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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 11
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: ‘— A vase of dying ﬂowers blocked a collection of black and white pictures that she'd had to beg him for permission to put up. Five in all, arranged in a plus sign. Each was a swirl of grayscale in which she saw an expression of love. From time to time she traced the tiny delicate lines with her...
Show more‘— A vase of dying ﬂowers blocked a collection of black and white pictures that she'd had to beg him for permission to put up. Five in all, arranged in a plus sign. Each was a swirl of grayscale in which she saw an expression of love. From time to time she traced the tiny delicate lines with her index ﬁnger, the smooth glass was cold and hard under her skin. These ﬁve photos were never left to gather dust as the others were. These photos were different, small and perfect. Her creation on ﬁlm. He said that the pictures challenged his beliefin God. “Dawn, this is morbid. Unhealthy."One day he stacked the pictures one on top of the other and placed them in cardboard box to be hidden beneath the bed. “No, not yet!" she cried, grabbing the box from his arms and cradling it against her chest. “I haven't said goodbye." “You're sick!" he spat, pulling the box away from her and dropping it purposely on the ﬂoor. Glass shattered and covered the ﬂoor. “You're a monster!" She crawled on her hands and knees through the sea of glass shards and collected the photos to her breast, sliding them between her tee—shirt and her body. She brushed the blond hair that stuck to her tears away from her face with bloody hands. He started to cry as he often did. “I don't mean it. You’re not sick.”He picked Dawn up off the ﬂoor, feeling her weight and warmth against him. He brought her to the bath— room and laid her in the tub, lifting up her dress just so high as the blood went. His rough hands were embarrassed to graze the soft skin of her thighs. It had been so long since he had touched her bare skin. As he removed each shard of glass that was lodged into her, he apolo— gized. "I am a monster.” Staring at the pictures, Dawn began to feel the familiar sensation offalling. She gripped the arm of the couch with dagger—like ﬁngers and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the fan that caused the lights to strobe above her sounded like a helicopter in the room. Her ears plugged up and her eyes watered. Covering her ears didn’t stop the deafen— ing sounds from drowning her thoughts. “Stop!” She howled. “Stop it!" Eventually it began to stop. “Water, water, water." Her mouth was dry and her throat had hardened. She grasped the couch and pulled herself to her feet, knocking the cold coffee off the end table. As she stumbled toward the bathroom, the curtains billowed away from the wall, ﬁlling the whole room. 1he ﬂoor shifted beneath her feet and she had to crawl on all fours to keep from falling over. She kept close to the walls, but they, too, shifted and shoved 9
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 55
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: The Coast Cbristop/Jer Clemson I am standing on the edge of a cliff, wondering what would happen if Ijumped off. I stare out over the ocean far below; the balmy breeze of this bright Irish day hits me square in the face with cool certainty, as if to tell me I need to step back. Back to what?...
Show moreThe Coast Cbristop/Jer Clemson I am standing on the edge of a cliff, wondering what would happen if Ijumped off. I stare out over the ocean far below; the balmy breeze of this bright Irish day hits me square in the face with cool certainty, as if to tell me I need to step back. Back to what? Behind me, Beth is sprawled out on the hood of my Jaguar, oblivious to the destructive thoughts in my head. I do not have to glance back at her to know this; at every stop on every road trip we've ever taken, she does the same thing. Working on her tan, she says. “I thinkI might jump OH,"I call back to her, my voice carried to her on the wind. “Pervert,” she calls back, barely audible from speaking against the breeze. I know she has not moved; she is still there on the hood, and will now be either adjusting her breasts or snapping her gum. She thinks that I'm being funny, that I’m admiring her, that I said get off instead ofjump off. It wouldn’t be the ﬁrst time, I’ll give her that. We tend to fuck a lot when on vacation, especially in public places. We've fucked at Yellowstone, in the shadow of Old Faithful; we've fucked in a washroom stall at LAX; we fucked under- neath the Fremont Bridge in Seattle, in the middle of the night, with no audience but that famous, ugly troll statue. We have not fucked here in Ireland, though - nor will we. Ireland, land of my father and my father's father, of my brother and every Brennan (except for me, I was born in Chicago) —- this is sacred territory. Three days ago, we arrived for my Brother's funeral in Galway. It was a family affair, in Gaelic, attended by my uncles and the stout, old widows ofour ancestral village who beat their chests in mourning for a price. It was Beth’s idea to take a few days to drive along the coast. “'Ihe fresh air will clear your head," she told me. “And I've never seen Ireland before.“ But it has not cleared my head. We’ve made our way along the cliffs of the Western coast for days now, and I cannot escape my brother’s ghost. Every time we stop,I look out to sea and I see him - sometimes swimming, sometimes dashed upon the rocks, sometimes walking on the waves. Each time he haunts me. I hear him calling to me on the wind: Come,]immy. The water's warm. I miss you. I'm lost. Danny was always lost without a syringe in his arm; that’s why he’s dead at thirty-three. And now, here I am, lost in my homeland, lost with 53
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 43
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Wrapping a Sari Molly Eb/ing The dorm room looked the same as it had for the past two months I’d been volun- teering there: crowded with thirty beds each raised on stilts three feet off the ground; little school bags perched atop locked cubbies; typical Indian windows with metal bars, instead of...
