The Communist
The Communist
by Taylor Henley
A communist, a nihilist and an aging punk rock asshole
All walk in to a bar
She warns everyone up front
WE ARE NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT SOCRATES TONYTE
It doesn't come up anyway
No one talks and all of them go to bed early.
Our Attempt
Our Attempt
Para mi amigo, Mucio
by Sloan Davis
“I went off, my fists in my torn pockets;
My coat too was becoming ideal” – Arthur Rimbaud.
When I joined you
in Oaxaca
I ran away from what
I thought was drudgery—
suburbia
a woman who wanted
to settle down
waiting tables
rent
a six-month-old son with pale blue eyes
You and I
we lived above a cement garage
ate camarones con frijoles
y tortillas
drank cervezas
con limón
I learned a little Spanish
pero no mucho
We met two Austrian women
who spoke four languages
Climbed foothills
de la Sierra Madre del Sur
stayed up all night
bebiendo tequila
We looked down on rooftops
sang over crosses of small churches
a sea of adobe
Our voices cracked
the rising sun
In Mitla
the city of the dead
I haggled a tough-skinned woman
calloused fingers and grey eyes
pagué doce pesos
and had me an Aztec shirt
We took pictures
amongst ruins
your long, black hair
flowed like silk lava
smooth over the shoulder
whoever stole that camera
enjoyed those photos
But Mucio
I could not stay
the pull home
that little boy
his mother
with the same eyes
grew inside me like blue agave
I left you under the border
surrounded by Latin jazz
Mescal
I hear you’re in Chiapas now
a dangerous, rebellious land
your own rebellion
working with stones
shaping jewels, sewing necklaces
Have you lost your pretentiousness yet?
You were trying so hard
but please
save a little
Been reading Rimbaud—
remember our attempt
at the bohemian
up in Albany
kicked out of bars
our attempt
to understand women
our attempt
to write, draw, paint
drinking
smoking
singing?
We ended up
only dreaming
just dreams
pero muchacho
they were great dreams
And Rimbaud, he would have understood
Lungs screaming on Madison Avenue—
I walked under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal;
Oh! Oh! what brilliant loves I dreamed of!
Mucio
do your ears burn?
Mucio
centinela de Puebla
dream
dream hermano
sueña
Waiting
Waiting
by Niamh McNally
‘It’s not the time for poetry
and don’t use the tracks
as a short cut’
she said.
So, I waited.
I waited for
The train of thought
to express by.
Chewing
on a once fitting cap,
My ball- point foot tapped
like the hind of
a black BIC
that isn’t
quite waterproof.
In my right
Held in the centre
A plastic drum rolled
Beat.
With my left
A right-angled scaffold
Supporting
My temple and cheek.
Paradoxical parallels
Of the railways sleepers
Smothered in oily ink fails,
They stop the rot
Of the embedded words
under the sleeping ladder rails
It might hit me
if I cut the metered track,
A paraphrased choice
Echoing that voice: ‘stand back’
Behind thick yellow tarmac
The writer’s blocked line
I’m saved from the cheat sheets
and half
rhymed times.
Revolutionaries
Revolutionaries
by Craig Kurtz
BASED ON MIDDLETON AND ROWLEY’S PLAY OF THE SAME NAME
We’re going to obviate them all
’cause being old’s against the law;
we’ve legislation that now bans
all crones and coots and their bedpans.
We’re done with them and their bad backs,
their politics and their earwax;
they had their shot, they’ve had their chance —
we’ve heard it all from smarty-pants.
Ah, yes, ‘it’s for your own damn good’ —
their fav’rite word, I’m sure, is ‘should’;
they’ve got advice for everyone
except themselves, then it’s no fun;
for years, we’ve heard them sneer and scold —
if they’re so smart, how’d they get old?
They’ve hogged the spotlight and they’ve run
the country they think they begun;
well, now it’s time to step aside —
someone inform ’em that they died.
It’s time that we got rid of them
with their sagacity and phlegm;
we’ve had enough of their mistakes,
their speeches and their bellyaches.
What they have done for world affairs
deserves a good kick down the stairs;
when they’re removed, then things will be
utopian, and hassle-free;
we’ll have no wars when they are gone,
we’ll all look great with swimsuits on;
we won’t hear ‘hmph, I told you so’ —
inheriting won’t be so slow.
