me to participate in field research all over the world.” Now she has a new career path, which combines her passions for biology and helping those in need.

She returned to the island in the summer of 2011 to work on more community-based projects while she applying to graduate schools. Her goal is to get a masters of science in global and environmental health or environmental science with a focus on agriculture or water.

Megan Weinandy ‘11

Weinandy also traveled back to the island for the summer of 2011. She says her positive experience the previous summer only left her wanting to do more good there...and elsewhere. “My experience on Little Corn Island helped me gain a new perspective on what I wanted to do after graduation from Saint Mary's. Before I spent my summer on Little Corn, I was extremely unsure of what I wanted to do,” she recalled.

“I was contemplating going into public health, and with my senior comprehensive project which focused on drinking water quality, I realized that I was very passionate about working one-on-one with the people in efforts to improve their drinking water. After my experience, I have realized that I want to go into the area of environmental science or environmental health. My goal is to get into a graduate program that is coupled with the Peace Corps in either one of these fields.”

For more information on the Little Corn Island program, contact biology professor Tom Fogle at (574) 284-4675.

Courier Online - Summer 09 - Cover

dmiller2 — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 19:47:43 +0000

Published & Presented 2009

dmiller2 — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 14:01:41 +0000

Winter 2009

Published & Presented

Laura Williamson Ambrose, assistant professor of humanistic studies, gave her archival research presentation, “Travel in Time: Almanac Use and Local Travel in Seventeenth-Century England,” to the participants of the National Endowment for the Humanities Summer Seminar, “The Reformation of the Book,” in Oxford, England, in July.

—

Don Balka, professor emeritus of mathematics, was elected to the office of president-elect of School Science and Mathematics Association (SSMA), the oldest professional organization for mathematics and science educators. His one-year term as president-elect begins in October, followed by a two-year term as president and one-year term as past president. SSMA is an inclusive professional community that joins researchers and teachers in promoting research, scholarship, and practice to improve school science and mathematics and to advance the integration of the two.

Balka also recently began a three-year term on the board of directors of TODOS: Mathematics for All. The mission of the organization is to advocate for equitable and high quality mathematics education for all students—in particular, Hispanic/Latino students—by increasing the equity awareness of educators and their ability to foster students’ proficiency in rigorous and coherent mathematics.

Saint Mary’s Department of Mathematics’ partnership with the South Bend Community School Corporation in its program, Reach for the Numbers, was the catalyst for involvement in TODOS. The program provided training for the South Bend Community’s English as a Second Language (ESL) teachers and students. Working with Balka were associate professors Mary Porter and Colleen Hoover.

In addition, Balka coauthored the books, A Guide to Mathematics Coaching: Processes for Increasing Student Achievement and A Guide to Mathematics Leadership: Sequencing Instructional Change (Corwin Press). He is also coauthor on the K–5 elementary mathematics series, Math Connects (The Macmillan Group).

—

J. Philip Bays, professor of chemistry, represented the American Chemical Society’s (ACS) Project SEED (Summer Experiences for the Economically Disadvantaged) summer research program at a black-tie dinner and ceremony in May at the U.S. Department of State in Washington, D.C. The event honored recipients of the 2009 National Science Board Public Service Awards, including Project SEED. Bays is the immediate past chair (2006–08) of the ACS committee, which oversees the program.

Project SEED focuses on fostering interest in science as a career and encouraging achievement in science, mathematics, and engineering among high school students from economically disadvantaged backgrounds. Established in 1968, Project SEED provides summer research opportunities for students in academic, industrial, and government research laboratories across the country under the supervision of volunteer scientists who serve as mentors. In its 40–year history, more than 9,000 students have participated in the program.

—

Linda Berdayes, associate professor of communication studies, presented the paper “Secondary Orality and Mobile Phones” at the Tenth Annual Convention of The Media Ecology Association, at Saint Louis University, in June. The paper examines how the mobile phone may mediate instrumental relationships that increase objectification of others as well as feelings of isolation. The incessant need to talk and connect, especially when moving through transitional spaces, can be used to disconnect one from direct experience with the world and oneself.

—

Vince Berdayes, professor of communication studies, presented “Scenario Planning as a Socially Conscious Research Methodology” at the Fifth International Congress of Qualitative Inquiry at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, in May. The paper describes methodological aspects of scenario planning, a social forecasting technique increasingly used in conflict resolution exercises and for social planning purposes.

Berdayes also presented the paper “Numbers in Oral Societies” at the Tenth Annual Convention of the Media Ecology Association, Saint Louis University, in June which the paper examines how numbers change when print technology is introduced into a society.

—

Billy

Theodore Billy, chair and professor of English, published his article, “‘Look Here, You See:’ Focusing on Myopic Vision in The Great Gatsby,” in Approaches to Teaching The Great Gatsby (New York: The Modern Language Association of America, 2009), 156–61.

Billy will also present his paper entitled “From Usher with Love: The Poesque Purloined in Stephen King’s The Shining” at the Poe Bicentennial Conference, in Philadelphia in October.

—

Call

Carolyne Call, director of the Office of Civic and Social Engagement, presented a paper, “Knowing Our Roots: Religious Traditions and Community Engagement,” at the first Faith, Justice, and Civic Learning Conference, in June, at De Paul University in Chicago. Call worked with regional service-learning colleagues to plan and carry out the conference.

Call also presented a preliminary paper, “Incorporating Hospitality into a College Classroom,” as part of a two-year faculty seminar series entitled Christian Practices to Christian Pedagogy, hosted by Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Mich. Call’s final paper will be presented at the group’s October conference, and along with submissions from other seminar participants, will become a chapter in a forthcoming text from Eerdmans Press.

—

Insook Chung, associate professor of education, had a research article entitled “Korean Teachers’ perceptions of student success in Mathematics: Concept versus procedure” published in The Montana Mathematics Enthusiast, 6 (1/2), 239–256.

Chung also attended the 2009 National Council of Teachers of Mathematics (NCTM) Annual Meeting and Exposition, in April, in Washington, D.C., where he presented a session, “Teaching and Assessing English Learners’ Mathematics Using Hands-On Learning Games and Activities,” also in April. The participants for the presentation were elementary school teachers (K–5), educational administrators, researchers, and educational legislators in the elementary education field.

In addition, Chung served as coeditor on the Korean version of two books: Navigating through algebra in grades 3 to 5, and Navigating through algebra in grades 6 to 8 (Kyungmoon Publishers, 2008).

—

Olivia Barzydlo Critchlow, assistant director of the Office for Civic and Social Engagement, and director of the College Academy of Tutoring (CAT), presented a program, “Partnering Higher Education with Title 1 Schools,” at the 20th Annual National Service-Learning Conference, in Nashville, in March.

—

Nancy L. D’Antuono, professor of Italian, presented her paper, “Andrea Perrucci as rifacitore of Spanish Golden Age Drama,” at a Northeast Modern Language Association meeting last February and March in Boston. Accepted for publication: A critical edition of the score (Professor Ethan Haimo, University of Notre Dame) and a dual language edition of the libretto (Nancy L. D’Antuono) of Domenico Cimarosa’s, L’Infedeltà fedele, text by Giambattista Lorenzi (Napoli, 1779); A-R Publications Inc., Middleton, Wis., for the series, “Research in the Music of the Classical Age.”

—

Indi Dieckgrafe, professor of dance, presented a workshop, “Tools and Fuels for Sacred Dance—a Choreographic Workshop for Your BodySpirit,” sponsored by the Lake Shore Chapter of the Sacred Dance Guild, at The South Church, Mount Prospect, Ill., in August.

—

Egan

Keith J. Egan, Aquinas chair in Catholic Theology Emeritus, received the 2009 first-place award from the North American Catholic Press Association for his essay, “Mother Teresa’s Dark Night,” Spiritual Life 54 (2008), 135–143.

Egan’s recent publications include, “Carmel’s Love of Learning and the Desire for God,” The Sword 67–68 (2009), 151–166, and in the same issue, “Funeral Eulogy for Ernest Larkin, O. Carm,” pp. 177–79; a book review of The Collected Letters of St. Teresa of Avila in Spiritus (Spring 2009), 129–131.

Egan lectured on “John of the Cross,” to Secular Discalced Carmelites of Twin Cities, Minn., in Buffalo, Minn., May 15–17. That month, he also conducted a retreat on “Prayer and Hope” for the Sisters of the Holy Cross, Notre Dame, Ind. His lecture on “Nature, Grace and Glory in John of the Cross,” was given at the College Theology Society’s annual convention in May at Notre Dame, Ind. He also presented a week of lectures on the topic of mysticism at Notre Dame’s annual Alumni College, in June. In July, he gave a speech, “Taking a Long Loving Look at the Real,” at a dinner honoring the summer of 2009 Theology Master of Arts graduates at the University of Notre Dame.

—

Laura Haigwood, professor of English, presented her paper, “Anne Lutton’s Methodism Against the Tide of Modernity,” at the 17th Annual Conference of the North American Society for the Study of Romanticism, at Duke University, in May.

—

Charles A. Hobbs, visiting assistant professor of philosophy, had his essay “Naturalism, Death, and Functional Immortality” appear in the current issue of Contemporary Pragmatism (Vol. 6, No. 1, June 2009, 39–65). In March, Hobbs presented “Pragmatism as a Contribution to Philosophy of Death and Dying,” at the 36th Annual Meeting of the Society for the Advancement of American Philosophy in Texas.

—

Hoefle

Krista Hoefle, associate professor in the art department, had a solo exhibition August 31–October 14, at the Wabash College Art Gallery in Crawfordsville, Ind.: “The girl who stopped being human!” In July, Hoefle also had a solo show at “ebers/b9,” a Chicago gallery. In July and August, her work was also displayed as a part of the Mixed Greens Gallery group exhibition “X” in New York City.

Hoefle’s digital animation, “This is a type of freakshow parthenogenesis,” was screened at the Aurora Picture Show Theater in Houston, Tex., as a part of its “Extremely Shorts” film festival in June. Bill Arning, director of the Contemporary Art Museum in Houston, juried the festival.

—

Hooker

Sister Eva Mary Hooker, CSC, professor of English, recently had several of her poems published, including “This Ain’t No Boogie-Woogie,” and “Oh Death, Thou Comest When I Had Thee Least in Mind,” Drunken Boat, Summer 2009; “Shadow of Two,” Agni, Spring 2009; “The Hospitality of War” and “Salt Flower,” Memorious 12, Summer 2009; “Working Methods,” New England Review, Volume 30, Number 2, 2009, and “Three Woodpeckers,” Terrain, Fall 2009.

Coming this fall, are Sister Eva Mary’s poems, that include: “I Tell the Lake A Story,” and “Things You Thought You Were Rid Of,” Cavalier, “Goodness, Sweet, Can Make You Blind,” Water~Stone, and “Posting from a Lunar World,” Re-dactions.

—

Cindy Iavagnilio and Mary K. Welle, assistant professors of nursing, were accepted by blind peer review to present an interactive poster at Mosby’s Development Institute in Orlando, Fla., in January. The poster was titled “Clinical Simulation Day: Ease of Transition.” The purpose of this learning activity was to determine if a preclinical simulation day, consisting of scenarios that exposed students to commonly encountered problems/skills, eased their transition into the clinical setting.

—

Jacob

Jeffrey Jacob, professor of music (piano, piano pedagogy). Jacob’s Symphony no. 3, was recorded by the London Symphony Orchestra and conducted by Daniel Spalding at the London Abbey Road Studios, in October 2008. It was released on the Vienna Modern Masters label in September. The 20-minute work in three movements is inspired by Richard Strauss’s Tone Poem, “Death and Transfiguration.”

Jacob performed a recital of contemporary American piano music at the Shepherd School of Music at Rice University, and at Texas Lutheran University, in October 2008. He also gave a lecture-recital on the music of George Crumb at Rice. His recording, “Piano Music from Four Continents,” was released by Vienna Modern Masters and contains new works by composers Hyekyung Lee; Santiago Luchares; Ananda Sukarlan; Peter Klatzow; Polo Vallejo; He Jian-Jun, and Hannes Talfaard.