Show moreWrapping a Sari Molly Eb/ing The dorm room looked the same as it had for the past two months I’d been volun- teering there: crowded with thirty beds each raised on stilts three feet off the ground; little school bags perched atop locked cubbies; typical Indian windows with metal bars, instead of screens, lined two entire walls and let in squares of hot sunlight. But I could feel a new energy and excitement that usually wasn't present on any given Saturday at All Bengal Women's Union. I saw a group of my little girls under one of the beds huddled around lipstick and blush, preparing their faces for the festival. Another came up behind me. “Auntie, Aunite, help," Payel said holding a long, limp piece of fabric in her hand. Her cheeks were abnormally rosy and her lips bright red. "No, I'm sorry Payel,I don’t know how.Janni Na.I don't know.]anni Na." She didn’t move,just stood shifting her eyes from the unwrapped sari to mine. “Okay, okay. I will try." I held the piece of fabric contemplating where to begin. Payel stood with her arms out, open at her sides, the same way I had two hours before at my host family’s house, when Joba was dressing me. Earlier that same morning I had been standing with my arms extended straight from my sides while Joba tucked and wrapped the iridescent green fabric around my body. She draped the most decorative end over my left shoulder, the gold embroidered leaves of its pat— tern swirled, connected and looped naturally together down to the fabrics end. Joba spun me around shortening the excess material as it gathered at my waist. She made perfect pleats in the stiff, new fabric. “Pin?” she asked. I handed her the safety pin and she fastened the fabric hung over my shoulder to the sleeve of my borrowed gold blouse. “Finished,” she said in her strong Indian accent, pronouncing the English “F” as a She smiled, looking me over, and pinched the apple of my cheek. Before she could walk away to dress my host mother I pulled her back in for a careful hug — careful so as not to disturb the ﬂawless work she'd done in wrapping my sari. I didn't worry about her sari; unlike my host mother's whose sari lay perfectly pleated and pressed,_]oba’s was always wrinkled, hiked up 41
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 47
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: would. I started by ﬁnding the most decorated end of the fabric, the piece that goes over the left shoulder. I reserved about three or four feet of this, and slung it over Hasi’s shoulder, like I'd seen Joba do. 'Ihen,l found the other end ofthe fabric. The line of fabric from her shoulder to the...
Show morewould. I started by ﬁnding the most decorated end of the fabric, the piece that goes over the left shoulder. I reserved about three or four feet of this, and slung it over Hasi’s shoulder, like I'd seen Joba do. 'Ihen,l found the other end ofthe fabric. The line of fabric from her shoulder to the new end was not twisted, so I tucked the end into her petticoat. I made sure to check the length of the skirt, because I remembered Joba hiking mine up, tucking extra fabric in, to make it short enough that I wouldn't step on it.I continued tucking until I'd made it around Hasi's entire waist. I gathered a foot or two of fabric and begin folding it in like an accordion. I tucked this fabric in front of her right hip, the place where I had stopped tuck- ing; the folds created pleats in the skirt portion. Then I took the piece from her shoulder and wrapped it around her body, underneath her left arm, across her chest from the bottom right, and up to her left shoulder once more. “Aka photo, one picture,"I said, placing my camera on a dresser and setting the timer. We posed in our perfect looking saris with our arms around each other’s backs. She, like Payel, had invited me to be a part ofher life, her culture. She had accepted me, disregarded my differences, my lack of knowledge, and allowed me, an outsider, to participate in the tradi— tional way of her culture. We looked at the photo, our smiles and dress almost overshadowing the fact that we were so different from one another, that I didn’t belong. After the picture . Hasi followed me out of the room, and nearly fell over; I had wrapped the sari too tightly l around her legs. 45
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 52
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: like his cousins’ faces on Christmas. His father stared into the dark sky, into the clouds; and he looked as if he had no idea Jayden and his wife were behind him yelling his name. Jayden’s mother's yells at her husband pittered off; as if drawn in by force, she began staring into the sky without...