The world is for adventurers,
not fuddy-duddies with dentures;
we’re extirpating the old guard —
they really shouldn’t take it hard;
and when time’s up for you and me,
we’ll reconsider this decree.
Point Dume
Third Place Poetry Winner
Point Dume
by Cori Morris
I took the leap
Not knowing
how or why I’d change.
I’d come back with tears in my eyes and
A longing that would never leave me.
I bought the tickets, I just knew it was right.
I knew I had to go,
I never questioned, nor considered
California.
I never thought about you,
until this land moved me to tears;
I was lifted
as if by an unearthly wind.
Growing there on the spot
Digging roots,
Laying ground,
Settling in,
To watch this sunset fade
A wash of emotion consumes me
I linger,
Looking back.
Watching the twilight rolling in,
The grass blowing gently,
As if waving me back.
I feel a great sadness, a longing.
I long not to leave this place ever again.
I want to explore it – catalog it.
Preserve it. Impress this memory, until I never, ever forget – what I felt here.
Where I once stood.
Its ever-present consciousness seeping its wild wisdom deep in the innermost cavities of my mind.
The longing grows, even as I turn away and walk away.
I keen holding back a cry.
This Point changed me.
I am different inside.
I couldn’t go,
But the flight was booked.
I felt like staying there forever. Locked in time,
I thought maybe I’d stop
Here and now and grow roots.
I was locked, floundering, overwhelmed by this ocean, by the sea that called my name.
I still feel nature calling me, I hear it every day.
I still hear the sounds of time thundering, consistently ever present, the real and the white so bright and full of promise.
I still feel that tide thudding in my chest.
The Chaser
Second Place Poetry Winner
“The Chaser”
by Aurora Gamrak
Those ancient trees are falling, drowning in ravines –
Limbs, whipping against the skies,
The wind giving voice to their cries!
Flaming sunsets lick and burn the edges of consciousness;
Like smoke drifting from my dirt-encrusted lips.
Run for the River –
Our lives depend on it!
Leave hurried, putrid comforts behind –
Enveloped within the carcass of fallen trees;
Even the eye of a child can see,
How far we have fallen from divinity.
Sunlight
First Place Poetry Winner
Sarah Stecher Poetry Prize
Sunlight
by Emily Forrest
I’ve slept in the summer sun so much
That she kissed my hair with her touch
And left the taste of her golden light,
The same brightness that bursts before night
And draws color into each new day
As the dancing fog is pushed away.
A Home Called Earth
A Home Called Earth
by Cori Morris
I choose to see the world, one way. Through a lens of sunshine. A harbinger of gold and pollen. I see the world in greens and yellows, saturated colors, orbs of light. I chase the sun dancing on my skin like a bee chases nectar. I live for those sun-saturated moments. The moments when I realize how good we have it here on planet Earth. When dancing for the pure pleasure of it, sunlight bursting, refracting off of eyes and skin. Closing your eyes and paying attention only to what your ears can hear. The sounds of squirrels calling to one another, the whizzing of bees flying busily by, birds singing glorious songs and hummingbirds cheerfully making their rounds. All of them fighting for one little spot of creation. Each new breath of life is a gift and yet we treat our resources like they are disposable.
We still don’t understand the monumental blessing we’ve been given. To live on a planet that has the kind of atmosphere we have, Earth is a singular anomaly in the Universe. There isn’t another planet like it that we’ve found. We have it so good and yet we don’t appreciate it. We use our resources as disposable – and we have no idea how much fossil fuel is left or how long it will last. We never think about what kind of pollution power plants spout off every day, providing us with electricity. Or that our waste is causing so much methane gas, that it’s causing the Earth to heat up (NASA). And that’s only one of the ways that Global Warming is affecting temperatures, emissions from our cars produce six different types air pollution, causing smog, and contributing to asthma and are even linked to cancer (Union of Concerned Scientists). So many of the ways that we live are wasteful and inefficient and harmful, but so many people won’t change because it’s not convenient for them. But it’s not about convenience, it’s about what we want the future to look like.
