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Volume 1 | Issue 1 | April 2006
CONTENTS
FIRST PLACE
Dawnette Hale |
The
Ride
Karen L.
McGuffin |
Angels From Heaven
FINALISTS 
Cheryl Kirby |
Remembering the Legacy
Chalee Lindholm
|
Slipping into Darkness
Carina Drake |
Finally Over You
James Ellis (Riddy)
| I Am
Angela Loftin |
Empty Nest
Laurie Ann
Horning |
After Aerosmith
 Editor’s
Note
In
January, when first asked to consider creating a new publication for
students currently enrolled at Pioneer Pacific College, I was just a bit
reluctant.
Why have a publication for students? Who would enter the
contest? Would we get enough interest?
Now, in early April, after the first quarterly contest, I can say that the
response has more than exceeded my expectations.
Thank you to everyone who made this first quarterly writing contest such a
success! For the many of you who were not published, I want to assure you
that it wasn’t an easy decision and, in many cases, the judges felt quite
divided.
The
primary criterion for choosing this quarter’s winners and finalists was
voice.
Is the piece voiced, or Voiced, with capital
V.
What do I mean by that? In school—from grade school through college—we learn
to write. We learn about comma splices and dangling participles. We learn
that the introductory paragraph has a thesis and that the thesis informs the
body paragraphs—often three, with their topic sentences and ensuing
support—followed by a conclusion that spins the thesis in a new way or asks
a question or challenges the reader to action.
I’m
oversimplifying here of course, but real world writing—meaning writing that
often matters to folks outside of the world of academia—isn’t something so
boxed-in. Real-world writing—the writing that we love to read—has a
particular voice. The voice of the author comes through and that’s why we
continue reading his or her work. Wouldn’t it be just a bit boring if the
world was so put together as the college essay?
The
last thing I’ll say on the subject is this: You have to learn the rules in
order to forget them. That’s what we’re all about. We—the English
Department, I mean—are about making you aware, or conscious, of the rules,
so that when you sit down to write that email or proposal or poem or
personal creed or journal entry or letter or novel at some point in the near
or distant future, you can choose to use the rules or not, as you see fit.
The fragment. Sometimes works well.
In
the “Book of the Dead Man,” Marvin Bell asks, “Are you one of those students
who does the assignment but misses the lesson?”
The
students whose work is printed here—full of motorcycles, angels, mice, and
love and loss in relationship—fully understand the lesson. And I thank them
for the honor of allowing us to read (and love) their work.
S.
Asher Sund, Editor
April 2006
The
Ride
Dawnette Hale
FIRST PLACE
It is time
to ride. I put on my gear, check out the bike, and fuel her up. I cruise
through town slow and steady. I need to let the tires and engine warm up. I
need to relax and let my brain adapt. There is no reason to hurry for there
are plenty of wonderful roads ahead. Once the engine is running smooth and
the tires warm and sticky, it is time to open up the throttle.
Oh, I see the
first turn, a large sweep to the left. It is so exciting knowing what is to
come. I can see myself riding through the turn in my mind, and I laugh. I
slow down (roll off the throttle), and unconsciously adjust for the
appropriate entry velocity. It is usually better to go in slow and come out
fast or hot. My anticipation builds—wait for it, I tell myself—wait for it.
I feel the undeniable, insistent, pull of gravity as I sweep into the first
bend. I am set up on the outside of the curve and smoothly increase (roll
on) the throttle. I have a good head turn as I gaze to the exit, my
reference point, the place I will be sweeping past. I do not drop my eyes.
With my elbows bent, my hands gentle on the controls and my knees clinching
the tank, I look into the future, into the horizon. I have a good lean angle
and my hips are set to maintain the course. This is not the time to tweak or
shift positions. I see the exit. I have found the line I will follow through
this wicked turn. I reach the apex, time to cut into the inner edge (white
line it). I accelerate smoothly out and ride to the outer edge. It shoots a
thrill through me—the perfect turn. My body’s reaction tells me that it is
absolutely as it should be. The next turn is set up. I decelerate, turn my
head, find the apex, follow the line, and smoothly roll on. A low sweep to
the right, now left, left again, shift, upward, thrust, bend, twist, climb,
and swoop. Each line feeds and leads into the next. It is so sexy.