Show morelike his cousins’ faces on Christmas. His father stared into the dark sky, into the clouds; and he looked as if he had no idea Jayden and his wife were behind him yelling his name. Jayden’s mother's yells at her husband pittered off; as if drawn in by force, she began staring into the sky without blinking. Jayden continued to whimper and cry even as his parents ignored him. He looked to see what they were looking at, and he lost con— sciousness.The family stood in a moment of silence, their faces turned toward the mottled and vicious heavens, when something snapped in Jayden’s mother’s brain.Jayden’s mother blinked, and tore her eyes from the sky that was splitting open. The spell was broken. She pried his little hands off her leg and ran out of the doorway where she had been standing to grab Jayden's father by the shirt collar. She dragged him inside, grabbing Jayden with the other arm. She closed her eyes shut tightly because her face was being pelted with dust and loose sand. With one arm, she scooped up the mesmerized Jayden into her chest, and with the other, dragged her rigid husband down a ﬂight of stairs into the bathroom. By chance, or perhaps because the warm trough of air pushing the storm took a slight turn to the west when it hit the side of the river valley the town populated, the F—4 tornado took a direct path overJayden’s house. It sounded like an angry God was drop— ping a forest of uprooted trees on top of their house. With tears escaping from Jayden’s tightly closed eyes, he wished he had not fooled around in Sunday school so much that morning. There was a loud crack, and another, and another. Jayden and his parents would discover in a few short minutes that the sounds they heard there in the dark of the windowless bathroom was their house's roof being ripped off. The three of them huddled together. They could hear windows breaking and the sound of aluminum siding getting pummeled by debris —branches, loose rocks, or pieces of his neighbors’ houses. That was before the roof was ripped open like a dry scab off of a scraped knee.The wind screeched and shouted.]ayden put his hands over his ears. The bathroom door began to shake and rattle after the roof was removed. The extreme suction of the tornado caused the air pressure in the house to plummet. Down- stairs, after they heard the roof peel off, Jayden's hearing grew suddenly mufﬂed. Then, in a moment of shocking pain, his ears felt as if they were going to explode, and he cried out. This barometer—shattering shift of pressure sauntered down the stairs (at incredible speed) to where the door of the bathroom stood, and gave those door hinges and the SO
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 01
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Murphy Square ajournaloflﬁenuyzuuivbualans 2010

Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 46
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: the second time I had come to realize what a sari was. As I made my way to the dormitory with my entourage of girls,I remembered my ﬁrst encounter with a sari. I had been in Agra visiting the Taj Mahal and stopped in a cloth- ing shop on my way out. I asked to see a sari and the storekeeper...