Jacob performed a solo recital of piano works by Beethoven, Schubert, Debussy, Bartok, and Chopin for the dedicatory concert of the new Steinway D piano at the Liberty Theater in Astoria, Ore., in January, and performed a similar recital for the Fine Arts Society of Casper, Wyo., in March. He also performed a program of contemporary music at Casper College and gave a lecture on contemporary compositional techniques, in March.

In May, Jacob appeared as piano soloist with the South Bend Symphony Orchestra, performing Beethoven’s Piano Concerto no. 2 at the University of Notre Dame’s DeBartolo Performing Arts Center. His most recent recording, “Contemporary American Eclectic Music for the Piano,” was released in July on the New Ariel Recordings label. It contains works by American composers: Eliane Aberdam; Arthur Gottschalk; Thomas Flaherty; Jose-Luis Hurtado; Eric Moe; Christopher Malloy, and Richard Brooks. The CD is dedicated to Brooks, an important advocate of American composers and American music for 40 years. The first volume of Jacob’s three-volume series of the Piano Music of Vincent Persichetti, for 30 years, chair of the composition and theory department of the Juilliard School in New York, was released in September.

Harvard University has invited Jacob to give a lecture-recital on the piano music of Pulitzer Prize-winning composer, George Crumb, in Spring 2010, as part of its Music Department’s guest lecture series.

—

Jensen

Richard Jensen, professor of biology, published “Phenetics: Revolution, Reform or Natural Consequence?” Taxon 58: 50–60 (2009), and “The origins of oaks,” Amory, M.H. The Oaks of Chevithorne Barton (Adelphi Publishers, London; pp. 28–30 [2009]).

—

Kaminski

Phyllis H. Kaminski, professor of religious studies, organized and convened the Women’s Consultation pre-convention session, “Fermenting Impasse: Women’s Critical Communities and Ecclesial Transformation,” at the annual convention of the Catholic Theological Society of America, in June, in Nova Scotia.

Kaminski was also among the featured speakers at the 2009 Irigaray Circle Stonybrook Manhattan, in September. Her paper, “Living Difference(s): Dialogue as Spiritual Practice,” was part of a panel on spirituality.

—

Elizabeth “Lisa” Karle, library assistant at the College’s Cushwa-Leighton Library, had her book, Hosting a Library Mystery: a Programming Guide, published in April (American Library Association). The book is considered a valuable resource to any event-planning or service-based librarian.

—

Renee Kingcaid, professor of modern languages, presented her paper, “I’m Sorry, but Your Story Doesn’t Qualify as Narrative: The Banlieue Picaresque in Mathieu Kassovitz’s La Haine,” at the Hawaii International Conference on the Arts and Humanities, in Honolulu, in January. The paper was an analysis of storytelling, and its socio-cultural significance in this French film has often been compared to Crash for its depictions of racism and violence in the underprivileged suburbs of Paris.

—

Frances Bernard Kominkiewicz, chair and associate professor of social work, was appointed co-chair of the Social Work Baccalaureate Program Directors Research Subcommittee for the Association of Baccalaureate Social Work Program Directors. The co-chair is Elizabeth Twining Blue, chair of human behavior and diversity, and professor of social work at the University of Wisconsin-Superior.

In addition, Kominkiewicz co-presented the paper, “Students as Producers or Consumers? A National Study of BSW Research Syllabi,” at the Board-Sponsored Research Session, in Phoenix, in March. Co-presenting were Blue; Sudershan Pasupuleti, associate professor of social work and Hartford Geriatric Faculty Scholar with the College of Health Sciences and Human Services, University of Toledo, and Rowena Fong, Ruby Lee Piester Centennial Professor and director of the Bachelor’s of Social Work program in the School of Social Work, University of Texas at Austin.

Kominkiewicz was also recently appointed as a consulting editor of the Journal of Baccalaureate Social Work.

—

Michael R. Kramer, associate professor of communication studies, coauthored the article, “A Review and Meta-Analysis Examining the Relationship of Music Content with Sex, Race, Priming, and Attitudes” (Communication Quarterly, Vol. 56, No. 3, pp. 303–324 [2008]).

—

Jerome L. McElroy, professor of economics recently published several articles including, “On the Mountain,” The National Catholic Reporter (April 17, 2009): 20; “Osprey,” Avocet: A Journal of Nature Poetry (Spring 2009): 24, and “Annunciation” and “Incarnation,” Penwood Review 13(1) (Spring 2009): 25. McElroy also published “The Supply Determinants of Small Island Tourist Economies,” ARA (Caribbean) Journal of Tourism Research 2(1) (2009): 13 Journal of Baccalaureate Social Work 22 (with Courtney Parry ’09).

—

Meyer-Lee

Elaine Meyer-Lee, director of the Center for Women’s Intercultural Leadership, gave a presentation, “Assessment Toolbox for International Educators,” at the NAFSA 2009 Annual Conference & Expo, “Fostering Global Engagement Through International Education,” in Los Angeles, in May (Journal of Baccalaureate Social Work 29). She also gave two presentations at the Fifth Annual Forum on Education Abroad Conference: “Being There: Teaching and Learning Abroad,” in Portland, Ore., in February (Journal of Baccalaureate Social Work 20). Those presentations included, “A Social Identification Measure for Study Abroad Assessment” and “Implementing Assessment On-Site.”

—

Munn

Zae Munn, professor of music, attended the Society of Composers Inc. National Conference in Santa Fe, N.Mex., in April. Munn’s composition, “Broken Tulip” (2008), a septet featuring a new instrument called the “contraforte,” was performed at the conference.

—

Paetkau

Don Paetkau, assistant professor of biology, presented a poster at the 50th Annual Drosophila Research Conference in March: “The suppressor of retinal degeneration, su(rdgB)82, maps to the 53F8-54F1 region of chromosome 2,” which was researched and compiled by Kaitlyn S. Kuns ’09, Calli A. Davison ’09, and Paetkau.

—

Daniel Party, assistant professor of music, published his paper, “Placer Culpable: shame and nostalgia in the Chilean 1990s balada revival” in Latin American Music Review 30(1), 2009, pp. 69–98. In May, he presented a paper, “Spanish canción ligera: the (un)official music of the late Franco regime,” at the Colloque International Musique d’Etat et Dictature (Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, Paris, France).

—

Pittman

Catherine Pittman, associate professor of psychology, and Elizabeth “Lisa” Karle, library assistant at the College’s Cushwa-Leighton Library, coauthored the book Extinguishing Anxiety: Whole Brain Strategies to Relieve Fear and Stress (Foliadeux Press, August 2009).

—

Platt

Thomas Platt, professor of biology, published a paper based on the senior comprehensive research projects of Lindsay Burnside ’08 and Elizabeth Bush ’08. “The role of light and gravity in the experimental transmission of Echinostoma caproni (Digenea: Echinostomatidae) cercariae to the second intermediate, Biomphalaria glabrata (Gastropoda: Pulmonata),” Journal of Parasitology 95: 512–516.

—

Ujvala Rajadhyaksha, associate professor in the Department of Business Administration and Economics, presented a paper, “Gender, Gender Role ideology and Work-Family Conflict in India,” at the Academy of Management Conference, in Chicago, in August. The paper was nominated from the Gender and Diversity in Organizations Division, for the Carolyn Dexter Award, an all-Academy Award given to the paper that best meets the objective of internationalizing the Academy.

—

Renshaw

Claude Renshaw, Professor Emeritus of accounting, will present the “2009 Federal Tax Update,” at the American Woman’s Society of Certified Public Accountants’ annual convention in Las Vegas on October 20. He will also speak on that subject at a luncheon for the South Bend Rotary Club on December 16.

Meanwhile, “How the Income Tax Rules Hurt Low Income Families: A Startling Revelation,” an article that Renshaw coauthored with Ken Milani, professor of accounting at the University of Notre Dame, will be published in the October 19 issue of Tax Notes, a technical journal for tax professionals.

—

Joanne Snow, professor of mathematics, and Colleen Hoover, associate professor of mathematics, have an article accepted for publication in Mathematical Intelligencer. The article, “Mathematician as Artist: Marston Morse,” should appear in Spring 2010.

Snow gave a presentation at the University of Notre Dame in July on the topic “Mathematician as Artist: Marston Morse.” The lecture was part of the series of lectures of the Clavius Group, which visited Notre Dame this summer.

—

Mary Kay Welle, assistant professor of nursing, presented her poster, “Allowing Thin Water for the Dysphagic Patient: Is it Safe?,” displayed at the Sigma Theta Tau International Honor Society of Nursing’s 20th Anniversary Research Conference, in July 2008, in Vancouver, Canada, which focused on evidence-based practice.

—

Megan Zwart, visiting instructor of philosophy, presented a paper, “Revisiting Heidegger’s Plato: Recovering a More ‘Phenomenological’ Plato from the Sophist Lectures,” at the Central Division meeting of the American Philosophical Association, in Chicago, in February.

Exploding Grapes

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:09:35 +0000

Spring 2009

Exploding Grapes (extended excerpt)

By Jamie Peterson

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

Now she had someone else’s hot breath on her neck and it was making her think of him. She did not want to react wrong again. Making the first move however was not in her repertoire. She shifted uncomfortably and the hot breath left her neck. Charlotte began to relax muscle by muscle but the weight beside her on the couch did not budge. Connor was still sitting there. Charlotte kept her eyes closed hoping that Connor would think she had fallen asleep and would become uninterested.

“Charlotte, you awake? I just want to talk.”

Charlotte opened her eyes into slits and realized he was actually a few feet away from her. She straightened her body up and faced him. She blinked a few times, smiled for encouragement and picked up her beer again.

“There is something I want to talk to you about but I don’t know how to. I have tried to tell someone this for a couple months now.”

Charlotte was hoping it was not about the other night, that was a mistake and it had not meant anything to her. She liked Connor but he was only a friend. How could she break the news to him without hurting his feelings? She could tell him the story about Aiden but she had not mentioned his name since, well over two months ago, not to anyone.

“You know how when people drink, they sometimes say or do things they normally wouldn’t do.” Charlotte just nodded.

“Well tonight is not one of those nights. I know what I’m saying and what I’m doing. I haven’t had that much to drink and I really want to tell you something.”

Here we go, Charlotte thought. She had to make a decision and fast. Getting out of the room was top priority, whatever was going to come out of Connor’s mouth she did not want to hear it and he would regret it the next day she was sure of that. Standing up Charlotte placed her hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“Hold that thought for just a second ok? I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

“And disappear like the other night? I don’t think so. I wanted to talk to you then too. I thought you would listen especially after that kiss.”

“Here, you can hold my beer. It’s not finished yet, so I’ll come back for it.

“Yea….ok. Just come back please.”

Charlotte entered the hallway and closed the door behind her. What was she going to do now? She had to go back in there but how and what would she say? Then it occurred to her not to go back in alone, bring in reinforcements. She began to search the dorm for stragglers who had not gone out yet who would come drink with her in the common room and not give Connor the chance to tell her what was on his mind.

After Charlotte had circled the entire dorm she had gathered six other girls to head back to the common room with her. Arm in arm with Maura and Shannon, they strolled back into the common room. Laughing as they walked towards the table that held the beer Charlotte averted her eyes to avoid Connor. He was still sitting on the couch nursing a beer. He had placed Charlotte’s beer on the side table next to him. Charlotte unlocked her elbows from the girls promising to be back soon to play a drinking game with them. She just needed to grab her beer. As the girls began to spread out the cards in front of them, Charlotte kept glancing over her shoulder and smiling at the girls. Hopefully, Connor would not even notice her presence as she bent over to pick up her beer. As soon as her hand hit the cool condensation on the outside of the longneck, Connor’s hand was on top of hers. Her breath was caught in her throat as she lifted her eyes to meet his. His eyes were glazed over with the indifference of someone who had drunk one too many. Charlotte shook off his hand and straightened herself up. Taking one long gulp of her beer, she looked down at Connor who was tracing the beer label with his fingertips. Charlotte was thankful for the drunken slow movements from Connor as she spun on her heel to rejoin the girls. He was unable to keep up with here right now. As she took a step forward she heard a faint whisper.