Sometimes my
timing or focus is off, which makes the transitions between curves inelegant
and graceless. It is simple to correct—breathe, look, feel, and listen. I
draw a breath inward and focus on the scents drifting up from the shrubs,
grasses, and vegetation, the scents floating down from the trees and those
released from the moist fertile earth. I relax my shoulders, stretch my
neck, and look up and out over the horizon. I concentrate and draw my energy
deeper within myself and focus on the ride. I listen to the bike, to its
rumbles and roars. The adrenaline begins to flow again as I recommit to
taking the corners efficiently, masterfully, and commandingly. Pushing away
any unnecessary information, distractions, and obligations, this time is
just about the ride. I check my angle, position, speed, grip pressure, and
posture. I shift my weight forward to improve balance and traction. I
fine-tune as necessary to ensure I can see enough to plan my approach
through the upcoming curves, seeking to know and understand instantly the
road conditions. The ever-changing conditions require that I trust my
instincts, my experience and ability. The bike speaks to me, the road speaks
to me; I am ready. It is time to let clarity of purpose, power, and ability
take me to and through each apex.
This is a
somber, intense, and focused ride, not a careless jaunt. It is a pursuit, an
attack, and a dance. When it is this serious, I see, hear, and feel each
turn. I know the road. I know the rocks. I know the gravel. I hear the
engine and feel its vibrations and its surges throughout my body. My body
begins to flow in and out and over the turns with energy and intention. I
accept the danger, the edge, and the unaccountable feelings. My God, I was
born to do this right now. A feeling of oneness is present; I feel free,
light, and exhilarated. I fast approach the rising ridgeline, and experience
a tremendous surge of energy as I race up the peak and blow into the serene
space that inhabits the bare, rocky, mountainous pass. In triumph, I pull
over. I am wild-eyed, breathing hard, and laughing. D**n, I want to do that
again. I take a deep breath, look around the high meadow, and note its
beauty, the stark desolation. I listen intently to the wind’s gusts and
sighs, and hear the cry of a bird of prey. I turn and look into the canyon
below and see ribbons upon ribbons of gray—more f**king twistie road. I
laugh. It is time to get on and ride, time to take the twisties at 40, 50,
60, 70, 80 miles an hour.
I open up the
throttle, and roar down into the canyon. I own this canyon. It is mine to
play with and mine to explore and enjoy. The trees and shrubs blur and
distort by speed into splotches and flashes of green, gray, and brown. The
sunlight alternately hides, shifts, and blinds me. The road beneath is cool
or hot; black and gray or a combination; glistening, textured, ragged,
uneven, or smooth; and it is aged, or new, a patched stream of asphalt. Is
this just another road to be conquered or could this be the
rawking
road? I am thinking this might be the best I
have ever known. I ride between, and through the yellow and white lines,
higher, lower, faster, and slower. I swoop down and around and take command
of my world. These moments are the ride.
n
Angels From Heaven
Karen L. McGuffin
FIRST PLACE
One of my most vivid memories as a child was
how my mom would come into my room each night. Being afraid of the dark made
it difficult to go to bed; therefore, procrastinating was something at which
I was very good. While my sisters were already in their rooms, there I would
be, still in the bathroom, doing whatever I could to prolong the inevitable.
It wasn’t until my father started to yell at me that I would finally head
for bed. Mom waited a few minutes, then made an excuse to my father about
why she needed to get up, and she came to my room. Sitting beside me, she
would take my hand in hers and ask me what was wrong. Every night it was the
same reply, “Mom, I don’t want to go to sleep, I’m afraid.” She would smile
and say, “Karen, everything is fine, nothing is going to hurt you, I’m right
here. If you need me just call for me, and I will be here.” She would give
me a big hug, cover me up, and give me that quirky smile that was all hers,
and instantly I would feel better. Mom always made sure to leave my bedroom
door open just a bit and turn the hall light on as she went back into the
living room. This little ritual meant so much to me. With the love and
comfort she showed me, I was able to go to sleep knowing my mom would always
be there for me. Little did I know then that in years to come I would be the
one comforting her in the same way.
I was with my mom the night she passed away. I
had brought her home from the hospital and helped her get ready for bed. She
was so weak she wasn’t able to get undressed by herself, so I helped her.
After she got into bed, I covered her up and then sat next to her. Telling
her how much I loved her, I bent down and kissed her forehead. As I left the
room, I told her if she needed anything to call out for me, and I would be
right there. Leaving her door open so I could see her from the living room,
I walked out the door. It was the last time I would ever see her alive. When
I went to check on her, less than two hours later, she had already passed
away.