Show morethe second time I had come to realize what a sari was. As I made my way to the dormitory with my entourage of girls,I remembered my ﬁrst encounter with a sari. I had been in Agra visiting the Taj Mahal and stopped in a cloth- ing shop on my way out. I asked to see a sari and the storekeeper pulled a couple of different options off the shelf. He began unfolding large pieces of fabric as I watched, wondering when he'd ﬁnd the long tunic and scrunched pants wrapped up in that long fabric. He took my confused expression as distaste for the particular fabric he was holding, and proceeded to pull more from the shelves and unfold them. “No, no. Sari,"I corrected him, thinking he had just misheard me. The Storekeeper shook the piece of fabric in his hands saying, “Sari, this is sari.”Do they make the pieces out of that or something? I wondered. A friend of mine had spent time in Jiapur and said she bought all her clothes custom—made by a tailor. I thought maybe this was the case now. I was wrong. The thing that I thought was a sari was actually called a salwar kameez. A sari is in fact a large piece of fabric coupled with a belly-revealing blouse. After Rakhi had ﬁnished properly dressing Payel, Hasi stepped into the dorm and quickly ﬂapped her hand in a wave of sorts that I had learned to mean come here. I followed her into the adjoining bedroom. Hasi was older than the girls in the dorm room by at least ten years. and as such warranted a separate bedroom which she shared with one of the Mashis. I twirled for her as I entered the room pointing at my sari. “Shundor, Auntie, beautiful!" she exclaimed. She handed me a cup of chai with a biscuit, as she did every morning. “Kammon acho, Hasi?" How are you, I asked. “th110 achi,"l am good, she answered. “No English lesson today," she said pointing to her books. “Yes."I answered.“because it is Saraswati Puja.” Hasi nodded her head to the side. “Saraswati is Goddess of learning...music...art, so today we —" she paused searching for the right English word, “give books and school things to Saraswati," she ﬁnished. When I ﬁnished my chai she took the cup from my hands and replaced it with a sari. "You help. Auntie?"“Okay,"I agreed, willing images of Joba and Rakhi’s methods to the forefront of my memory. She opened her arms wide, allowing me to dress her, as an Indian friend or mother 44
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 20
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Dad Betsy Col/ins You always told me, “Up hill to school both ways. Barefoot. In the snow." You always told me your only toys were a stick and a rock. You told me your favorite childhood snack, bacon grease sandwiches. Coalwood, West Virginia 1955. Coalwood, West Virginia 2001. We visited your...
Show moreDad Betsy Col/ins You always told me, “Up hill to school both ways. Barefoot. In the snow." You always told me your only toys were a stick and a rock. You told me your favorite childhood snack, bacon grease sandwiches. Coalwood, West Virginia 1955. Coalwood, West Virginia 2001. We visited your high school on a hill (up hill one way), broken glass windows and scum/moss carpet. I ran through the halls and screamed for this abandoned building. 'Ihe house you grew up in was knocked down, replaced with dirt, replaced with shit. I screamed for this abandoned town and burst. Rockford, Minnesota 2010. Pinto beans and a blow up mattress. Living in the rubble of another knocked—down house. Must be looking a lot like Coalwood again. I scream for your abandoned life. 18
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 30
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Backyard Digital Print Adam S pan [er 28

Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 59
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: and calmly telling me between puffs. I left and didn't speak to her again for two years. I was tired of talking her out of something she never meant to do. On my way to work one day. back when I rode the bus. I saw a car parked on the Ford Bridge with the driver's door ajar. I ﬁgured he really...
Show moreand calmly telling me between puffs. I left and didn't speak to her again for two years. I was tired of talking her out of something she never meant to do. On my way to work one day. back when I rode the bus. I saw a car parked on the Ford Bridge with the driver's door ajar. I ﬁgured he really meant it. I think I would have closed the door out of habit myself. He jumped off the bridge about seven-forty in the morning. I could hear the sirens as I arrived at work. He didn‘t die either. Probably broke something though. The marines taught my uncle how to do it right: two long slits down the length of your arms. You’ll bleed to death in no time. He told us all how to do it: me. my brother. and our cousins. Grandma died of old age and an exhausted heart long after wishing to. And then there are those that die too soon. 57
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 12
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: her away. They edged in closer and closer. She curled up into a ball on the ﬂoor until the walls backed away from her. When she rose to her feet after several minutes, she darted into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She dipped her head into the sink, holding onto the sides, and let...