“Charlotte…. Please.”

Instead of turning around, Charlotte kept walking forward to catch up with the game that had already gotten started. They were playing on top of the pool table and Charlotte lifted her right leg to sit on the side. Some of the boys were outside on the balcony smoking and yelling to girls walking by on their way to the bars. The cool breeze filtered in through the open door and Charlotte closed her eyes for a few seconds to clear her head. Opening them she turned to search for Connor. He was gone. His beer was still on the table but his weight no longer suffocated the couch. He probably just went to the bathroom, Charlotte thought as she turned back to the game.

The game was difficult. Charlotte went through another two beers before turning back to the couch. Connor had never returned. His beer was half-empty and he had been gone for over 40 minutes. Waste not want not, was in Charlotte’s mind as she walked over to the table to pick up his beer and bring it back to the pool table. Now the girls had broken up the game and were just sitting around talking.

Charlotte realized how behind she really was in her studies. After the first two weeks had she even bothered to turn anything in? She stopped showing up to lectures but tutorials were mandatory. She had gone to those, usually hung over but she was present at least. S—, s—, s—, I have to do some work this week. I can’t go home for failing out here, which would just add to everything. As Charlotte wallowed in self-pity, a girl’s scream pierced her thoughts. It had come from the balcony. Running outside, everyone looked to where the girl stood transfixed with one hand to her mouth, the other pointing to the ground. Her knees began to shake as she fainted into a pile on the balcony. Stepping over to where the crowd was beginning to form Charlotte looked down onto the street and saw a body crumpled in unimaginable positions. The legs were bent at impossible angles, one foot was touching the chest and the other was stretched too far. The individual had one arm completely folded underneath the body. Blood was flowing thick and quickly from his head. Someone had jumped.

Collapsing against the brick exterior of the dorm, Charlotte had to remind herself to breathe. In and out, and, in and out. Looking down at her hands they were shaking violently. Placing them underneath her arms, she pulled her arms tighter around her chest encapsulated herself in a hug. Rocking back and forth rhythmically, Charlotte already knew who was lying there in the street. As everyone else rushed down the stairs, called the ambulances, began checking rooms, Charlotte was numb. Walking back over to the balcony she looked down once again at the lifeless figure and felt too familiar. The wind was beginning to pick up, sending Charlotte’s body into convulsions. Taking one step back from the balcony, she turned to cross the threshold back inside. Before she did, she turned and looked over her shoulder and whispered a solitary offering to the lost soul.

“Goodbye Connor, I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

Tears never escaped her emerald abysses but she knew it was finally time. She had to face the past. Where would she begin? She could not picture his face now, only before. Where had this whole terrible episode been put into action? Three years ago when Aiden had finally calmed down and come back to talk about colleges was the best starting point Charlotte could think of. She walked back to her room and curled up under her covers. With her back against the wall, holding Scotty between her knees, she began to piece together the events of the past.

Return to the top

Testimony

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:09:00 +0000

Spring 2009

Testimony (extended excerpt)

By Marilynn Anater

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

I blindly let her help me down from the witness’ stand and guide me away from the judge’s bench. I close my eyes as we approach the defendant’s table, I don’t want to feel his eyes on me any longer.

Passing through the gate that separates the court arena from the gallery, I can feel a huge weight lifted off me and notice that my breathing is coming more easily. As we walk down the aisle to leave the courtroom, I see my parents dart back to their seats to grab their coats and belongings before following behind us. Yet all I can think about is how I still just want to get out, want to leave. I want to get out of the stifling room of grand columns, mahogany woodwork, and grated windows, and leave those piercing eyes behind.

~~~

It’s a smallish room that looks like a smiley face got sick off of happiness and splattered sunshine yellow on all the walls. In the middle of the room is a medium-sized wooden table with a chair on either side, clearly the family-friendly version of an interrogation room. Instead of being perfectly centered in the middle of the room, however, the table is offset so that each side faces one of the four corners of the room.

In the corner of the room opposite the door is a big armoire whose shelves are packed full of stuffed animals and dolls. At least they’re all smiling and staring past me instead of at me, I think to myself. I walk around the table and sit down so I’m facing the door. That’s something I’ve noticed that I always do now, position myself so I can face anything that is coming at me. I don’t like having my back to anyone now, and need to see what is going on around me. From my seat, I look over my shoulder and look at the animals lining the shelves. It’s quite a collection, both of old, worn animals, and fresh, new creatures that still had their tags attached. Plastic baby dolls, tattered teddy bears, a lion cub, a panda bear, even a giraffe were some of the many critters placed on the shelves. They weren’t just for aesthetics though, I almost missed it, but I could tell that there was a video camera positioned between the green Kermit the Frog and a Raggedy Ann doll that sat on the top shelf.

~~~

“Yes, he said he would turn around and not look.” Which he probably did, but I can’t be sure, I turned my back to him just in case.

“He stayed in the office while you changed?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“Because he told me that I couldn’t.” I tried to tell him that I could hide the shirt and that no one would see but he wouldn’t let me and he blocked the door. I didn’t want him to grab me and hold me back. I didn’t want him to touch me.

“So you tried the shirt on.”

“Yes, and it was too big.” I knew it would be, the shirts were all men’s’ sizes and were terribly boxy.

~~~

I barely whisper the final words. There, I said it. I feel my neck prickling and my ears ringing. It’s so embarrassing. It’s more embarrassing that it bothers me so much than that it actually happened. So many girls have already had sex by the time they are my age, but I hadn’t even been French kissed. Now I’m always going to think of having some guy over twice my age sticking his tongue down my throat, you always remember the first time for stuff like that.

“Should we take a break for a few minutes?” Donna offers.

I want to get out of here, I want to run home and cry myself to sleep in my own bed. But I want to stop thinking about it more; I want it to not bother me anymore. I want to stop feeling like the stupid idiot who was too retarded to see what was going on and too scared to do anything about it. I want to stop having regrets. “No,” I try to sound as convincing as I can but my voice cracks, “No, I think we should just finish.” I just want to get it over with, I want to hurry through it and be done.

Return to the top

A Masked Man

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:08:16 +0000

Spring 2009

A Masked Man (extended excerpt)

By Megan Sotak

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

Traveling outside of the United States was my escape plan. No, I was not running because I committed murder; I did not take a life, but I may as well have for all the pain I caused my fiancé. Before stepping onto the aircraft that would carry my destructive behavior and me across the Atlantic Ocean, I sent one final text message: ‘I’m going to Venice, Italy for three weeks. If you want to reach me, email me. But I understand if you don’t. I’m so sorry.’ With the click of a button, my fiancé would know that if he chose not to, he would never have to see me again. He could pack his belongings, clear out of the apartment, and forget me. The thought depressed me, and yet it encouraged me to board the plane.

Eight hours passed when I flew from Chicago O’Hare to Munich, Germany where I had a short layover. Leaving a snowy and chilly Chicago behind made me feel an inkling of happiness. I could only hope that Venice would not have such horrible weather in January. During the flight, I slept between meals and watched the showing of Hairspray without ever putting my headphones in to hear the movie. I avoided small talk with the passenger sitting next to me by flipping mindlessly through a Lufthansa Airline magazine, and when the flight attendants came around offering drinks, I gladly requested a glass of red wine. The attendant, whose nametag read Liesl, also handed an alcoholic beverage to a young girl that could not possibly be of legal drinking age in America. The girl looked as though she was handed a block of solid gold. I secretly wished I were flying to Italy a little over two years earlier when I could have experienced the lower legal drinking age in Europe. At twenty-three, there was no novelty in being able to drink on a plane to Europe.

In Munich, I had only enough time to struggle to order a pretzel from a café before walking through security. Security lines always bother my comfort level and the German guards were particularly intimidating. Their faces were chiseled out of stone and their deep voices spat out harsh words when they asked me to remove my electronics and small liquids from my carry-on bag. From the looks the guards threw at me, I nearly came to believe that I carried some forbidden object even though I knew I was innocent. The flight to Rome took a fast hour and a half. I remembered on the way that my journey would not come to an end when I landed in the Eternal City. I meant to fly directly to Venice, but a few hasty clicks on the Internet skewed my idea of a direct escape when I purchased my tickets.

At Rome’s Fiumicino Airport, I discovered that, oddly enough, no planes departed for Venice until the next day. I could not wait; my three-week landlord expected me that night. My only option was a train, unless, of course, my legs grew to like the idea of walking nearly two-hundred-and-fifty miles.

~~~

About six hours later, my eyelids slid open to a blurry figure sitting across from me with a book in his hands. As my eyes adjusted to the dim yellow lights of the train, I recognized the gentleman as the kind German from Rome’s Termini train station, who had helped me buy the one-way ticket to Venice. I had spent a god-awful amount of money on a cab ride, over forty Euros, just to get to the train station from the airport. And the train ticket itself was about sixty. That was not a great start to my short-term life in Italy. I thought I would be broke before I even had the chance to pay for my apartment.

I smiled at the man across from me, wondering if he remembered me as the clueless American who could not figure out how to simply buy a train ticket. The computers that issued tickets even offered English as a choice language, but I was still hopeless.

“American?” he had guessed, as his face asked whether or not I needed help with the ticket dispenser. I had nodded and supposed that my grungy hooded sweatshirt peeking out from underneath my jacket tipped him off. He, on the other hand, was well dressed in a sleek gray vest suit with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath, unbothered by the brisk weather. A black coat rested on his left arm as he used his right hand to work the machine. He was tall, slim, and fair-skinned. A small brim fedora covered his blonde hair and he wore thick black glasses that contrasted with his light skin and blue eyes. I guessed that he was in his early thirties.

“Yes. Thank you so much for helping me,” I had said while he pressed a button or two on the computer screen. I had wanted to thank him in German using ‘Danke,’ but, at the time, I was still not certain where he came from and I did not want to make myself look worse if I mispronounced the word.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Venice. I need a ticket for today.”

“Departure time?”

“As soon as possible, please.” He told me the cost and told me to put the money in the slot and I would get my ticket. I did as he said, and then turned to thank him again, but he was already gone.

When I saw him sitting across from me on the train, I found it curious that he did not tell me he was also traveling to Venice. I figured that he must not have had any other thought about me except that I was someone in need of help; he had simply performed a good deed and went on his way. Unfortunately, I would never know if he had any recognition of me on the train because his eyes were glued to the red bound book that he held in his large hands. His hands had nice structure and would have been lovely to draw if I had my sketchbook handy; his skin was tightly wound around sturdy bones of strong, thick fingers that looked oddly gentle while holding the book. I longed for his hands to hold mine if only to pretend that someone wanted to be near me and in contact with me. My gaze shifted from the robust hands to the hazy blue-gray outside the window.

Water, water, everywhere.

My mind dumbly came to realize that the bluish tones outside were of the cloudy dusk sky merging with the ocean water bordering the train on both sides and stretching into the distance as far as I could see. I leaned closer to the window to see the train still chugging along a slab of land only a foot or so wider than the train itself rather than seeing powerful sea creatures carrying the train across the water. Small rippling waves nudged up against the bit of land, but did not crash harshly against the earthly bridge as if the water knew not to beat up on what was carrying a train of precious people. The water moved almost in slow motion like a cradle rocking calmly. I stared, watching with wonder filling my wide eyes. Not many people in America traveled by train anymore and I was positive that many would not get to ride a train surrounded by water. If the entrance to Venice could bewitch me like this, would I survive in the city walls?