We live in a disposable age, an instant age. We want what we want now, and we don’t really think about the consequences. We go to the store and use numerous plastic bags once and then throw it away. We use plastic straws one time, and then they too are thrown away and end up poisoning our oceans, fish and us. We use and throw out things so much that the waste we produce is an insane amount. We throw things away without even thinking about it. But I’ve never seen someone throw away their whole house just because the drain got clogged or a toilet overflowed. Or get a new car just because they ran out of gas.
National Geographic discusses the harms of such indifference to waste and its side effects, “The prediction is that by mid-century, the oceans will contain more plastic waste than fish…” That shocking estimate should be enough to scare you. It certainly scares me. Although that’s not all we have to worry about. Not only is it harming sea life, but it’s also causing acidity in the oceans to rise (National Geographic) and global temperatures numbers continue to go up. The bleaching of the coral reef is a direct result, losing its vibrant colors and life, causing concern in environmental circles (Megan Gannon).
We humans, we are ultimately problem solvers, we fix things. Make them better and make the world a better place to live. I’ve often wondered, what it would take for people to look up and notice there might be a problem. Shouldn’t we take notice when the bees start disappearing? Or the monarchs? The simplest and most basic life forms on Earth are its most precious and vital resources. Ones we can’t afford to lose. When do we get serious about the place we rely on and call home? When do we decide to clean up after ourselves? When does any of this begin to matter? When the fires rage in California, or when the oxygen levels and pollution make it harder and harder to breathe? Is that when we’ll finally understand? Or maybe when the glaciers melt around Greenland and flood New Orleans and Mimi or even New York? (Jet Propulsion Laboratory) Is that when will we finally understand we need to change?
When do we begin to understand that there is a fundamental problem with the place we reside? We are the Earth’s last hope. If we won’t protect it, cultivate it, ensure it will be here for our children, who will?
As JFK once bravely asked, “If not us, who? If not now, when?”
We must be the ones to see green, to see all the colors of the rainbow – to wonder at the stars. To gasp at the sound of a rocket lifting off, the promise of tomorrow still ringing in my ears. Echoing further into tomorrow, a lasting memory. Harrowing, gnawing at me, to write these words. There are things I don’t want to forget, sights and sounds, regularities, little gems of this planetary paradise that I don’t want to fade from existence. I don’t want what we have now to become foreign and strange. We are an oddity, no, a rarity in all of time and space and every day we are losing more and more of that strange wild beauty that is fading slowly.
There is no alarm for climate change, no magical sounding bell that will cascade down from the heavens telling us that it might be time to change. Not just changing the ways we live, but living more efficiently and productively.
I don’t want to forget the sound of a gurgling stream, the sound of rain falling on my bathroom window. The sounds of locusts on a perfectly warm Summer’s night, the sounds of frogs croaking in a nearby pond. Birds signing in the afternoon light. Dancing fireflies, scattered throughout the darkening evening light, the wonder of a child at discovering a new bug or butterfly. That wonder should not just be for children, it should remain in us – wonder is just what we need right now. To reach for the stars and not just to wonder how they got there.
These are the things I want all people everywhere to experience, to be alone in the forest. One with nature. Observing the teeming and almost invisible life forms all around us. All necessary for the little ecosystems and the functions of life. The facts are, we share this planet with a variety of other creatures and insects, and if we won’t save it for ourselves maybe we’ll save it for them. The more we learn and study our planet and explore energy saving options and clean energy. The more we can certifiably augment our future and change the way we’re going; it’s going to be a better place. But if we keep using more and more resources the results could be catastrophic. We need to be givers, aiding the Earth, this needs to be a national, global precedent. But it starts with you, with a single decision to make the Earth a more habitable environment. We all can contribute; it is not one man’s problem to solve. It is all of us together that can make a difference.
Here are some ways you can help on a larger scale and in small everyday ways:
- Go electric and choose gas free modes of transportation. If you can’t do that carpooling is a great and fun option to help keep fewer cars on the road.
- Collect rainwater, you will be amazed at the quality of the water! Your plants will thank you too!
- Don’t use plastic water bottles. Bring your own reusable water bottle with you! Your wallet will thank you! (National Geographic says that 91% of plastic water bottles aren’t recycled and end up in massive landfills and in our oceans, which are causing abnormally high acidity levels in the Sea. If that’s not a sobering incentive not to use these awful plastics I don’t know what is.) Also bonus tip: Bring your own bags to the store instead and opt out of using single-use plastic straws. (Stores like Aldi’s don’t provide bags, which force you to bring your own and I think more stores should do the same.)