Show moreher away. They edged in closer and closer. She curled up into a ball on the ﬂoor until the walls backed away from her. When she rose to her feet after several minutes, she darted into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She dipped her head into the sink, holding onto the sides, and let the water splash over her lips, lapping it in with her tongue. Her hair matted to the sides of her face, turning darker with the water. Exhausted from the effort it took to make it to the bathroom. she rested limply on the bathroom sink panting. Her heart began to slow and her breath evened out. Having ﬁnally regained control, she turned the faucet knob oil and pushed herself to a standing position. The medicine cabinet mirror reﬂected her image, and bounced it off of the wall mirror behind her. Fifty, maybe a hundred, Dawns were staring listlessly into their own eyes. She was going crazy and she couldn't stop it. Life was ﬂying around her as she moved in slow motion through the challenges of daily life. She still looked like the same Dawn. Her skin was still soft and elastic. no lines had emerged from her worries. Her hair, until the water had gotten a hold of it, was blow—dried and ﬂat ironed to a shiny blond sheet that fell past her shoulders. Her clothes were clean and pressed, ﬁtting closely to her slender body. She pushed at her cheeks until they turned pink. She was still presented in the same packaging as the happy pictures on the wall, slightly worn from being mishandled along the way. Inside, though, the fragile components were broken. The only physical evidence lay in her eyes. The darkened circles beneath constantly weary and blood-shot gray eyes, glossy with the tears that she hid from the world. She made it a point to avoid eye contact, with strangers and friendly faces alike, fearing that someone would see her nakedness. Her ﬂaw. She shuffled back to the couch and relaxed into her spot with a slow sigh. She anticipated his arrival and her bleak insistence that they should order out. To control a man’s stomach was to control his heart, her mother always told her. Dawn would have different advice. Someday. Something like, if the status of a man's heart depends on your ability to bake a meatloaf like his mother's, bail. The helicopter was coming back, and she was too tired to bother covering her ears. She knew it was of no use, anyway. She let her head hang, chin to her chest, and stared at her hands in her lap. The engagement ring sparkled, the only source of brightness in the dark and dimming room. For ﬁve years it had encompassed her ﬁnger and her mind. How long would it remain alone on that ﬁnger with the accompaniment ofa wed- ding ring? He was waiting for that one last ingredient before setting the date. The beeping of the coffee maker every morning marked the seconds of their lives, making the world inch by as she raced through her twenties. She knew the answer, and always had. If she delivered her 10
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 22
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: #ttt My brother is twenty-ﬁve years old. He currently faces charges in Minnesota and Wisconsin that will put him past thirty by the time he will be released from prison. At the time of his arrest, he was unemployed, both addicted to and selling Crystal Meth, and home- less. He led police from...
Show more#ttt My brother is twenty-ﬁve years old. He currently faces charges in Minnesota and Wisconsin that will put him past thirty by the time he will be released from prison. At the time of his arrest, he was unemployed, both addicted to and selling Crystal Meth, and home- less. He led police from four separate agencies on a three county chase while riding the high ofhis latest ﬁx in a stolen, restored, lime green 1969 Roadrunner. 'Ihey ﬁnally caught him when he crashed the car in a soybean ﬁeld in southern Minnesota. It was the sixth ﬁeld he had taken them through. They had to taser him to subdue him. He is also the father of a beautiful little girl whom neither he nor my family ever gets to see. He has threatened her mother, a former stripper, too many times. She will not have anything to do with him, or us. ext; One weekend about a year prior to his arrest, I called my brother to invite him over for a breakfast of grilled pork chops, eggs, and fried potatoes. At eight in the morning on a Sunday. he told me he did not think he should drive over because he had been drinking. He had not slept all night. Again. He arrived thirty minutes late and shoveled in his cold pork chops covered in salsa. On impulse, I invited him on my Sunday drive, a picture—taking expedition that would end near the Maiden Rock Cemetery. I did not want to leave him alone with the Bud Light and Marlboros that were his constant, and only, companions. He snuck a cold bottle of beer into the back of the truck and drank it on the way down to our destination. I could smell him in the back seat - stale cigarette smoke, the sickly sweet smell of too much alcohol, and the musty body odor that advertised the lack of a shower not only that morning, but many mornings. I had been trying to get a look at his eyes in the rearview mirror to see if he was also using again — Crystal Meth or coke. I was not sure which one I was looking for, but I was getting good at telling the difference. When my brother did coke his face went numb, almost expressionless, and he liked to laugh a lot. When he was on meth, he was paranoid and told crazy stories involving things he had done that “I just wouldn't believe." I often didn’t. When we reached the graveyard, we both hopped out of the truck and went our sepa- 20
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 40
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: My Generation Benjamin ﬂntom'erwicz Born into the post-modern age of absurdity A lst world consumer in the post— industrial era Taught to believe identity is a brand Taught to be an egoistic Product of the mass media culture A MTV generation with reality Television 'Ihinking the world is focused...