It was six months before I was able to go visit
her gravesite. The sky was overcast, and the ground was wet from the rain.
It was fitting for the way I felt inside. I brought with me a bouquet of
carnations, a card, and balloons. My plan was to tie the balloons to the
card and let them go. I had four balloons, one for each of us girls. I was
nervous about being there, knowing I would break down when I saw her
headstone. I stood there with John at my side, looking down at the beautiful
marble that had her name inscribed. I knelt and felt the letters as I ran my
fingers across the cold smooth stone. As I touched each letter, thousands of
memories flooded my mind, memories of me as a child, family picnics, and the
time my mom made a dress for me to wear to my first school dance. It seemed
like my whole life passed right before my eyes.
Tears were strolling down my face. I stood up
and released the balloons, but the card was too heavy; they didn’t go
anywhere. I guess I hadn’t bought enough balloons, or I’d written too much
on the card! Deciding to just let the balloons go, I untied the card and
released the balloons on their own. As I released them, an odd thing
happened: A strange feeling of serenity came over me. I was looking up at
the balloons as they went higher and higher into the sky, and all of a
sudden a thousand little flashing lights were surrounding the balloons; they
were everywhere. I had to look away to make sure I wasn’t seeing things; but
when I looked back up, I still saw them. I actually was smiling. Looking
over at John, I was a little embarrassed, not knowing if he saw me smiling
and if he did, what he would think of me smiling at this particular moment.
I decided not to say anything at that moment; I wanted to keep the peaceful
feeling I had. I didn’t want to do anything to disrupt it.
As we got back in the car, I had to say
something; I had to ask John if he saw the same thing I did. I had to know
if I was just imagining it or if it was really real. When I asked him, he
said he saw the same thing! I knew at that moment that it was real. It was a
message from my mom; she was telling me not to be afraid; she was still
leaving the light on for me; I wasn’t alone. All I had to do was call her
name, and she would be there. n
Remembering the Legacy
Cheryl Kirby
FINALIST
Some folks see the elderly as a valuable asset to society, while
others view them as useless and disposable. I, personally, take the view
that our elderly are a priceless source of immeasurable learning that is
deserving of our honor and respect.
While my grandmother was still alive, I took every opportunity to sit at her
feet and absorb every word she said. After achieving centenarian status,
Grandma told about the first automobile she saw, and how she felt like the
“Queen of Sheba” when she actually rode in it, and she told how unbelievably
amazed she was at her first glimpse of an airplane. She told her stories
over and over again, stories about things many of us take for granted, but
to her were important, even magical. Although she knew they had been told
before, she had no doubt that I would listen patiently as she generously
embellished with greater detail each time. There was always another small,
sometimes juicy morsel to satisfy my appetite for more knowledge. I am a
better and richer person because I was open as she shared herself with me.
Many in our world, it seems, too often have the notion that older people are
in the way, create an encumbrance, and are only taking up space. They are
viewed with disdain because they require extra time, care, and money without
contributing much. It is true that perhaps some are not able to offer much
at this time in their lives; however, they have certainly contributed much
in the past by just living and sharing their lives with us.
No matter how society views the elderly, I must say if we close our minds
and hearts to them, we as individuals and as a society, are squandering a
bountiful blessing.
n
Slipping into Darkness
Chalee Lindholm
FINALIST
The world is spinning and turning
I
hear laughter and see smiles
The sun is shining and I can feel it on my skin
I
feel the arms of the one I love
I’m slipping into darkness
I
laugh and I smile
My
eyes shine
The days are happy and the nights filled with love
I
feel the love he has for me
I’m slipping into darkness
There’s so much I can’t tell him
He
holds me and I feel very far away
I’m drowning, I can’t breathe
I
can’t scream
I’m slipping into darkness
He’s so happy; I can see it and feel it
I
can’t let on my fears
I
smile as I fall
I
say “I love you too” as my mouth fills with water
I’m slipping into darkness
He
knows something’s wrong
I
can’t bring him down with me
“Let me help you”
I
break down and say, “You can’t”
I’m slipping into darkness
My
reality is scary, the world is a lie
The days are getting shorter, the nights are very cold
I
start shaking, I try hard not to cry
He
holds me in his arms, I no longer feel safe
I’m slipping into darkness
What happened to my happiness
Where are all my smiles
I
used to know safety
He
gave me the world
I’m slipping into darkness
My
grip is getting looser
I
cry out for help
I
hear him calling out to me, I feel him try and pull me up
He’s strong and I have faith
I’m slipping into darkness
I
hang onto him
He
pulls and begs for me to make it
He
needs me as much as I need him and we’re so in love
Could that be enough?