As the train came near the only train station in the city, the pale blue water became spotted with the pure white of sails. Some sailboats gliding across the water a great distance away from the train looked like white ribbons dancing in the wind. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, fully allowing my lungs to absorb every bit of oxygen that they could. Breathing out, the corners of my mouth turned slightly up and I felt a sense of relaxation that I had needed. My arrival in Venice, the chosen city where I planned to refresh myself, had come. Three weeks would be a short time, but I was determined to enjoy every hour.

I only had to find my way to my new apartment and I would be set. The train left the ocean, pulled into the train station, and came to a slow, gentle stop. I lifted my body off the seat, stretching my legs and my arms. I swung the massive backpack over my shoulders and raised the handle of my suitcase, ready to leave the train. The German man continued to read his book as if Venice was not the last stop the train would make today. He still did not acknowledge me. Must be a good book, I mused.

The train station bustled with people speed walking in all directions, nearly bumping into each other, but avoiding collision at the last second like a choreographed, careful dance. One man in a business suit slanted his upper body to avoid brushing another man walking briskly in the other direction. A group of tourists carrying large backpacks stepped ever so slowly to avoid getting separated or lost in the foreign mess of people. Tiny children complained in English that they were hungry and a fashionable woman shouted into her phone in another language as she walked with determination in her step. As for me, a newcomer and a three-week permanent tourist, I stood in the middle of it all like an overlord standing still as a statue, watching the less important people flit around; in reality, I was a young unconfident woman standing at five feet and five inches tall with medium dark, golden blonde hair that loosely waved over my shoulders. I thought I blended in with the crowd, but my shade of blonde, though not strikingly light, had the opposite effect.

I pulled out a map of the city from my purse. My apartment was supposed to be a short walk away from the train station in an area with fewer tourists. People generally hopped off a train and flocked towards Saint Mark’s Basilica, a bit more south than the train station. I pulled my red suitcase behind me and walked out with the rest of the city’s visitors and returnees. Scarlet Johansson’s face plastered on a huge advertisement, hanging across the Grand Canal on an old building with a large pale green dome, was the first piece of Venice that my eyes rested on. I had to admit, the advertisement was eye-catching. The white marble bridge crossing the canal drew my eye’s attention away from Miss Johansson. It appeared to be the only bridge present in either direction. Nearby, people crowded around a row of booths selling tickets for the waterbuses. Waterbuses! Gondoliers chatted amongst themselves while waiting for tourists to hand over the pricey colored paper. Their black gondolas bounced in the water between upright logs and the red tassels draped along the edges swayed in the wind. A couple was peering at the Venetian rowing boats, deciding whether or not they wanted to spend eighty Euros. Already, I felt like I was in a dream world, but I wished I had someone with me to ride in a gondola.

I wanted to jump in the canal and let the refreshing water chill my body, but I was not going to be that crazy American. Instead, I started toward my new apartment. The street that I followed was rather wide, which surprised me since I always thought Venetian streets were few and narrow. Cafés lined the road and their delicious odors enticed me. I had only eaten a McDonald’s hamburger at the train station in Rome and my stomach faintly hurt from being famished as it was. Still walking on, I resisted the smells of pizza that wafted out from restaurants into the road where they banned together and assaulted my nose. Amazingly, the odors lost the battle. I wanted to eat, to bite into my first authentic Italian pizza or to lick my first scoop of real gelato, but I had to get to the apartment. I wanted to sleep more than anything and I could not keep the landlord waiting.

As I walked, the stores overflowing with masks of all shapes, sizes, colors, and materials captivated me. Masks with long noses, short noses, and no noses. Masks with full faces in all colors of the spectrum. Masks with feathers and bells, with crystals and ribbons. Papier-mâché masks and others made of metal, though especially delicate-looking. There were even masks of animals—elephants, pigs, giraffes, lions, camels, frogs, hippos, rams, unicorns. I had never seen such enchanting stores, never even imagined them. Some stores sold glass made on Murano Island that came in bizarre shapes, mostly wavy cones with brilliant blues and oranges, branching out from a spherical base. Figurines of animals, French cartoon characters Asterix and Obelix, holiday decorations, and flowers all made of glass were also available at the stores. The mask and glass stores made up Venice; one store with material to hide you and one with material to expose you.

The apartment was not difficult to find after escaping the mesmerizing street into an open piazza. It was only a short distance down a narrow road on the other side of the piazza, wedged between two other apartments. It had a pale orange façade, three stories, and a small brown door on which I knocked. A few moments later, the door opened and the short landlord greeted me in English, asking about my travels and offering a drink in his apartment to discuss my stay. He lived on the second floor. The first floor was abandoned because of the chance of high floodwaters and the third story was mine. He apologized for the stairs being my only option up, but I figured I could use the workout of lugging my suitcase up behind me. Before going to my floor, he let me know, while sitting in his apartment with a coffee in hand, what hours he would be available if there were any problems and I gave him my information and rent money.

My apartment was beautiful, much more than I had expected. White walls with hand painted decorations of flowers, large windows with blue curtains, a Murano glass chandelier, and a golden-orange tiled floor. It was pleasant, if a bit narrow and small. There was a bedroom, a bathroom, and an everything-else room, plus a tiny outdoor terrace on the backside of the apartment that looked out at the surrounding tiled rooftops. I took out a granola bar from my purse and munched on it as I looked around, getting a feeling for the place. The back of the apartment faced another row of homes wedged together, but a small canal lay between my apartment and the others across the way. The kitchen was stocked with pots and pans, plates, bowls, and silverware. I even found a candy bar hiding on a top shelf in the cupboards above the counter. The chocolate tempted me, but the paranoid American within me warned that it could be a poisonous trap, and despite the appealing milk chocolate wrapped around coconut, the candy’s name, Bounty, made me think of laundry. Poison and laundry worked together to dissuade me.

I felt the mattress of my bed and decided it was comfortable enough. I sprawled out on the queen-size bed and thought, Venice. I’m here and I’m free, and now I’m going to sleep forever. A tear slid down my face despite my wishes to have restful eyes. The apartment was too quiet. Neither television commercials nor any metal spoons colliding with cereal bowls interrupted the silence because there was no one present but me. Since leaving the States, I did not have a minute to realize the shock of being so lonely; strangers had been around me all day. I shivered and missed the warmth of a body lying next to me in my bed.

My eyelids drooped heavily once the tears stopped and I fell into a deep sleep without an idea of when to wake up. I was graced with a dreamless sleep.

I may have slept away my whole second day and night in Venice. My first breakfast was at a café in the piazza nearby. I ordered the obligatory cappuccino and a cornetto, Italian for ‘croissant.’ They were simply delicious. The cappuccino warmed my soul and tasted much better than anything I ever drank from Starbucks. The cornetto was served warm and filled with Nutella. Chocolate for breakfast. During this morning breakfast, I was quite pleased with life.

I sat at a small table just outside the café and watched people passing through the piazza heading in the direction of the train station. There were some tourists, but not many, as promised by my landlord over our Internet communications and reaffirmed at our meeting. Other people, who I assumed were Italian or European in general, passed by wearing fashionable clothing that made me reconsider my decision to wear a hoodie underneath my coat with blue jeans and Sketchers tennis shoes. I simply found it easier to put together the grunge look in the morning. Luckily, my shoes were not blatant gym shoes or else I would have felt the need to return to my apartment to change. I made a mental note to buy some Pashmina scarves since almost every woman and some men I saw had one. Trying to fit in could not hurt.

I was considering the activities of my day when one of the café waiters unexpectedly sat down in the steel chair across from me. I blinked at him and waited for him to say something. His eyes rolled over my body from my wavy golden hair to my light blue eyes under thin brown eyebrows, to my black jacket, and down my arms to my hands that held the cappuccino between them. I wanted to hide my hands with the half picked purple nail polish, but I did not move.

“Parla italiano?” he asked. I knew some Italian, but only the basics.

“Si, un po’. Parla inglese?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Eh, you come to Venice, why?” He certainly got to the point. I was not about to explain to a stranger just what made me pack up and move here, though.

“I cheated on my fiancé. Twice.” Well, maybe it was easier to say it to a foreign stranger who is not likely to understand anyway.

“Ah, I see,” he said, throwing his open hands up in the air. “You cheated him and came to Venice to be with me!” Both of his hands pointed now to his chest. His eyes glinted and he flashed a smile full of slightly crooked teeth. Europe does not have the same obsession with teeth as America has, apparently.

I half smiled in return and said, “No, I came here to get everything washed out of my system, you know? Figure out the point of my life? Figure out what is wrong with me?”

“Si, si, si, bella! Let me take you out tonight. I will show you what is right about us.”

I thought what I said was lost on him. I had sat down to simply enjoy breakfast and an Italian man was already making a move on me. I shook my head ‘no’ and took the last sip of my cappuccino. I stood up and dropped a few euro cents on the table, turning to leave. The Italian threw his hands up yet again, but this time they seemed to be pleading. “Aspetta, aspetta!” Wait, wait! Sorry, sir, not today.

Today, I would get lost in the city on purpose. No need to rush off and be a tourist. I just needed to get acquainted.

Return to the top

Pressure Point

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:07:42 +0000

Spring 2009

Pressure Point (extended excerpt)

By Laura Kleinschmidt

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

After taking a quick gulp, there was a knock at the door. She called out, “hello?” No one answered. She left her room, walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. There wasn’t anyone there. She walked back into her room. Something was out of place. Something had been moved. Her chair. She didn’t usually leave it sticking out like that, she always tucked it underneath her desk. Always. She tucked her chair in and looked around. Her closet? The door seemed to be standing ajar. She never left her door like that. Someone was behind her. “Hi Sam,” a voice whispered into her ear. Sam whipped around and saw a face staring right back at her. Before she knew what was going on, her entire body went numb and everything went black. She fell to the ground and felt herself get kicked over and over again. She couldn’t move. She squirmed but the kicking only grew stronger. Sam heard her own voice screaming inside her head, but sounds couldn’t escape her lips. She thought over and over that she should cry out for help. She should scream, do something. Every thought she had was crushed by another blow to her back. Sam knew this was it. She could feel that the end was near. The only sounds she heard were her own screams, drowning in her own thoughts. No one was coming, no one could help her. Her roommates wouldn’t be home for hours. She was all alone in her apartment and someone was taking advantage of her. Sam was nice to everyone, she didn’t have any enemies and didn’t understand why this was happening. Was this some random person who wanted to break into their apartment and Sam just happened to be home? She wasn’t sure, but the kicking grew harder with every thought. She wrapped her arms tighter around her body, making sure to protect her head. Tears wouldn’t even come. Her body was in shock from what was happening. How could this happen? This was a safe campus. This was why her mother had forced her to live on campus, because things like this happened off campus in apartments with weak locks on the doors. Sam brushed her thoughts aside as the kicking grew harder and harder. She didn’t know how much she could take. Just when she thought she was going to die, right there, in her apartment, all alone, she squeezed her arms around her body as tightly as she could. And Sam passed out, right there, on the rough carpet in her on-campus apartment.

Return to the top

First of May

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:07:03 +0000

Spring 2009

First of May (extended excerpt)

By Kelsey Knoedler

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

Scarlet looked down at the letter in her trembling hands. Her temples throbbed from the rush of sprinting to the circus grounds after grabbing her toothbrush and her sweater and slamming the front porch door shut on the fight she’d had with her father and the sixteen years she’d spent despising him. She saw the letter on the nightstand next to her mother’s bed and discreetly tucked it inside her house coat that morning when she and her father had discovered her mother’s cold body. She knew that he’d have taken it from her if he’d seen it to deprive her of any extra slivers of her mother’s love. Though she was anxious to open the envelope in her hands, she knew that inside were her mother’s last words to her, and she wanted to save them, preserve them for as long as possible. This was the last piece of her mother. It wasn’t real. Not yet. And she was afraid that reading the letter would make it real.