- Take a quiz and see what your ecological footprint here: (www.footprintcalculator.org/). Consider taking meat or dairy out of your diet, not only is it not healthy for you and hard on your digestion, vegetables can be easily grown and are very nutritious. Going vegan can reduce your carbon footprint by 70%!
- Shop brands and stores who are concerned about the environment and use Earth conscious materials. (Also buying cruelty-free beauty brands is a major plus too!)
- Pick up after yourself! Don’t be a litterbug! Littering is lazy and irresponsible, and I think we can do better! You can even go the extra mile and pick up trash around your neighborhood or school.
- Plant trees! Or better yet plant a whole garden! Not only are you helping the bees, but trees are also one of the most important pollination stops for bees. Look online for plants that aid pollinators like monarchs and honeybees.
- Start composting! This small action you can take every day that can cause a great positive change. Composting can cut your waste in half and be a fun way to watch nature at its finest. You can start a compost pile in your yard, or bin, save your coffee grounds, old food, greens, peelings, and eggshells. There are quite a few resources on how to compost online but those are just a few things you can compost. It’s gaining popularity in many circles and it’s quite good for the garden as well!
- When you wash your clothes, run the cycle on cold, it saves a ton of energy! Also, line drying your clothes saves energy and your clothes will smell sweet and clean!
- Vote for leaders and politicians that believe climate change is real. We need to acknowledge we do have an effect on the Earth.
Works Cited
“Cars, Trucks, Buses and Air Pollution.” Union of Concerned Scientists, www.ucsusa.org/clean-vehicles/vehicles-air-pollution-and-human-health/cars-trucks-air-pollution#.W_3qP2aZPOQ.
Gannon, Megan. “The Great Barrier Reef Is ‘In for a Rough Ride.’” Scientific American, 21 Nov. 2018, www.scientificamerican.com/article/the-great-barrier-reef-is-in-for-a-rough-ride/.
“Global Surface Temperature | NASA Global Climate Change.” NASA, NASA, 19 Feb. 2019, climate.nasa.gov/vital-signs/global-temperature/.
“Ocean Acidification.” National Geographic, 18 July 2017, www.nationalgeographic.com/environment/oceans/critical-issues-ocean-acidification/.
“Ramp-Up in Antarctic Ice Loss Speeds Sea Level Rise.” NASA, NASA, 13 June 2018, www.jpl.nasa.gov/news/news.php?feature=7159.
Church
Church
by Cory Williams
Jack sat in the third row on the far-left side of the sanctuary. Fourth seat, the same seat, he occupied every Sunday morning for the past thirteen years. His dirty ripped jeans were far from his Sunday best, and the blood splatter didn’t help things. It was OK, though. At three in the afternoon Sunday service had been over for hours. Jack was just the last to leave today. He looked towards the empty pulpit. It was eerily quiet in its emptiness. And it would remain quiet until it found a new owner.
The blood of the previous occupant was still running down its glass frame. That’d be easy to clean. The carpet would be the real job. Jack had spent the last forty-five minutes trying to think of another church that had a carpeted stage. He couldn’t come up with one, and he hated the fact.
Jack started to think of the sermons he had heard from that pulpit. It was a distraction from the carpet issue. Surely, he could google how to get blood out of a carpet. Can the police check search history? Jack didn’t want to think about that. He couldn’t afford to right now.
Jack stared at the red lines pin-striping the pulpit. How many times had Jack heard that he was saved by the blood of Christ in this very room? It was the foundation of his faith, but doubts were beginning to creep in. Can blood spilled on a cross erase the sin of blood spilled in a church?
Jack sat in the silence that engulfed the sanctuary and pondered this. He had never experienced silence in this room except during prayer. Jack wanted to pray but couldn’t’ bring himself to approach God in his stained rags.
The silence became distracting. Jack let out a sigh that felt like it had been building up since birth. A single tear escaped his eye and began its downward journey towards it’s suicidal plunge from the jawline. By the time it made its way through his stubble and dripped from his chin it had taken on a pinkish hue from commingling with the foreign blood on Jack’s cheek.