Show moreMy Generation Benjamin ﬂntom'erwicz Born into the post-modern age of absurdity A lst world consumer in the post— industrial era Taught to believe identity is a brand Taught to be an egoistic Product of the mass media culture A MTV generation with reality Television 'Ihinking the world is focused on us Taught not to give a shit A mantra of ﬁJck it Apathetic about the world Unconcerned with the suffering in the world Clicking on a ﬂickering box Distracting ourselves with empty stimuli Lost in the day dream of the Disney produced Ist world fantasy 38 Nature is that thing outside the window Nature is a show on National Geographic We ﬁll our bellies with dollar menus of genetically modiﬁed crap Dog food tacos watering our palates like Pavlov’s bell Mental pollution in the form of advertising Our brain waves hijacked by electromagnetic radiation Change is empty rhetoric in a soulless culture A nihilistic attitude With suicidal tendencies ofover— consumption Caught in the world of images We cannot escape from becoming categories and stereotypes We are not the vehicles of change We are the spinning wheel of status quo and the way things are
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 54
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Forming on the heels of mountains in eastern Wyoming and, feeding of of un- seasonably low pressure and warm temperatures, gaining mass and energy over the great plains, the storm hadn't cared it had just destroyed the addition that the family up the street, the Johnsons, had just built onto...
Show moreForming on the heels of mountains in eastern Wyoming and, feeding of of un- seasonably low pressure and warm temperatures, gaining mass and energy over the great plains, the storm hadn't cared it had just destroyed the addition that the family up the street, the Johnsons, had just built onto their house to make room for their infant son. It hadn’t cared that the Swensons, another family on the street, had just re—shingled their roof—which now was lying in the street four blocks away. It hadn't cared that there had been maple trees planted in the yards on that street because they looked wonderful and the colors in the fall were gorgeous. It hadn’t cared that these trees had been planted in 1921 when people ﬁrst started building houses on top of the river valley. Now the maple trees were indistinguishable from the leaning and bro— ken telephone poles that were mixed amongst them.They were splintered, torn to shreds. They had been like grandparents watching over the children who lived on that street. But in a moment they were turned into vicious missiles, and the next moment, dead, disinte— grated, wet lumber. The storm hadn’t cared that it had destroyed an idea; it had shattered the whole being behind this quiet little community. “It looks like someone dropped a bomb out here" said Jayden's mother. She was ﬁghting back tears of amazement. Funny thing is, no one in the town, including Jayden's mother had ever seen a bomb's fallout. She only said it because she imagined what Hiro- shima had looked like after the atomic bomb. She had never expected to look out on the street she lived on and think about nuclear war. But she was thinking that now. 52
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 16
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Ashes Elise Estrada Down past Redway past Garberville past the Avenue of the Giants through the winding, snaking highway of Richardson Grove, there is a forest of Redwoods so silent and sacred it is walking the empty halls ofa forgotten cathedral. Sunlight comes through branches in dusty rays of...
Show moreAshes Elise Estrada Down past Redway past Garberville past the Avenue of the Giants through the winding, snaking highway of Richardson Grove, there is a forest of Redwoods so silent and sacred it is walking the empty halls ofa forgotten cathedral. Sunlight comes through branches in dusty rays of light ﬁltered and colored like shining through stained glass. Kneeling upon the immaculate moss is bowing in prayer to a God I can believe. She asked me to dust her ashes along the green of Bull Creek, to ﬁnd a summer day born of heat. I have never been there and I never will. The most lonesome betrayal, And I deny her still. 14
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 50
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Supercell Ted Conaver “Twister lunches” they had called them, with bologna sandwiches, baby carrots, apple slices with lemon juice sprinkled on them to keep them from browning, and potato chips. South Elementary, where grades one through six went to school, had been ﬂattened by the storm. The...