Scarlet shoved the bulky envelope into her pocket, and settled into her back-row bench seat. She could feel the weighty canvas of the sidewall brushing against the back of her neck as the bluster of early spring’s breezes weaved in and out of the slits in the yellow and white tent walls and made the entire big top quiver like her nervous hands. The first to enter the big top, Scarlet had thrown down the money for her ticket, rushed through the marquee, past the cages in the menagerie, and straight to the blue seats in the back of the ring without stopping to ooh and ahh at the exotic peacocks, camels and apes. As she began to catch her breath, she picked at the blue paint chipping off of the bench beside her and flinched as her hand slipped on the wood, driving a quarter-inch splinter into her left thumb. Crimson droplets oozed out of the cut the splinter had made.

Scarlet stared at her hand as the blood trickled down to her wrist, as deep red as the first traces of blood she’d seen on her mother’s pillow when she shook her awake one morning to tell her that she’d seen the first circus herald depicting the colorful faces of the clowns announcing the arrival of The Baraboo Brothers’ Big Top Circus “full of fun and wonders for kids from 1 to 100.” Ever since she was a little girl, Scarlet and her mother had always shared a profound curiosity for the magic and mischief of the big top, and she could hardly encapsulate her excitement as she had run home to tell her mother they were coming again. As her mother’s eyes had fluttered open, the blood that crusted her bottom lip ruined the delicate smile that glided across her face.

That was just a year ago, and in that one short year, Scarlet had watched her mother become weaker and weaker. Her mother tried to pretend nothing was wrong, and even in the last few weeks of her life, though tired and overtaken by her consumption; she refused to succumb to her impending death. She had impossibly promised to go with Scarlet to the circus that evening. And when Scarlet’s argument with her father ended in the stinging slap of his accusations, she knew that the Baraboo Brothers’ was the only place for her to go. It was the place she and her mother came every summer to escape. It was the only thing now that could distract Scarlet.

Scarlet wiped the blood on the underskirt of the wine-colored dress her mother had helped her sew. She tried not to notice the whiskey stains on the bottom of her skirt.

As the towners began to sprinkle into the blues and star back seats around the tent, Scarlet tried hard to imagine her mother’s presence on the bleacher next to her. She tried to breathe in her scent—that of lavender and the caramel candy that she always carried with her. She could almost hear her mother’s laughter sparked by the anticipation of the delights that would fill the center ring in front of them.

“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Is anyone sitting here?”

Scarlet glanced down at the empty seat next to her. She looked up into the face of the black-haired woman wearing an enormous olive hat towering over her and shook her head. The woman sat down and motioned to the little girl side-stepping between the rows behind her, cotton candy in one hand and a large plush elephant doll in the other. The little girl took her seat next to her mother and giggled with the thrill of what she was about to encounter. Scarlet wished more than anything that she was just a little girl, and that her only worry in the world was to keep her cracker jacks from spilling across the dirt floor of the circus ring.

~~~

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Children of all ages! The Baraboo Brothers purrr-OUdly present: The Baraboo Brothers’ Big Top Circus!”

The circus band near the back of the tent struck up a jovial tune, as a mosaic of troupers tromped around the circumference of the circus rings: performers in stunningly shimmering costumes atop horses, elephants, and stilts; aerialists in tight leotards, or pants and shirts that displayed their muscular arms and shoulders; unicyclists; monkeys; a mysterious man in a cape of deep indigo; jugglers tossing bowling pins between them; clowns of all colors carrying playful props of all shapes and sizes, one twisting a balloon into the shape of a dog and handing it to a delighted little girl in the front row. The actors and animals paraded around the rings in a spectacle like no other, but just when the audience had gotten a taste of every flavor of big top performer, they disappeared through the back door, leaving the show-goers thirsty for more.

Suddenly, a sturdy man wearing a poppy-red tail coat, a tall ebony top hat with a matching handlebar mustache, and a carefully molded grin stepped out from the opening of the striped canvas. Scarlet was stricken immediately by the man’s bold features. His strong jaw line and thoughtfully contoured cheek bones made his face seem almost unreal, as if he were made by the same marionettess who had carved the souvenir dolls that were sold in the small tents along the midway in the front of the circus lot. The man stood with his arms up in the air, his eyes scanning back and forth across the crowd, appearing to be welcoming a flock of flamingos that were scheduled to land in the center ring to begin the show.

With a booming voice louder than any Scarlet had expected to hear from a person of such modest build, the gentleman spoke, “Hello, my lovelies, I am your ring master, Magnus T. Moody, and I welcome you all to the Baraboo Brothers’ Circus! Tonight these three rings before you will be filled with daring delights, incredible illusions, side-splitting slapstick, and gravity-defying gambols. You will squeal with joy, gasp in amazement, and applaud with delight. Great white elephants will disappear before your very eyes, air-light aerialists will fly through the sky as if they had wings, and fearless fellows will attempt to tame the terrifying beasts of the jungle. But I wouldn’t want to ruin the sum of the surprise. So without further ado and with the noblest of pleasure, I give you our opening act: the beautiful, the talented, the world-famous Magnificent Meg!”

The crowd burst into applause. Whether they had been to the circus before or not, everyone under the tent top that evening knew of Magnificent Meg. It was one of the greatest tributes to her talent and fame that an equestrienne be remembered from year to year, across the country, and around the world, and Meg was certainly famous in every town she touched. The mention of her name sent shivers down the spines of little girls and grown men alike, those who admired and those who adored her. As Meg emerged from the back door of the tent, the claps became whistles, hoots, and hollers. Her brilliant smile and the glimmer that reflected off the intricate bead and sequined bodice of her costume seemed to light the whole place on fire.

Meg’s assistant set the white horse galloping around the center ring. With an air of pure extravagance and ease as the horse passed her, Meg ran straight towards the horse and leaped from the ground, landing on the bareback of the galloping animal. The audience gasped and applauded thunderously. In no time at all, she was up on her feet, balancing on the smooth slope of the horse’s spine. As the horse rode around the ring, Meg performed stunt after stunt, riding on, over, and under the horse. She somersaulted from the back of the horse to a seated position, and jumped from one horse to another as if she was simply hopping over a puddle. In her final attempt to woo the crowd, Meg catapulted herself off the horse’s back, whirled through the air, and landed on the ground where the horse’s hooves had just been. The crowd once again clapped fiercely, and as Magnificent Meg stood in her pose like an early spring daffodil resisting the late winter winds, Scarlet wondered if there was anything this woman couldn’t do. A man could certainly never try to hurt something that strong and that beautiful. Desire watered her eyes.

~~~

She wasn’t sick until you poisoned her body with your wickedness. It was you. I always told her she would pay for her sins, but I took her in anyway. I supported her anyway. For sixteen years I supported her. I loved her. I never laid a finger on her. Never left her side. But she never loved me as much as she loved you. The two of you always running off to the circus or the stables. And now she’s just left me for good. Left me with nothing. With less than nothing. With you.

He threw his bottle at the floor. Shards of glass and drops of whiskey splattered her dress.

~~~

Act after act continued to amaze and astound the audience that evening at the Baraboo Brothers’ Big Top Circus. But no matter how splendid the spectacle, Scarlet could not govern her thoughts. Her mind kept drifting back to the argument and the bepocketed letter she had stowed earlier. When Scarlet glanced over to see the olive-hatted mother lifting the little girl on her lap so she could see the lion tamer, a tightening in her chest made it hard for her to breathe. The big top and all the members of the troupe started to circle around her head, dizzying her with their color and clamor. She felt like she’d ridden the Strawberry Sizzler a time or two too many. Her stomach was in knots, and she could taste the stinging bile creeping up her throat. Scarlet began to cough uncontrollably, and the circus-goers around her glanced over with criticizing eyes. Rather than make a spectacle of herself, Scarlet slipped off the edge of the bench and disappeared in the shadows beneath it.

She collapsed onto the dirt floor under the blue bleachers among the popcorn boxes, ticket stubs, and cigarette butts. Leaning against the back of the seat wagon, Scarlet took deep breaths, in and out. She closed her eyes and saw her mother short of breath on a walk through the park a few months earlier; she opened her eyes to make that picture go away. Clearing her mind, Scarlet slowly began to calm herself. And slowly, Scarlet drew the wrinkled envelope from her pocket. She could no longer harness her curiosity; the circus had not distracted her enough. Scarlet tore open the seal and took out a single sheet of her mother’s violet floral stationary. A silver locket fell out of the over-turned envelope. The silver had begun to tarnish, but the rose engraved on the front of the locket was as recognizable as it was when Scarlet had tugged the necklace from her mother’s neck as a baby. She had never seen her mother’s neck bare.

She clasped the heart-shaped medallion in her hand and unfolded the letter. The loops and curls of her mother’s perfect script seemed newly penned, and the scent of lavender and caramel that Scarlet had tried so hard to summon earlier emanated from the page. She breathed in the scents, and she breathed in her mother’s words:

My beautiful girl,

I don’t know how to begin except to say that I love you and I am so sorry that I had to leave you. I hoped with all my heart that you would never find yourself reading these words. My tender situation required that I leave this record for you. I am sorry for concealing my past— and yours.

To see the fear in your eyes when you looked at Francis over the years pained me more than you will ever know. If I had had a way out, I want you to know that I would have escaped to find a better life for the two of us. But I was afraid. And I was alone.

When I found myself expecting you, your grandfather was so ashamed that he cast me out. I could not stay in Merrywood, and I had no place to go. I went to Francis, he offered me a home, and I latched onto the warmth of another human. When I came to him, he took us in, and I was forever in his debt.

You were conceived out of love, my dove, but your father’s soul could never be anchored. I met him at the carnival where he won me the locket that you now hold in your hands. He came to me when he could, but his trade made a constant traveler of the blue-eyed boy. I knew he would never settle, and I soon learned that I had to set him free. He never knew about you, my dove. He left me for good before I ever had the chance to tell him you were coming. I don’t know if he ever came back to see me. Nobody knew where I went, and nobody knew about him and me.

I’m sorry I couldn’t do better for you, Scarlet. But I hope that now, the strong young woman you are, you will be able to do better for yourself. He was always in my heart. I hope that both of us will forever be in yours.

Always with you,

Mother

A single tear rolled down the apples of Scarlet’s warm cheeks. The locket had always been a permanent fixture upon her mother’s breast. In all the times she’d played with the ornament when she was a child, her mother always snatched it out of her grasp before she was able to see what was inside. A sparkle of light winked at her from the smooth surface of the locket in her hands, and with a rush of urgency, she pried open the clasp.

The rusty hinge gave way, and as she pulled open the silver heart, she inhaled sharply at what she discovered. Inside the locket was a tiny picture of her mother on one side and a stranger with big blue eyes on the other. Scarlet quickly snapped it shut and saw those same blue eyes reflected in the surface of the locket.

Her head clouded with a million different emotions. She cast the anger from her mind, that her mother had concealed this secret from her. She couldn’t possibly be angry with her mother now. She harnessed the shock, and re-read the letter twice more to sort the confusion. Her heart finally rested upon relief—relief that she never had to return to the white house, the whiskey puddles, and all the things that reminded her of her mother. She never had to shield herself from her father, or the man she always thought was her father. Never had to shield herself from his bottles or blows. Never had to hide beneath the kitchen table ever again. She knew she could never go back to her house, that she never had to.

Scarlet closed her eyes, stretched her wings and flew high above the big top, above the crowd, above Magnificent Meg, above Magnus T. Moody, above the clowns and the beasts and acrobats. Up in the deep blue star speckled sky, Scarlet soared.

~~~

“All out and over!” Scarlet heard a man’s voice shout.

She landed softly on the dirt floor beneath the bleachers. Scarlet peeked out the side of the blues and saw that the big top was completely empty and the sidewalls were already being taken down. She quickly folded her mother’s letter and stowed it in her pocket. The locket she kept, held tightly in her fist. The sidewall behind her set of seats was already gone, so Scarlet sneaked out from her little nook and tip-toed out the side of the big top. She quickly scampered through the deep black night to the back of the tent where she saw several small tents lit from within, shadows of busy performers gathering their belongings and preparing for their next jump. Scarlet took shelter under a large wagon with “Baraboo Brothers” painted loudly on the side. She saw a man with a painted face emerge from the tent directly behind the big top. He was wearing over-sized slacks with suspenders and no shirt and carrying a bucket. The tramp clown tossed the contents of the bucket across a patch of grass behind the tent.