Jack stood up and made his way to the custodial closet situated between the bathrooms. He had woken up this morning believing God could do anything. Now he wasn’t so sure. As he dug the Hoover out of the cramped closet, he wasn’t convinced the blood of Christ could wash him white as snow with the same confidence King David had advertised in the Psalms. Let the bones that you have broken rejoice. Rejoice? It sounded more like screaming to Jack. Screams and pleas for mercy.
Jack grabbed a half empty bottle off carpet detergent of the top shelf and gazed at it. He felt a rise within him and felt it grow. He began to find his faith again. He felt more faith than he had felt in the past couple of hours. If God couldn’t wash away his sins, than he would do it himself.
La Casita
La Casita
by Megan Brillhart
Sam walked into the kitchen ready to clock in for the day. He picked up his almost full-time card and put it in the slot. Sam was the only person willing to be the new busboy for the worst Mexican restaurant in town: La Casita. Everyone within a thirty-mile radius knew that La Casita had rat problems and had been shut down for an entire year because of it. For a week before that, the pozole made everyone who ate it sick. One time, a customer even found dead roaches in their rice.
Sam picked up his yellowing apron that was at one-point white. He put it over his head and tied it. He walked over to the commercial-sized sink and took his square bucket to put the dirty dishes in when he cleared off a table. He grabbed an old, tattered rag and wet it. Sam pushed his way through the many cooks in the small kitchen to get to the door. He threw open the double doors leading out into the dining area.
The restaurant seemed larger on the outside than on the inside. Outside, it looked like any other Mexican restaurant: an outdoor dining area, a sign with fancy lettering, and the siding looked almost the color of terracotta. The inside was a different story. It had many tables crammed together, the shape of each table was not constant throughout the restaurant. The register sat at an overly large counter and the light fixtures hung very low. The crowd was not stereotypically big for a Mexican restaurant on a Saturday at noon.
Sam walked over to an abandoned table. It still had cups full to the brim with water. The ice in the cups had long since melted. Sam could see a gnat floating in one of the glasses. There was no trace of food at the table, which meant that whoever was there had never been served. Sam sighed and picked up the cups. Rings of water sat where he removed the glasses. The circle outline of water started to run and turn into a puddle on the table. He wiped the blobs of water away. He cleaned the rest of the table, even though the customers that had been there did not stay for very long.
Sam walked over to the next table. Two half-filled bowls of salsa sat next to a bowl of browning guacamole. The basket of chips was barely touched.
“‘ey boy,” shouted a middle-aged man two tables over.
Sam looked up confused and pointed at himself.
“Yes you, boy,” the customer replied, starting to sound Italian.
Sam set his bucket down on the table he was clearing and walked over to the man.
“Whatever it was, we’ll give you a refund,” Sam said afraid the man was going to yell at him for the awful service.
“I don’t want a refoond. I joost want answers,” the man stated. His “r’s” were only partially rolled, revealing that he had been out of Italy for quite a while.
“Answers? For what?”
“‘ow come a boosiness dat was so sooccessfool many years ago, be so… so… roondown and … forgotten?” the man asked, snapping his fingers at each pause.
Sam looked around at the room. He had not noticed how neglected the place seemed since he was almost always in the kitchen. The paint on the walls was peeling, showing the old wallpaper underneath it, the fake leather on the chairs was starting to flake off, and most of the light fixtures were either flickering or not working. He took all this in before answering.
“New owner. The old one died, and the place was left to his son. We all figure that he could care less if this place went under,” Sam said quietly. He looked left and right before saying, “I personally think that he only keeps it open so that he can boss people around all day.”
The man laughed at this. The cashier heard him and looked up from her phone. She shrugged and turned her attention back to scrolling through her social media pages. Whoever the cashier was for the day was always bored since hardly anyone was inside long enough to need to pay for their meal.
“You know what, boy,” the man started, “if I ‘adn’t bought de Mexican restaurant on Fourd Street, I would booy t’is one. I joost don’t like to see zmall boosinesses sooffer.”
On that, he pulled out his wallet and threw a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table. Then, he stood up and started to put his jacket on.
“If you own a Mexican restaurant, why did you come here?” Sam asked him.
“To check out de competition. Der isn’t mooch here,” he stated. “Keep dat ‘oondred for yourself, kid.”