Show moreSupercell Ted Conaver “Twister lunches” they had called them, with bologna sandwiches, baby carrots, apple slices with lemon juice sprinkled on them to keep them from browning, and potato chips. South Elementary, where grades one through six went to school, had been ﬂattened by the storm. The cafeteria had collapsed on itself, as had the gym. All the windows had shattered, and the roof had been ripped oﬁthe band room. A week after the storm, a farmer found a mangled tuba from Jayden‘s school ﬁfty miles away from the town in his soybeans. For months after the tornado went through the town, in art class,]ayden would draw spirals on pieces of thick drawing paper with his grey and black crayons. Going to school in a FEMA trailer almost seemed like a field trip forJayden and his little class— mates. They would eat premade bagged lunches at their desks because there was nowhere else to eat them. Luckily, the town's ﬁrst—grade elementary class, and especiallyJayden, thought very highly of cold lunches. After the storm, over three thousand people in the town were suddenly homeless. A man had died after being ripped from his truck; they never found his body. The historic courthouse of the town had had its bricks hurled through hundreds of windows, so that downtown, none of the quaint storefronts had a window left intact. But Jayden was more concerned with his bologna sandwich than anything else. Salvation Army vans had been like ice cream trucks without the bells.}ayden and his friends would laugh and chase them down the street until it would stop and nice men in uniforms gave them packages of peanut butter cracker sandwiches and juice boxes. When school was over,Jayden would go to his friends house because his own house was unlivable, and was being torn down; but Jayden hadn’t really thought about this much either. Jayden wasn't scared after March 26th, 1989, the day the supercell had rolled through. To an eight year old, life was much as it had been before the storm. But, when the tornado had been overhead, ripping the air into its core like a giant straw, Jayden had been the most frightened he would ever be in his life. 48
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 62
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: I miss you because Andrea Sanow I miss you because you never made me share my laundry machine with you even though it was wasteful and weird that I insisted upon doing our clothes separately. The thought of running your clothes, shrinking or staining them, made me anxious with guilt. On Sundays,l...
Show moreI miss you because Andrea Sanow I miss you because you never made me share my laundry machine with you even though it was wasteful and weird that I insisted upon doing our clothes separately. The thought of running your clothes, shrinking or staining them, made me anxious with guilt. On Sundays,l would wake up at 7:15 am, gather up my laundry as silently as possible and go to the laundry room to put in two loads of laundry. The “green machines,” or so we called them, took 65 minutes to run a cycle. 50, with the laundry in, I put on the ugliest pair of underwear I had, slipped into my bra and outﬁt for the lazy day and waited for you to ﬁnish getting dressed. I imagined that on those mornings you only woke up because the emptiness next to you was vast and still, something you couldn’t handle. You would put your hands on the sheets where I had been and breath incantations to bring me back and when that failed you would stand up and stretch, get dressed and come to ﬁnd me. But, when I returned from the basement, we walked out the front door to go to Perkins... which was next to our favorite bar. As I got older, and got a new boyfriend who eventually became my ﬁancé,l missed those humid mornings surrounded by plastic window plants covered in dust.I missed returning to the laundry room with you to wait for my clothes to ﬁnish the spin cycle. You leaned in to kiss me and tasted like blueberry pancakes with cinnamon and black coffee. A loud beep would erupt from the machine and all the motion would stop and we would freeze as if we were teenagers caught by the janitor in his closet. When I put my wet clothes in the dryer, you ran upstairs and grabbed your laun— dry hamper, left over from college and toted along every weekend, and put the clothes in the washing machine in the basement of my apartment complex.To pass the next hour we would clean the apartment, plunging our hands into dish water and dust piles. We had music playing and the whole day ahead of us, our whole lives ahead of us. I miss you because you smelled like Dial soap and every time you left,I checked the shower to see ifyou had left the bar behind to turn to mush in the soap dish. When you came to visit me on weekends when we were young and more in love than anyone else in The Whole World, you would walk around my apartment without your shirt after 60
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 56
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: no brothers or father left to show me the path home. All I have is Beth — a vapid, brain- less bitch who cares not about my family or my grief. What does she know of heartbreak? She is content to spread herself like a whore on the hood of my car, waiting for my sex, waiting for our return to L. A...
Show moreno brothers or father left to show me the path home. All I have is Beth — a vapid, brain- less bitch who cares not about my family or my grief. What does she know of heartbreak? She is content to spread herself like a whore on the hood of my car, waiting for my sex, waiting for our return to L. A. so she can spend my money on another trip, another party, another stupid little dog. After the funeral, she patted my arm. “I'm sorry, baby," she said to me. “This has got to be so hard on you. We should go to Rome.” The breeze has shifted now. Instead of coming in from the sea, it hits me from behind, carrying on it the sound of Beth’s voice: “Well, then?” She thinks I want to fuck her. I look down over the edge to the waves crashing up against the jagged rocks below. Danny's there, on his back, paddling as the tide swells him in and out, closer to, then far- ther from the shore. I hear his playful laugh. I take off my shoes, and, smiling, I jump the guardrail, sailing down to meet him. 54
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 44
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: around her knees, and tied into knots at her waste. “Dhondobad,"l thanked her. “Welcome,"she said and shuffled off. I placed the decorative end of the sari on Payel’s left shoulder and wrapped the remaining 16 feet once around her little body. I started tucking it into the waist of her skirt but...