“Hey, Sparky, you better get your keister packed up here pretty quick. We’re about to demolish clown alley,” yelled a voice from inside the shadowy tent.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back!”

The clown walked nearer to Scarlet; she hid behind the giant wheels of the wagon. He slammed down his bucket and took out a cigar and matchbox from the giant pocket of his denim pants. The clown sat down on the overturned bucket, lit the cigar, breathed it in, and sighed, looking up at the stars. Slowly and softly, between puffs of the vanilla-scented cigar, the clown began to hum a sad tune. Scarlet thought she recognized it from a broken music box she had gotten rid of a few summers ago. And slowly and softly, as Scarlet leaned against the enormous wheel beneath the circus wagon, she began to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

~~~

“Hey, you there! Is there someone there?” Scarlet started awake. The clown was standing right in front of her, looking down into her frightened blue eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here, girly. The circus’s long been over. Go on home, now.”

Scarlet crawled out from underneath the wagon, and stretched her legs out. Her legs grew faster than the rest of her body, and her mother always said she’d shot up like sunflower. Sometimes they ached with growing, and after curling up under the circus wagon, she felt the same cramps just above her knees.

“Why, you aren’t some little tot,” the clown smiled, “you’re nearly as tall as me! Twice as tall as Gilbert, but that’s another story. What’re you doing out here so late at night? It’s dangerous for you to be out here while we’re tryin’ to take things down and pack things up.”

“I, I…” Scarlet stuttered until she could find her words; she hadn’t actually spoken since she’d said goodbye to her mother. “I had an argument with my father and I just couldn’t go home.” Scarlet thought about lying to the clown, but for some reason she trusted him enough to tell him the truth. It was something about his droopy brown eyes and the warm vanilla smell of the cigar.

“Why would anyone argue with a pretty little thing like you? You couldn’t’a’ done anything wrong, now, could you? I used to have plenty o’ fights with my pappy when I was your age. Finally popped ‘im in the jaw real good one time. Knew he wouldn’t have me back under his roof again.” The clown wandered back over to the bucket and set his foot on it, resting his elbow on his knee. “I’d never raise a finger toward anyone I liked, mind you, but my daddy was somethin’ awful. I had to respect him for raisin’ us boys on his own all our lives, but enough was enough. I did a few odd jobs after that. Crashed in the sheds of some old pals around town, but the only thing I was good at was makin’ people laugh. So one day I saw an ad in the Daily Rocket lookin’ for someone who could do just that, and I hopped on a circus wagon, learned how to paint my face, and became a tramp. It’s not a bad way to make a living, but sometimes, ya know, sometimes you just miss havin’ somewheres to rest your soul.”

“Hey, Sparky! Get yer body goin’ and pack up your junk! Train’s gonna leave without us!”

“Yeah, I’m comin’! Sorry, little darlin’, but I gotta run. That’s how it is here on the road, always on the run. What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, I didn’t. It’s Scarlet.”

“Beautiful name. Well, Scarlet, you run on home now. I’m sure your daddy’s cooled off and is worried sick about where you been.” Scarlet doubted that. “Next time the circus comes around, you look out for old Sparky!”

“Spark!”

“I’m comin’, jeez. Bye, now, Scarlet.”

Sparky picked up his bucket and hurried over to the clowns’ tent. Scarlet scanned the emptying circus lot. She’d made a decision when she was listening to Sparky ramble on about his father. Scarlet knew she couldn’t go home and that she couldn’t stay in Brookton. But she had nowhere else to run. And she wasn’t going to make the same mistake her mother did. Scarlet knew that she wouldn’t give up until she found her father. And the only way to do that—the only way to get herself around the country without a penny to her name and only the clothes on her back—was to do as Sparky did and join the circus. She was sure they’d be able to find a job for her. And she’d read books about the circus. She knew the circus. She loved the circus. She would be the most loyal trouper the Baraboo Brothers had ever had.

Return to the top

Full Count

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:05:25 +0000

Spring 2009

Full Count (extended excerpt)

By Emily Cook

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

Chapter 9:

Brandon stomped on the white, rubber plate a few times to mark the dirt with size nine cleat imprints. He felt the worn leather in his left hand and adjusted his hat with the glove on his right. He stared at Kevin’s face behind his dark catcher mask. The baseball made contact with the worn leather glove. Brandon looked over at Danny covering first who gave him a nod of confidence and a wink. Brandon then turned his neck to face the eyes of the husky Brown batter who was in a crouched position swinging the bat over his head. Brandon furrowed his eyebrows as he progressed into a full windup. He took a small rocker step back and made a small turn to pivot his cleat parallel with the rubber. He took his time in lifting his left leg into the balance position, being careful not to swing his leg, with his toe pointing down. When his knee almost touched his chin, he unleashed the fury upon the Brown batter. As he glided outward in Kevin’s direction with his toes pointed to his target he gripped the laced sphere harder between his knuckles. In one fast whipping motion he released the baseball with the weight of his entire body behind the motion.

The only sounds that were heard by the crowd and players was the whoosh of the throw followed by the hard clap from Kevin’s glove on the leather ball. Applause rose from the crowd as Yale pennants waved in the air.

Brandon looked up to the section of the bleachers his mom and dad occupied every season. He saw his mom’s blonde bob bounce as she applauded her son’s strike. Brandon didn’t know if the dirt had gotten in his eyes or if he was starting to tear up. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened to the sound of his brother’s praise. Andrew and Tyler were standing on either side of his mom wearing matching Yale baseball caps contributing to the applause.

“Why the hell did I look over there,” Brandon muttered to himself as he raised his glove to his nose and sniffled. “He’s not here.”

Trying to clear his thoughts he heard Jenn’s voice yelling, “Come on Brandon! Two more just like that one.” She was over by the dugout but he didn’t turn in her direction.

“Hey batter, batter, batter,” said the husky ball player. He’d assumed the crouched position in the batter’s box. A determined looked pressed upon his face indicated to Brandon he wasn’t about to let another strike go by.

“Let’s go Brandon,” Danny called from first base. “He’s not running anywhere.”

With a half smile on his face Brandon’s glove and ball locked in position above his head as he launched into full windup position again. While his hands were in the raised position, he gripped the ball with his middle and index fingers together, with the fingers across the seams of the ball at the widest part. He knew if he let the ball touch the palm of his hand he wouldn’t generate enough topspin behind the curveball to reach home plate. One again he winded up his knee and threw his right arm behind him with glove outstretched pointing in the direction of Kevin’s glove. He ripped the ball over home plate as the Brown batter over swung his Louisville bat.

“Swing and a miss. Swing and f—ing miss,” Mike laughed. “You got it Mitchell.”

Brandon smiled underneath the navy blue bill of his hat. The batter was now frustrated as he hocked a large loogie and spat it towards the pitcher’s mound. Brandon could see the blood boiling from the popping veins in his meaty neck.

“Whittington, throw it back. Let’s keep this game going so I can get home for dinner,” Coach Cox yelled at the catcher.

Kevin returned the baseball with a hard throw to Brandon’s glove.

“Come on Son, one more strike,” Coach Cox said to Brandon from his locked position against the metal dugout fence. He clapped a few times and then took the play clipboard out from its secure location underneath his armpit.

Brandon shook his head when the word Son reached his ears. He wound up again, but this time not a full windup and threw the husky batter a high ball. Two more identical pitches followed with identical results.

“FULL COUNT,” the umpired bellowed as he raised two fingers on his right hand and his middle three on the left.

“Mitchell, what are you doing? Get your f—ing head back in the game!” Mike called from second.

“Shut up, Mike,” Danny called back from first. “He’ll get it done.” Danny eased up from the ready position and took a few steps toward the pitcher’s mound. “Brandon, do it for your old man.”

Brandon kept his eyes locked on the batter and breathed heavily. He felt a familiar lump rise in his throat and he coughed to release it. With the retrieved ball in his right hand for the sixth time in one batting series he decided to throw the curve ball again, his dad’s favorite pitch. Deciding on a full windup once more, he raised his arms in exact position. Upon thick release of the ball he let out a groan of frustration and his neck darted from Kevin’s glove to where his mom was sitting in the bleachers. A split second of unfocused attention he release the ball trying to recover looking at his target.

Crack.

As the sound of leather making solid contact with metal broke the silence in Yale Field, Brandon unleashed a blood-curdling scream from the mound. The intended, hard, line-drive by the husky batter ricocheted off the side of Brandon’s face. The ball was halted by the fleshy skin between Brandon’s temple and ear. Both fell to the ground with a thud.

The audience gasped as the infield stood in position with shock written across their faces. All the players were immobile as if they were standing in hardened cement.

“BRANDON!” yelled Mary Mitchell from her standing position in the bleachers. Her hands flung up to cover her ghastly white face. “BRANDON”

Danny was the first to move and reached Brandon before Coach Cox and the athletic trainers could make it halfway across the field. Red blood was pouring out of Brandon’s ear. Brandon lay screaming in pain with both arms covering his head.

“Brandon! Brandon, where did it hit you?” Danny said as his voice cracked from uneasy nerves.

Brandon’s hat lay three feet from his body. The direct hit to the face caused Brandon to blackout. His uncovered brown hair mixed with the shed blood and brown dirt from the mound. Danny noticed the right side of Brandon’s face swell with purple blotches the size of plums. His veins around his eye engorged with a rush of blood to the head. Brandon’s right eyelid tripled in size and was paper white.

“Coach, he’s unconscious!” Danny cried across the field.

Brandon’s body lay motionless on the ground. Danny could see the thin bones in which formed Brandon’s pterion were crushed underneath the deep green and purple bruising that rapidly began masking his face.

The Yale athletic trainers reached the scene with medical first aid kit in hand and turned Brandon over on his back. “Someone call 911,” one of the trainers yelled to the team. The Brown trainer made it to mid-field to help in a comradely effort but vomited on the spot when he saw the amount of blood that coated the field and the bloody ball laying seven feet away.

“We need to get him to the hospital right away. If the impact caused a meningeal artery hemorrhage, he needs to be evaluated right away by a medical doctor. We need an ambulance,” the other Yale trainer urged. “Brandon, Brandon wake up.” The trainer checked for a pulse to confirm Brandon was still alive and only suffering a brief concussion. He shook Brandon’s shoulders and then firmly tapped his left cheek repeatedly.

Brandon moaned softly as he stretched his legs out. “My head hurts,” Brandon said clearly.

“It only hurts? What’s your pain level?” Coach Cox questioned hastily

“What happened? What’s going on?” Brandon questioned, still in a stupor. “My face feels weird. My head. I’m so dizzy.”

“His nervous system hasn’t allowed him to feel the pain yet. This is serious coach. A blow to the head by any projectile object, especially a baseball would cause a loss of consciousness and hopefully a lucid interval anytime now. If he sits here much longer, the internal bleeding that isn’t visible in its entirety will compress the brain. If the blood mass increases occlusion of those blood vessels will occur resulting in a meningeal artery hemorrhage.”

“What the hell does that mean? I’m a baseball coach not a doctor,” Coach Cox shot back hastily.

“It means that if your pitcher lays here on the ground much longer he could die in a few hours.” the trainer said. “It will only be another minute or two until he resumes consciousness. I need everyone out of the way. Make room for the paramedics!”

The muscles in Brandon’s face contorted to restricted blood flow to the bruises. He lifted one palm up to touch the icy hot feeling flowing through his temple when the pain registered. “Ahhhhhhh, I can’t see. I can’t open my eye!” Brandon cried aloud. “DAD! SOMEBODY! MY HEAD!” Brandon continued to rock back and forth on the field with the trainers trying to restrain him and his teammates looking at their captain. From the physical impact his body underwent in a short time and the vocal exertion, Brandon passed out again in the fetal position on the infield grass.

Return to the top

A Whirlwind of Snowflakes

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:03:05 +0000

Spring 2009

A Whirlwind of Snowflakes (extended excerpt)

By Sarah Sheppard

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

On the way home from school, Katie gripped the steering wheel hard, letting her fingertips turn purple from the pressure. She watched the road intensely with her body leaning forward. She drove slowly, careful not to slide on the wet snow and lose control. Almost there, Katie repeated in her head, wondering why she decided to drive. The trip home was agonizing. It was her first day driving since his accident. She drove at least ten miles under the speed limit that morning, but luckily there was no snow and the streets were empty. She was in constant fear while in control of the wheel. Katie could hardly breathe until she pulled into the narrow driveway of her small, brick house. She waited before getting out of the car so she could recover from the drive. The light snow covering her house and the colorful Christmas lights her father hung last week were lit around the roof. Katie took three deep breaths, before going inside.

She dropped her bag next to the front door, along with her scarf, gloves and winter coat. She peeled the snow boots from her feet and fell onto the nearest couch with no intention of picking up her clothes or doing her homework. Kyle came around the hallway with a cup of hot chocolate, steaming in the air and filling the room with a sweet scent. His hair was short and black, while his thick eyebrows covered the tops of his brown eyes. He dropped his large, lengthy body onto the couch beside Katie. He gestured towards her with his cup, but she shook her head.

“How was school?”

“Stupid.”

“Are you okay?” he asked unsteadily because he knew the probable answer.

Katie shook her head because she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want Kyle to know that everyone stared at her in the hallways. She didn’t want him to know how scared she was to drive. Without knowing why, Katie pulled her body closer to Kyle, and curled up next to his left shoulder. He didn’t budge, not the slightest. He stopped sipping on his mug of hot chocolate and let his head fall on top of Katie’s. They sat like that for a long time, until both of them drifted to sleep and the water in Katie’s eyes dried on her face.