The man patted Sam on the shoulder and walked to the register to pay for his meal. Sam was surprised that someone was actually willing to pay for their food. He quickly grabbed the tip the man left and shoved it in his pocket. He did not realize the boss had come out of the kitchen to see who was yelling and was watching the entire conversation.
Sam picked up the man’s plate, which had a half-eaten chimichanga on it, and the empty glass next to it. He walked over to the table his bucket was on and threw the dishes in it. He spent more than enough time wiping down the table he left earlier and went to wipe the table the man had been at.
Sam picked up his full bucket and started on his way to the kitchen. He hesitated before opening the doors into the kitchen. He could hear the boss yelling at the cooks. The picante chorizo is not spicy enough and the dulce chorizo is too spicy. Sam wondered why they did not simply switch them.
No one understood the real reason why the boss was extremely particular about what the food tasted like or why he cared about the health inspector’s letter grade when there were no customers to serve. Sam took a deep breath, pushed open the doors, and went straight towards the sink.
Sam immediately started to scrape and rinse the dishes he had collected. Then, he picked the wet dishes up and set them on the belt that would take them through the industrial dishwasher. Sam, and every busboy before him, never fully understood why he was supposed to clean the dishes before putting them through the dishwasher. Once, he was told that the machine would last much longer if he washed the dishes beforehand, but he simply figured it was because, in the boss’ mind, it would actually earn his pay.
The boss stood over Sam’s shoulder, almost waiting for him to mess up.
“Worrrkeen ‘arrrt?” the boss asked Sam bitterly. His own Spanish accent was starting to fade.
Sam nodded and kept scrubbing.
The boss stayed for a while longer before going to his office.
Cook after cook bumped into Sam as they passed by him. Not a single one ever apologized. They all realized Sam was still young, and his job would not be the best quite yet, but they all considered him as scum for not having a respectable job anyways, even though theirs was not much better.
Sam walked back over to the sink and stared at his reflection in the water. His blue eyes had bags underneath them and his black hair stuck up in the back. He knew that after a few more rounds of dishes, the water would be cloudy, and there would be chunks of food floating in it from the cooks rinsing off their hands in his sink. Sam backed away, grabbed his bucket, and walked back into the dining area to clear more full cups and plates with two or three bites taken out of the meal.
Sam stopped before leaving and looked toward the boss’ office door. He went back to the sink and set his stuff down. Walking toward the door, Sam could feel the eyes of some of the cooks staring at him. He reached for the doorknob and then heard a crash. Sam turned around and saw that a cook had dropped two pitchers full of salsa on the ground. He opened the office door before he was forced to clean it up.
Sam had only been in the office once before, to be yelled at for “not doing his job”. That was all before the boss started to reprimand him in front of the entire staff. The lights were bright enough to give someone a headache. Papers were stacked neatly on the chairs in front of the boss’ desk, as well as on the desk itself. Certificates lined the walls, and his desk nameplate glinted in the new LED lights in the small room. Knick-knacks were spread throughout the room. The boss’ chair was turned around, with the back facing the world.
“I ‘abe to keep open forrr mí dearrrr papa,” the boss said.
At first, Sam was confused. Then, he realized his boss was on the phone. The spiral cord of the landline bobbed around as the boss talked.
“Mí papa woult be disappointet en mí. I ‘abe to keep open forrr ‘im. Was ‘is dyeen wich.”
Sam could hear that the person on the other end of the line was upset.
“I know, I know. I ‘abe grrreat boosbuy. Eberrryone comes because ‘e is de nicest employee.”
There was a pause from the boss and some talking on the other end of the line.
“No, but de people who do come, come forrr ‘im. Almost eberrry day I get tolt ‘e is goot.”
The boss stopped again. Sam could hear him sigh, heavily.
“I dit, I dit, but it was forrr goot rrreason. ‘E doesn’t do what I ask.”
Sam was about ready to say something when the boss spoke again.
“I guess I do,” the boss said.
There was some more said that Sam could not understand before the boss hung up. He was about to leave when the chair spun around.
“What you doeen en ‘ere?” the boss yelled.
“I was…,” Sam started before he got interrupted.
“No, no, no,” the boss said getting up. He grabbed Sam by the shoulder and walked him out of his office.
The boss pulled Sam to the front of the kitchen. Everyone was staring at him. He could see the head chef was trying to hold back a laugh.
“You see dis chilt?” the boss said addressing the kitchen staff.