Show morearound her knees, and tied into knots at her waste. “Dhondobad,"l thanked her. “Welcome,"she said and shuffled off. I placed the decorative end of the sari on Payel’s left shoulder and wrapped the remaining 16 feet once around her little body. I started tucking it into the waist of her skirt but something didn't look right. I wrapped it around the other direction. I started with the opposite end instead of the middle. I took the decorative piece off of her shoulder and slung it over mine. I put my arms around her stomach and tried tucking it from behind and then tossed the decorative end over her shoulder. “Step in here,"I told Payel, nodding at the loop I had just created. I tightened the fabric in some places and tucked in ends here and there, but she was a mess, and I was sweat- ing from my efforts. Glancing up I saw Rakhi straightening the sari of another girl she'd just assisted. “Rakhi,"l called. “Help Payel," Rakhi was nine, one of the oldest girls in the dorm room, but among the youngest at the All Bengal Women’s Union. She walked across the room toward Payel, shoulders back and head held high. The girls respected her like no one else, except maybe their Mashis (the dorm mothers if-you—will.) Rakhi always knew best, always had the last word in an argument and always got her way. Ifwe were sitting in a circle playing a game and Rakhi wanted to sit next to me. she'd point to the girl in her spot and the girl would immediately move, no ques- tion. Rakhi was rough, but like the Mashis she was rough mostly out oflove. She would hit the younger girls on the backs of their heads when they forgot to put their dirty clothes away, but would hug them if they were sad. Rakhi spun Payel around, unwrapping the sari bind I’d created. She moved quickly, but with precision - toss, tuck, wrap, fold, wrap, toss — the jum- bled mess of red and gold fabric began to take the proper shape. I’d seen Payel’s sari before, at one of the street stands near my house. I contemplated buying one once, because they were so cheap, but my host mother insisted otherwise. A few weeks before the festival, Sharmialla, my host mother, invited me to accom- pany her and her daughter to a Hindu wedding. At this point,I had been living in Kolkata with Sharmilla and her family for three weeks and it was imperative that I purchase a quality 42
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 53
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: family's cars a good quality inspection. Luckily, the door held, their ears popped, and they weren’t sucked into the clouds. All too suddenly, the noise of the wracking winds went away. There was an abrupt silence. In reality, it lasted 4.2 seconds, but Jayden thought it was considerably longer,...
Show morefamily's cars a good quality inspection. Luckily, the door held, their ears popped, and they weren’t sucked into the clouds. All too suddenly, the noise of the wracking winds went away. There was an abrupt silence. In reality, it lasted 4.2 seconds, but Jayden thought it was considerably longer, probably because he hadn’t taken a breath for over a minute. Jayden didn’t take his hands off of his ears. He was too afraid they would explode if he did, so he held them fast. Finally, through his clenched ﬁngers,]ayden began to hear other sounds. Birds. There were birds singing. Finding no reason to stay in the bathroomJayden’s father stood up and went out into the foyer. There were wet leaves, sticks, and saturated newspaper pages littering the ﬂoor of the entryway. Jayden’s fathers’ face was empty of anything. He didn’t look worried, sad, or scared —just a complete expression of nothing; all of the muscles in his face were limp, and he looked ten years older than he had just ﬁve minutes before.]ayden's mother let him go and they emerged from the bathroom, went into the entry room and out the front door. Everyone on the block came out of their front doors at the same momentlheir faces all looked like Jayden’s father's. A neighbor, Dick, was taking pictures of his garage, which had collapsed com— pletely, with spines of shattered wood stabbing out into the air where his garage door had been ripped from its hinges. “Mom? Mom, why is he taking pictures?”]ayden asked his mother. "Probably for insurance," she said without really paying attention to what he had said. She was staring down the street. Jayden thought how insurance was a strange thing to be thinking about when the earth hadjust made everything into nothing. An insurance policy. Everyone was staring at their houses; some were damaged, some were almost unrecognizable, some were ﬂattened. 'Ihe neat little neighborhood where nobody had ever suffered had been leveled. 'Ihe supercell storm that had spawned thirteen tornadoes, according to a later report, including the F—4 that had just been drawn back up into the sky not three miles from Jaydcn's house, had taken a thousand miles to develop. 51
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