Category Archives: Writing

From “Addiction” — Felicia Reuter ’17

(Jerry pulls on Elaine’s arm, trying to bring her in a certain direction)
ELAINE
Get the hell off of me, Jer.
JERRY
Lainey, why you doing this to me?
ELAINE
(Yelling gutturally)
What Jerry? Doing what to you?
JERRY
(Just between them)
Elaine. Look now. You  know I hate yelling.  And you know it reminds me of my ma. Now, I want you to put a smile on your face and pretend like we ain’t so bad.
ELAINE
I can’t do this Jerry. I’m too scared.
JERRY
Sure you can. I’ll help.
ELAINE
(Completely dismissive)
No way. I’m not going in there.
JERRY
(Mocking)
Come on. I’ll hold your hand and lead you in.
ELAINE
Shut the hell up Jerry. It’s not like it used to be and I don’t. Care. About. Fixing it. It’s like beating an old horse. You know, we all know how this would end… “Lainely I love you. C’mon don’t walk away on me like that! We were making progress!” “Jer, you should’ve said you loved me eight months ago.” (Closely and quietly) Jerry, I can’t keep trying. For real.
JERRY
I ain’t believing “for real” Lainey.
ELAINE
No Jerry. I mean it.
(Beat)
JERRY
Why you scared. Why’s it different this time?
ELAINE
Jerry, I’m scared because I’m losing myself. And walking in there and sittin’ down for another two hours with that woman who don’t know shit about us is just makin’ me feel like a stat these days.
JERRY
A stat?
ELAINE
A statistic. Just another girl who’s been comin’ here tryna’ work things out. Just another girl who didn’t have problems until the first slap or the first hit. Dammit Jerry! I ain’t someone who puts up with shit like this for so long. I don’t need this weight on me so much. It’s all reminding me of the worst parts of us and that’s all I think I am…A girl with a fuckin’ issue.
JERRY
Ok. Ok so what’re we doing next then? This obviously ain’t workin.
ELAINE
Let’s just start walking. (Pause) Thanks, Jer.
JERRY
Sure, Elaine.

“That Night” — Shreya Gulati ’19

I am going to my first college party.
You know, the kind with those men
Ogling and drooling over some girl’s dress,
Offering to buy her a drink,
Seduce her onto the dance floor,
Awkwardly jumping to the heavy beat of the music.

 

We enter, and take it all in: the deafening music,
The size of this crowded club party,
The flashing lights on the dance floor,
The gleam in the eyes of these men,
The counters cluttering with empty or abandoned drinks,
The number of sequins on just one attention-seeking dress.

                  

I myself was wearing a sequined-dress,
Not really paying attention to the music,
When someone handed me a drink.
Here, at this pointless party,
I was offered a drink by one of those men,
And now I am being seduced to the dance floor.

                 

It starts to feel warm, so I drop my coat on the floor,
And now of course he is only looking at my dress.
I tried not to think about stories involving these men
And focused on the blaring music,
The few people that I should probably know at this party,
And the bit of white powder on the rim of my untouched drink.

 

While he (rarely) isn’t looking, I secretly empty the drink
Onto the feet of those bouncing around on the cement floor;
Suddenly sick of this college party,
Of how this man seems to be doing a case study on my dress,
Of the incessant reverberation of the music,
And of my taste in college men.

 

I mean, I have friends that are men.
Relenting, I let my guard down and drink
Until I can’t anymore, leaning close and talking loudly over the music
I toss my shoes aside and feel a chill as I put my bare feet on the floor,
Only slightly giddy and wishing I had at least tried to dress
Daringly to fit in, trying to remember the last time I actually went to a party.

 

I looked around, wondering why we hadn’t been busted from this floor
Yet soon the streamers and sequins begin to merge with the dresses
That are jumping around to bass-heavy music at some silly college party.

“sǝxo𐐒 ǝsǝɥ⊥ ǝpıs⊥uO kuıɥ⊥” — Brooke Livingston ’19

So many people label everything.
Or try, at least because it can’t be done.
What good do categories really bring?
They’re shoving people in a box- or none!

 

What about those that don’t fit in these boxes?
Unreal, ignored by our society.
What are we to them but paradoxes;
They ask questions of our propriety

 

For some, their box is suitable to them;
For others, it is not all black and white.
Boxes forge hatred, differences condemned.
Although fractious, the boxless ones are right.

 

Why are there boxes? To enclose each other
is falling victim to your very brother.