Everyone was silent. People stopped chopping and others turned off their burners.
“‘E walket en mí office wid no perrrmichin. You knock beforrre you go en,” the last part was said generally, but everyone could tell it was still directed toward Sam. “Do you underrrrstant mí?” the boss asked grabbing Sam by his shirt and pulling him towards him.
Sam was torn on what to say or do. He had been considering quitting for quite a while, but he desperately needed the money to pay back his brother.
“Yes,” Sam responded shyly.
“This is yourrr last warrrneen,” the boss said and turned around to go to his office.
Sam stood for a moment. He knew the boss’ threats were empty. Sam had been on his “last warning” for quite a while. He grabbed his bucket and returned to work. As he walked toward the kitchen door, the hustle and bustle of the kitchen slowly resumed. He could smell the onions and peppers in the sizzling pans but could barely hear any chopping. The utensils scraped the bottom of the pans as the food was being stirred. When he got to the door, the head chef’s loud mincing could be heard above all else. Sam pushed open the door and went to wipe down more surfaces and throw away more food.
There were only four tables that had people at them. Two of the four occupied tables had kids at them. At one of the tables with kids, a baby and a little girl sat eating peacefully. Their parents were having a very quiet conversation. At the other, three boys were throwing food at each other. The parents interjected every once and while, but otherwise, there was nothing stopping them from trashing the place. All Sam could hope for, was that he was not going to be the one to have to clean their mess up.
Sam knelt down to pick up some napkins on the ground next to an empty table. The salt and pepper shakers’ lids were unscrewed, their contents spilt all over the table. The ketchup bottle was empty, and all the sugar and sweetener packets had been torn open. Sam grabbed the empty containers and threw them in his bucket. Then, he proceeded to wipe down the table, brushing the trash into his bucket.
“Excuse me,” the oldest of the three boys that were at the table said while pulling on Sam’s apron.
“Yes?” Sam asked him as politely as he could.
“I was wondering where the bathroom was at,” he asked innocently. He was pretending that he had not just caused a scene in a public place.
“Down that hallway, on the left,” Sam told him while pointing towards the right of the register.
“Thank you,” the boy said cheerfully and ran off.
Sam wondered how a boy that was just picking on his brothers, moments before in public could just act like nothing ever happened.
At one of the occupied tables, an old couple had not been served drinks yet. After clearing off what he could without interrupting the people at the tables, Sam looked around. The old couple had left, their table had nothing on it, and the table with the baby was empty. The kid’s menu had been taken with them for the little girl to color on. Sam picked up his bucket and walked back into the kitchen. He opened the doors and could immediately sense the tension inside.
“Sam, I neet you make surrrre derrre nodeen in de storrrerrrroom rrrrat trrraps,” the boss yelled from across the old rundown kitchen. “Ant while you en derrrre, make surrrre no corrrn chips ‘abe gone stale.”
Sam was once again torn between listening to his boss and finally standing up to him.
“But I’m just the busboy,” Sam replied firmly as he walked to the sink dumping dirty dishes in the foggy water. The sink had not been drained in the many hours it had been used to rinse off dishes and wash hands.
“You will not be if you keep standeen arrround,” the boss shouted.
Sam was getting scared. This was the only job on his resumé.
“That isn’t my job, though,” Sam told his boss as he started to rinse off the dishes.
“If you keep arrrgueen wid mí, you will ‘abe no jop. Is dat clearrr?” the boss threatened again.
Sam kept washing, contemplating if he should do what he was told to do or do what he was being paid to do. He knew if he ignored him, he would be fired, but he was not sure if that was a bad thing.
“Sam?” the boss asked while walking towards the young worker.
Sam decided to ignore him.
“Sam?” the boss repeated, grabbing the boy by his shoulder and turning him around.
“What?” Sam asked as calmly as he could.
“Did you hearrrr mí?” the boss spat in his face.
The whole kitchen was staring at them now. The head chef was allowing her food to burn in the sauté pan. Another cook stopped mid-mince.
“Yes,” Sam responded, almost choking on the singular word.
“Den why you not doeen what I tolt you?”
“I’m not paid to do those things, so I’m not going to do them,” Sam said starting to gain some confidence.