~~~

After taking a nap on the couch, watching television and eating dinner, Katie went straight to her room, pulled on her pajamas and crawled into bed, just like she had the night before. She lay there for hours listening to music until her mind was clouded with memories of him.

~~~

“What are you doing?” Andrew asked.

She didn’t reply. With her tan Birkenstocks, she carved a heart in the newly-fallen snow.

“That’s a terrible heart,” he said.

“Fine,” Katie walked a few feet further to draw another.

He nodded in approval, and then used his dirty white tennis shoe to write a U beside her heart. Katie couldn’t help but smile. He tugged at her hand, intertwining his cold fingers with her fuzzy pink gloves. Katie looked up at the sky as snow fell into her eyes. She looked back at Andrew whose hair was covered with little white snowflakes and the sides of his cheeks bled colors of crimson. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers and lingered there. He pulled away slowly and whispered “I love you,” into her right ear.

~~~

Katie awoke to the light of the sun, shining brightly through her blinds. The room was painted yellow, but reflected colors of pink. On her dresser was a pile of makeup and dirty clothes Katie had not bothered to touch in days. Her closet overflowed with shoes, handbags and old jeans. On her love seat was a pile of books Mary had bought. They had titles such as Dealing with Death and The Loss of a Loved One, and Katie knew she would never touch them. Pictures and snow globes decorated her room as well as books and old movies of Gene Kelly.

The smell of cinnamon and grease filled the air as bacon sizzled and her father’s feet shuffled back and forth in the kitchen. Katie knew it was too early to get up, but the smell overtook her body and pushed her out of bed. She wrapped a pink and white striped blanket around her shoulders and let it drag on the floor as she scurried to the kitchen.

“Well, good morning,” John said to his daughter. Katie was suddenly aware the makeup from yesterday was smudged all over her cheeks, and she probably resembled a dirty football player during the second half of a game.

“Morning,” she replied half-heartedly.

“How’d you sleep?”

“I wasn’t very tired,” Katie replied while pulling out a chair so she could sit and rest her body.

“Well, eat some breakfast. It’s going to be a long day.”

Her father continued to flip bacon and toast cinnamon bread. He loved to make her breakfast, but he usually only made a hot breakfast on the weekend or for special occasions. Her mother, on the other hand, rarely made breakfast. She could, but she didn’t. She had other priorities. She was a lawyer, one of the best in town. She either had a case to work on or a meeting with her co-workers.

After breakfast and a long, hot shower, Katie retreated back to her room to spend two hours getting ready. When she finished, she looked into the mirror above her dresser where a brown haired girl wearing a simple v-neck dress stared back. On her neck was the silver, open heart necklace Andrew had given her. Her hair was curled softly, even though she preferred straight, because that was Andrew’s favorite style. Katie thought of how much it really looked like chocolate syrup with a touch of caramel, the way he always described it. He joked to his friends that Katie was his favorite dessert. He was full of witty comments and Katie missed them.

She looked at the picture framed on the wall next to the mirror. Katie and Andrew sat on the edge of a wooden dock on a clear blue day. Andrew was watching Katie as she looked out at the lake. The back of her hair was wavy and she had worn her favorite flowered bikini, her hands tucked just under her thighs. Andrew had worn his navy blue swimsuit. He was bare back and his naturally curly brown hair was scattered around his head. He rested both hands on the dock, his left arm behind Katie and their legs dangling in the clear water. She remembered sitting there laughing and Andrew trying to catch a kiss behind her parents’ backs. Katie stopped thinking and reached into her makeup bag to apply more mascara and foundation in hopes of covering the bags under her tired eyes. She knew the makeup wouldn’t last long, so she put extra eyeliner, mascara and some tissue in her small, clutch purse. She glanced at the mirror one last time then grabbed her green petticoat and ran quickly out of the room to escape the memories.

Return to the top

Alone No More

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:00:48 +0000

Spring 2009

Alone No More (extended excerpt)

By Miranda Baxter

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

Jonathan awoke the next morning in a hazy state of mind, realizing that he’d almost overslept. Quickly he leapt out of bed and threw on his red flannel robe, dashing down the stairs to get Dogberry his breakfast. Luckily the dog was still asleep, apparently still exhausted from the previous night filled with taptaptap. Jonathan decided to let Dogberry sleep in, if only this once. He gingerly crept over the blue kitchen tiles, shivering as their emptiness chilled his bare feet. As he began to prepare a cup of coffee for himself, the doorbell rang. Dogberry’s head jerked up as a slow rush of anger coursed through Jonathan Tuesday’s veins. How dare they arrive early? He’d not even had time to brush his teeth! And poor Dogberry...well, he wasn’t going to allow this to happen. Jonathan Tuesday marched through the living room and swung open the front door.

“Do you have any idea wha…wha…whauhmmmmIamsosorry.” As Jonathan gazed upon the sight before him, all of his anger drained from him as syrup through his shoes.

“Morning, Mr. Tuesday. My name’s Beatrice, and I’m leading the team that’ll be clearing away your tree problem.”

“Um…tree. Right.”

“Which one is it?”

“Which…uh…sorry, which one is what?”

“The tree, sir. Which tree is the one you want removed?”

Jonathan finally regained consciousness.

“Oh! Right! The tree. It’s this tree. This one right here.” He forced a nervous laugh. Maybe she hadn’t noticed his complete idiocy. She was a small female, but when she spoke, she reminded the world that she was anything but small. Her voice was not loud or booming, but full and melodic. She had long and wavy brown hair pulled back at the nape of her neck; it was the kind of hair he’d only seen on women who’d played his favorite Shakespearean heroines—including Beatrice. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d been named for that character. What intelligent, loving parents! She wore a white t-shirt underneath a pair of overalls, the pockets of which were filled with various tools and utensils. He watched her hands moving a pen over paper on the clipboard she held. Though they were rough and worn, they were the most beautiful hands he’d ever seen. As Jonathan devoured the shining twin circles of bright brown that watched him carefully over a clipboard, he realized that she had, in fact, noticed his complete idiocy, but had mercifully chosen to overlook it.

“Sorry I’m a bit early,” said Beatrice. “I always like to arrive a little before the crew does so I can get an idea for how we can start the job. No worries, though, you’re not paying until they get here.” Jonathan nodded, but had somehow lost his voice again. “You don’t have to stand out here watching me. It’s all right if you go about your business while we go about ours.”

“Right. I suppose I’ll just…pop back into the kitchen. Breakfast, you know.” This would have been the perfect exit had it not been the moment Dogberry had chosen to leap out of the house and shower his undying affections upon the visitor.

“Dogberry, no! Down, boy!” What embarrassing behavior! Now he’d never get her attention back!

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Tuesday. I love dogs. I’ve got one at home, myself.”

“Really? What’s its name?”

“Prospero.”

Jonathan Tuesday struggled to keep from fainting with sheer delight. Keep cool, old boy, he reassured himself. Act like it’s really not the most wonderful thing she’s said yet.

“Prospero? Is that from…?”

“The Tempest. It’s my favorite play.” She glanced up at him and smiled with the most delicious-looking lips he’d seen in his life. It was a miracle that the stammering mess that was left of Jonathan Tuesday was still vertical.

“Well, uh, I suppose I’ll let you…do your thing.” He took a firm hold of Dogberry’s collar as she turned back to her clipboard.

Jonathan retreated back into his home, dragging the ecstatic Dogberry behind him. He turned on the radio just in time for his favorite program on NPR, but his mind was elsewhere. He ate a bowl of cereal while sitting on the couch, barely aware of the melodic radio voices filling the room.

There were several things wrong with this particular picture of Jonathan Tuesday. First of all, he never ate cereal on the weekends; cereal was a weekday food. On Saturdays he ate eggs and toast for breakfast. The fact that there was no milk of any sort accompanying this bowl of cereal was completely irrelevant. Secondly, Jonathan Tuesday ate only at tables—either in the kitchen or the dining room, depending on the meal of the day. You were one step away from eternal hellfire if you ate anywhere near Jonathan Tuesday’s sofa. Finally—and perhaps most importantly—he was not in the least bit hungry. He never ate when he was not hungry; he considered it useless. He also felt that it would disrupt the Routine if he decided to eat at unspecified times.

Today was a different day. The sound of chainsaws roaring on his front lawn signaled the arrival of Beatrice’s crew. In spite of the fact that the Routine had been disrupted almost beyond repair, Jonathan Tuesday had never been happier.

Suddenly, a loud and chilling shriek broke into his blissful reverie. Could it be that the chainsaws were causing this painful cry—or even intensifying it? Jonathan threw the bowl of cereal across the room and rushed to the door, fearing that his dear Beatrice was in mortal danger. He thrust open the door and charged outside, seeing three men with chainsaws ripping into the limbs of the tree.

“STOP! STOP!” Jonathan waved his arms this way and that to get their attention. The men shut off their chainsaws and looked in his direction.

“Something wrong, Mister Tuesday?” asked a voice from behind him. He whirled around to see his Darling, wearing a pair of goggles and carrying a fourth chainsaw. He grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“What happened? What did they do to you?”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“I heard you screaming!”

“Screaming? I wasn’t screaming.”

“Then who was it that thus cried?” Even when frantically trying to piece his thoughts together, Jonathan had managed to speak in Shakespeare. Beatrice set down the chainsaw and took his hands from her shoulders. He could feel how gentle they were, even through the tough gardening gloves.

“I’m fine, Mister Tuesday.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. He took a deep breath. He was not sure how he should react; should he insist on watching to make sure she was as she claimed to be, or should he let her do her job?

“You’ll…uh…you’ll come and get me if…if you’re…”

She nodded.

“I’ll call for you if I’m in trouble.” He turned and went back into his house.

As he closed the door behind him, still trembling from the shock of it all, he looked to a very worried Dogberry for consolation.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear it.” Dogberry merely stared at him. “I’m not crazy, Dogberry! I heard someone screaming out there!” Jonathan dropped onto the couch, feeling icier than he ever had before. Dogberry laid his head on Jonathan’s supine form, offering every ounce of sympathy he could muster. The dog hadn’t seen his friend so upset as this since the Jehovah’s Witnesses had gotten him out of the bath; Dogberry had never been more frightened of him in all their lives together.