I’m slipping into darkness
I
try to climb up
My
tears drip off my face, I reach the top
I
kiss him and he smiles, I see his joy
I
feel his love
I
slip into darkness
He
screams as I fall silently
Now it’s his turn to cry
His tears are slow to fall
The love in his eyes is gone
He’s slipping into darkness
Finally Over You
Carina Drake
FINALIST
As I sit here and think of what I should do
I finally realize I have to get over you
I have to forget all the pain
Even though my tears fall like rain
I have to remember who I am inside
And teach myself not to run and hide
I have now realized it wasn’t me
It was you who lied
I will fix this rip you have put in my heart
Even if it takes tape, staples, and glue
I have finally realized I have to get over you
Friends and family have been there
Even when you didn’t care
I am cutting the rope you have had on my heart
I am going to make one more fresh start
I will find someone new and when I do
I hope to hell he’s nothing like you
What you did to me
Will happen to you
Then you will ask yourself what did I do
I finally realized I have to get over you
When I think of our life together
I can now brush it off like the rainy weather
I can smile when I see someone new
And I can laugh when someone talks about you
Although the wall to get to my heart is a little taller
And the trust for you is gone forever
I have finally realized I am over you
I can do better now without you
The support I have found is true
I can have a life again
Maybe this time I can meet the right one
One who wants me for me
And I can watch as you blow away in the wind
As your life shatters under the pressure
Don’t come running to me
I am done with you
I have finally realized I am over you
I Am
James Ellis (Riddy)
FINALIST
I regret not
falling in love and finding myself sooner
I am
emotional
I wonder what
life would be like if I wasn’t in love
I hear the
chirping of birds in the morning
I see real
Louis Vuittons from fakes
I want more
I am loved
I pretend I’m
full when I’m hungry
I feel
everything
I touch his
body
I worry all
the time
I understand
what commitment is
I say no
I dream about
our children and marriage
I try
everything
I hope for
nothing but the best
I am me
I regret
nothing
Empty Nest
Angela Loftin
FINALIST
The first steps and we were off and running.
Then came the first words and the why, why and why questions.
Preschool was a whole new world with our new friends.
Five years old and we began a seven year
sports career that would end when boys began.
When sixth grade ended so did playing tag, hide-n-seek
and our elementary school days.
Junior high brought dances, football games
and over night parties with our friends.
When we hit high school, the days started
flying by, and your friends became your world.
No more trick-or-treating, carving pumpkins,
or dressing up at Halloween together.
No more excitement on Christmas morning watching your
bright faces light up with delight as we opened our gifts together.
No more trips to the river to spend the
day playing and enjoying our time together.
No more hanging out at the mall shopping,
people watching, and trying new things together.
No more sharing your most private thoughts, comparing our
dreams of the future or discussing boys together.
I am here alone now with my thoughts, memories,
and pictures of us together,
Just me remembering when.
After Aerosmith
Laurie Ann
Horning
FINALIST
It’s pitch
black in the arena
A single
candle burns
In the center
of the ring
Where only
hours before
Were crowds
And laughter
And now
Only one
small fire
To light the
way
For the mice
And roaches
In their
everlasting search
For one small
bite
A discarded
piece of hot dog
A small
crushed piece of popcorn
Or some other
unnoticed
Remnant or
scrap
To hold them
till
The next
show.
©2006 Pioneer Pacific College. Volume 1 | Issue 1 | April 2006. Clackamas,
Oregon.
The work herein is published with the permission of the author and may not be
reproduced by any method without the written permission of the author.
Acknowledgements: Mike
Demkowicz for the name
Pioneer
Pages, and Bill
Dobrenen for the inspiration and the wisdom to let it unfold.
Editor: S. Asher Sund | Judges: S. Asher Sund, Sharon Hughes,
Bill Dobrenen, and Stephen Ulrich | Design and layout: Carol Booton | Director
of Education: Bill Dobrenen.
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