The boss was stunned by the sudden determination from the underpaid employee. He stood there not knowing how to respond, no one had ever talked to him that way since he became the boss. After a while, he knew what he had to do. He raised a hand and struck the boy across the face. Sam put a wet hand to his reddening cheek.
“What you goeen to do now?” the boss asked one last time.
“I’m going to check the rat traps and make sure the corn chips aren’t stale,” Sam replied as he lowered his hand.
He received a look of approval from the boss. Sam turned and sauntered off into the storeroom.
Sam went to the farthest corner of the room. It was just as dark and stuffy as it had always been. He knelt down to check under the shelves. The traps were clean, like they had been for the past two weeks. He then stood up and walked over three shelves. The bags of chips were expired by two weeks. He was told to never throw something out until they either turn moldy or taste bad. Sam opened each bag slowly. All except one was ready to be thrown out. He grabbed the bags that were bad and walked out the back door. Sam opened the trash bins and tossed the chips inside.
“I’m done with this,” Sam said aloud and kicked the trash bin.
“Why?” a familiar voice said from behind Sam.
Sam turned around looking for the source of the voice. He found the boss of the other Mexican restaurant. Sam was stunned, but not surprised at the same time.
“I am treated terribly, and I am not even being paid enough to deal with it,” Sam told the other owner.
“Ragazzo,” the new owner started to say. Almost trying to sound sympathetic. “Why do you deal wid t’is?”
“I have to pay my brother for wrecking his car,” Sam confessed. “This was the first job that I could find.”
“I oonderstand,” the owner stopped and let some silence enter the conversation. “If you need a new job, joost let me know,” he finished and turned to leave.
“That’s it?” Sam asked, “That’s all you’re going to say to me?”
“Like Galileo said, ‘Non puoi insegnare niente a un uomo. Puoi solo aiutarlo a scoprire ciò che ha dentro di sé’.”
“And that means?”
The man laughed again and said, “‘You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help find it within himself’.”
Sam watched him walk away and disappear around the corner. He contemplated on what the other boss said before he knew what he had to do. Sam walked back into the kitchen to be greeted by the head chef on the other side.
“Vat are you doing?” she implored while pointed the knife she was holding towards him. Her thick German accent made her sound intimidating.
“I was throwing away the stale chips,” Sam told her.
“Vere zey really pad?” she asked while waving the knife around.
“Yes.”
“Zey petder pe or elze,” she said while hovering the back side of her knife over her neck. Then, she started to slowly move it across her own neck, suggesting that Sam would be dead if he were wrong.
Sam ignored her and looked around to try to find the boss. He figured he would be in his “office”, which was originally part of the storeroom, but he split the room in half to have a place to run to. Sam walked towards it. He knocked on the door.
“Come en,” the boss yelled impatiently.
Sam opened the door and slowly walked in. It was now cluttered, and papers were everywhere. Sam concluded the boss had been looking for something. The wall seemed to have more certificates than before.
“What you want?” the boss asked while typing at his computer.
Sam took off his apron and threw it on the boss’ desk.
“What is this?” he asked Sam picking up the apron. “I thought I tolt you leabe mí alone?”
“I’m quitting,” Sam responded finally fed up with the boss’ attitude.
“Why?” the boss asked, trying not to beg.
“Why not?” Sam said confidently.
“You de best boosboy I ‘abe eberrr ‘at.”
“I am tired of the way you treat me. I get yelled at for ‘not doing what I am supposed to’ and nobody respects all I do around here,” Sam stressed his concern by adding quotes with his fingers.
The boss was once again shocked at Sam’s confidence. The boss put his head in his hands in defeat.
“I expect my last paycheck to be deposited soon,” Sam said.
“Yeah, surrre,” the boss said still in shock that his best worker was quitting.
Sam stood for a few more minutes. After he figured the news finally sunk into the boss, he walked out. Everyone in the kitchen stared at him. They all noticed he did not have his apron anymore. Sam was not going to let them bring him down anymore. He kept his head up and walked confidently out the kitchen doors. He walked past the mess the three young boys left. He walked past the cashier who paid no attention to him.
“Have a good day,” she said without taking her attention away from her phone. “Come back soon.”
Sam knew he was never going to come back. He pushed open the front doors. The air outside seemed even fresher, and the sun seemed even brighter. The bell attached to the door signaled the new life he was about to begin.