Jonathan closed his eyes, hoping the radio would help him doze off for a bit. In all of Jonathan’s safe, predictable life, never had there been anything that reached his ears that made him feel so many feelings all at once. He was frustrated that he’d apparently hallucinated; he was confused about his unacknowledged love; but most of all, he was afraid. That scream was the sound of ultimate pain, and yet, due to the fact that he was the only one who heard it, it was apparently non-existent—until he heard it again.

This time the scream was even louder, and grew more and more so as each new chainsaw joined in the chorus of ripping the tree apart. Jonathan covered his ears, trying to shield himself from the sounds of pain, but it seemed that the screams were inside his very thoughts. He wanted to run outside again, but his desire to leave Beatrice to her work kept him firmly planted on the sofa. He looked at Dogberry, who was staring intently out the window.

“You hear it, don’t you, Dogberry?” Dogberry glanced at his friend momentarily, and then ran to the door to scratch at it furiously with both front paws. Jonathan started toward the door.

He stopped dead in his tracks when the screams began forming words.

“AAAHHHHHWHY? What have I done? What have I done to you, Jonathan Tuesday? Affliction is enamored of thy parts,/And thou art wedded to calamity!” Jonathan sank to his knees as these Shakespearian words fell upon his ears. Dogberry retreated to a safe position behind the sofa. The screams continued and then ceased, as if they’d crashed head-first into a large brick wall six feet deep. Then he heard a loud crackling sound, followed by the damp thump of the tree hitting the ground. The chainsaws ceased, and the dead air that surrounded Jonathan Tuesday’s skull was as frozen butter—too thick and too cold to be cut, even with a hot knife. He was shaken out of his stunned silence by a loud knock on the door. He stood, grasped the doorknob, and pulled the door open.

“There you are, Mister Tuesday,” Beatrice said, detaching a yellow slip of paper from her clipboard and handing it to him. “Almost finished. We’ve just got to put the logs into the shredder…” She trailed off as she got her first good look at him since he’d rushed outside to stop everything.

“Are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen someone die.” Jonathan put a hand to his forehead and realized that his scalp was drenched with sweat. He glanced over his left shoulder at the mirror above the mantelpiece, and saw that he’d gone as pale as a winter cloud. He took a deep breath and turned back to Beatrice.

“I’m…fine…I think.” He stammered. His entire body was shaking. “Are you all right?” She nodded and smiled at him out of the corners of her eyes.

Somehow Beatrice seemed to understand that something had happened to him in the past fifteen minutes, and that this something would change the course of his life henceforth. What she did not know, however, was that she too had been dragged into the life of Jonathan Tuesday, and that she would remain there whether either of them wished it or not.

Jonathan’s life, safety, and blessed Routine had all been disrupted. He wasn’t sure whether to grasp for it wildly in his now-foggy world, or whether to try to develop a new one. He couldn’t just leave the old Routine behind—he’d worked for several years to craft it into such perfect stability as it had been in prior to this fateful morning. As he looked into the concerned eyes of the landscaper before him, he decided to do something he hadn’t done in years, in spite of the fact that she’d just wrecked his life’s work of creating such a stable, predictable lifestyle.

“Are you free this evening?”

“I believe so. Why do you ask?”

“Will you meet me for coffee somewhere? I must speak with you about something. I realize we’ve only just met, but I believe you’re the only one who may understand.”

Beatrice was startled by Jonathan’s sudden forwardness. “Sure. Six o’clock at the Java Hut. You know where that is?”

“Yes.” He didn’t. “I’ll see you there at six.”

Mud Pies and Glitter Glue

dmiller2 — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 19:56:59 +0000

Spring 2009

Mud Pies and Glitter Glue (extended excerpt)

By Desiree J. Fischer

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

With These Hands by Michelle Catenacci
Mud Pies and Glitter Glue by Desiree J. Fischer
Alone No More by Miranda Baxter
A Whirlwind of Snowflakes by Sarah Sheppard
Full Count by Emily Cook
First of May by Kelsey Knoedler
Pressure Point by Laura Kleinschmidt
A Masked Man by Megan Sotak
Testimony by Marilynn Anater
Exploding Grapes by Jamie Peterson

Kurt arrived just in time to help me dig my old blue bike out of the shed. After wading through mountainous boxes of my parents’ things and climbing over various pieces of lawn care equipment, I spotted it. It was still beautiful, if not a little tired looking. It was the bike that my parents had bought me before I went to college. The bike had carried me to the majority of my classes, and when I lived in the city, it had also carried me to and from work.

“Uhh, Liz?” Kurt said as he looked at the bike and then the maze of objects between the door and us. “How are we getting that thing out of here?”

I stared at him thinking, how am I supposed to know? You’re the ‘big strong man!’

So after a lot of huffing, puffing and knocking over boxes, that were surely filled with family heirlooms, judging by the sounds they made as they hit the ground, we managed to get my bike out of the shed.

“Next time,” Kurt managed between peals of laughter, “don’t put your bike at the back of the shed.”

~~~

“So now will you tell me where we are going?” I asked Kurt for the hundredth time.

“I told you, Liz, you’ll see when we get there,” he chided.

I pedaled up next to him and smiled. We rode in silence for a while and then Dorney Park came into view. We had both played there as children. And it was where Kurt had earned his nickname. It was unusually well lit for this time of year, but that was because the carnival was in town.

“So, the ‘mud pie’ kid is taking me to a carnival?”

“Sure, I thought you might enjoy it. But if you don’t want to go, we can do something else.”

“Oh no,” I replied, “I just—”

“Surprised?”

“Yes. Yes, I am”

“In a good way, I hope,” he said, “Now come on, let’s go get ourselves a healthy serving of grease!”

“Sounds great!”

“Oh, and Liz?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t call me “mud pie” kid.” He chuckled.

“Just for that I think I might have to!”

We parked our bikes in the bike rack. Kurt placed his hand on my back, as if he wasn’t sure at first and we made our way me through the crowd, up and down the aisles of food vendors. They had everything you could think of, from deep fried candy bars to something with alligator. We finally decided on Chinese. Pork and Chicken Lo Mein were our choices.

Instead of fighting the crowd for a picnic table and parked ourselves on a set of swings away from the noise and bustle of the carnival. We ate in relative silence, swinging back and forth in time with the music from the carnival rides. After we finished Kurt took away our trash and I sat on the swing a while longer. Then two strong hands took a hold of the chains and pushed me off into the air. I gave a most unladylike screech and looked back to see Kurt doubled over laughing.

“I’ll get you for that!”

“I’m sure you will, Liz, I’m sure you will.”

~~~

Kurt led me through the maze of people. He prattled on about everything, work, family, food, even sports. I added a comment here and there, but mostly I just listened, enjoying his company. We stopped at a game booth. The one where you have to knock over the milk bottles in order to win a prize. Kurt winked.

“Do you think I should try?”

“You can if you want, but they’re rigged.” I said.

“No, I mean—I don’t know. Never mind.”

It took Kurt many tries and a good fifteen dollars before he was finally able to win me a small plush panda bear which I dubbed Ni Pai after trying to translate “mud pie” to Chinese. Anyway, Kurt laughed as he handed it to me, mumbling some sort of apology about its size.

“But I like that he’s small. It makes him travel-sized,” I said and he beamed.

So with my little panda nestled snuggly in my jacket pocket we made our way back to the bike rack. We took our time, slowly picking our way down the path; the lights from the carnival were beginning to go out. The crescent moon cast an eerie glow across the path. I grabbed his arm, though I was only slightly spooked. He snickered and said, “You know I am going to need that to unlock our bikes, right?”

I glared at him, “Fine, I just didn’t want you to be scared, that’s all.”

I dropped his arm while he removed the chains from our bike, then he brushed my hand with his, I’m not sure if it was on accident or not. We mounted our bikes and pointed them towards home.

We rode back in relative silence; the street was well lit, unlike the park. And when we reached the corner of Hannah Lane, Kurt stopped and turned to me, “Race you back?”

I didn’t even answer him; I just started pedaling as fast as my legs would carry me. I’m not really sure if he was letting me win or not, but I didn’t care. It was nice to act like a kid again.

I was off my bike and on my way up the porch steps before he caught up to me, we were both breathing heavily. He chuckled.

“I guess this means I win, huh?” I said.

“I guess so.”

“God, I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

“I’m glad you had a good time, Liz. I better get going, good night.” He turned and headed down the steps.

“Kurt, wait.” I called starting down the steps. He met me on the bottom step.

I threw my arms around him and muttered some silly brand of thanks into his ear. He seemed surprised at first but then returned the hug. He’s a lot stronger than I even thought he was, I mused. I breathed in the scent of his cologne. It was an intoxicating blend of sandalwood and spices. It was after the hug that I did something completely out of character, I mean really out of character. I pulled away slightly, leaving my hands on his shoulders even though his hands slid off my waist, and said to him, “Always kiss me goodnight.”

I planted a light kiss on his cheek and bounded up the stairs. My plan was shock and awe, well; there was plenty of shock, but I’m not sure there was awe.

“Wait.” He said, following me up the stairs I turned and was caught, spellbound by his pale eyes. His lips brushed mine, only for an instant, but long enough to make my head spin.

Kurt smiled and trotted down the stairs his ears were bright red in the porch light. Before mounting his bike he coughed and muttered, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Liz. Pleasant dreams.”

I waved and he rode off. I just stood there a while, blushing furiously. Finally I was able to make my brain, make my body open the door. This was the third time today he had managed to shock me. Well you did tell him to kiss you goodnight. This was true. And I didn’t mind.

Return to the top

Saint Mary's College, Notre Dame, IN - Courier

Courier - Spring 2012

Spring 2012

Full Edition

Supplemental: Tributes to Sister B.A.

Courier - Winter 2011

Winter 2011

Full Edition

Supplemental

Nathan Watson

Nathan Watson: Making History

Super Legacy

Super Legacy

In Darwin's Footsteps

In Darwin’s Footsteps

Cat Cleary: Asking Questions that Have No Right to Go Away

Asking questions that have no right to go away

Summer 2011 - Courier Online

Summer 2011

Full Edition

Commencement 2011: Honors and Awards

Honors and Awards

Samantha Wassel '11Valedictorian

Jingqiu Guan '11Lumen Christi Award

Laura Glaub '12Saint Catherine Medal

Emma Hoffman '11Outstanding Senior Award

Patrick PierceMaria Pieta Award

Nancy NekvasilSpes Unica Award

Therese Johnson Borchard '93Commencement Speaker

Colleen BarrettHonorary Degree Recipient

Little Corn Island Leaves Big Impression on Students

Study is Broad on this Study Abroad Experience

Chelsea Crane ’11

Ashley Cook ‘11

Emma Hoffman ‘11

Megan Weinandy ‘11

Courier Online - Summer 09 - Cover

Published & Presented 2009

Winter 2009

Published & Presented

Exploding Grapes

Exploding Grapes (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

Testimony

Testimony (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

A Masked Man

A Masked Man (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

Pressure Point

Pressure Point (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

First of May

First of May (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

Full Count

Full Count (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

Chapter 9:

A Whirlwind of Snowflakes

A Whirlwind of Snowflakes (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

Alone No More

Alone No More (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

Mud Pies and Glitter Glue

Mud Pies and Glitter Glue (extended excerpt)

Other Stepping Out Excerpts

Samantha Wassel '11
Valedictorian

Jingqiu Guan '11
Lumen Christi Award

Laura Glaub '12
Saint Catherine Medal

Emma Hoffman '11
Outstanding Senior Award

Patrick Pierce
Maria Pieta Award

Nancy Nekvasil
Spes Unica Award

Therese Johnson Borchard '93
Commencement Speaker

Colleen Barrett
Honorary Degree Recipient