California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Baker, Angel

|  49 |
Do you want to be a moth-
er? I don’t quite know what to
say but I say, Woman is
not metonym for mother.
You see something disappear
in a man’s face when you pierce
this veil. But you should have that
joy, so when your body fails
you, you remember the slop-
py cheek kisses and swing sets.
I say, Your life sounds lovely.
I remember once, too, thinking
that the past was solvable
like a green-shrubbed labyrinth, wires
that need untangling, a fifth
dimension dream that needs de-
coding. His face says, I know
better than you. I smile to
say, You silly pretty thing.
A n g e l  B a k e r
M e t o n y m y


English

Metonymy

Barragan, Christian

NR
Missing Personalities 
Scene 2
Characters: 
Mr. Pen: Early 50’s, wearing a brown sweater-vest and a green dress shirt. 
Lemon: Late teens, short, wearing a yellow sweater and jorts. 
Peel: A robot, about Lemon’s height. 
Saber: Mid to late teens, wearing a bike helmet and brown satchel.
The stage is a large house with a door leading to a room centerstage right. A 
desk with several stacks of paper littered within the room, with Mr. Pen sitting 
in a chair facing the computer on the desk. In the living room, centerstage, 
Lemon paces back and forth, chewing gum. A chair and table are situated at 
the center. Peel stands idly behind the table. A chimney stands near the front 
door of the house. Another door centerstage right leads outside the house. 
[Lemon enters the door to Mr. Pen’s room and creeps up behind him. She pops 
a bubble in his face]
MR. PEN: Hwaaa!
[MR. PEN swings his arms in the air and looks at Lemon]
MR. PEN: Lemon! I told you not to come in here when I’m working!
LEMON: Yeah, well you also told me never to become an adult, and yet here I 
am. 
[Mr. Pen swivels his chair toward Lemon]
MR. PEN: Adult? How old are you anyway?
LEMON: [sarcastic] My own grandfather doesn’t know my age?
MR. PEN: Of course I know...but tell me anyway.
LEMON: It’s more fun to leave people guessing. [she looks toward the computer 
screen] Watcha working on?
MR. PEN: My next story. I got into a hard spot and left a few things unexplained. 
I don’t know where the story should go from here. I need an inciting incident. 
LEMON: You haven’t even gotten to that part of the story? Why do we call you 
Mr. Pen?
[Mr. Pen leaps from his seat]
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MR. PEN: Because…[he grabs a pen and raises it in the air]...this is my weapon 
in a world of frustration and torment. This is one of my only tools for combating 
the edges of insanity and solitude that creep into my life. [he approaches 
Lemon, she retreats to the wall] This is one of the last few things that I have at 
my disposal that doesn’t talk back, doesn’t disagree, and doesn’t even think 
about betraying me! [he steps back] 
LEMON: But don’t you use a keyboard to write?
[Mr. Pen flings the pen onto the floor] 
MR. PEN: That’s not the point! The point is, I want to be known for my passion 
and nothing else. [Mr. Pen sinks into his desk chair] Besides, there’s not much 
left for me to be remembered by. 
[Mr. Pen grabs the computer mouse and silently scrolls] [Lemon leans toward 
the screen]
LEMON: Who’s that? [she points at the screen]
MR. PEN: I did mention I started some artwork on here too. It’s one of my 
characters. It helps me to focus on their personalities when I have a visual, I try 
to come up with these first.
[Lemon tilts her head in analysis] 
LEMON: You know who that looks like? Haro Fourswords. 
[Mr. Pen waves his hand in the air]
MR. PEN: No...I mean, there wouldn’t be any problem basing my character 
on someone like him...it’s just...that’s not the case...you know...as writers we 
sometimes need to take inspiration off of people who we know in real life just so 
we can…
LEMON: No, I know that. I just wanted to know why you based a character on 
him.
[Mr. Pen turns toward Lemon]
MR. PEN: Would that be a problem?
[Saber enters stage left and knocks on the front door] [Peel wakes up and opens 
the door] 
LEMON: I just don’t know if he’s much of a role model. A vigilante figure who 
we know almost nothing about...walks around in a ninja costume and uses 
weapons to…
[Saber pulls out a newspaper from his satchel and hands it to Peel] 
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[Peel shuts the door on Saber]
MR. PEN: I didn’t say he was a role model, and I don’t actually know him. I just 
liked his look, it fits well with my character. Besides, he’s done plenty for this 
community already. How many missing people has he found already? Many 
more than the police have. I just need something to kick off the story.
[Peel walks toward Mr. Pen’s room] 
LEMON: What has to happen for it to start?
MR. PEN: He must learn something that he has no idea about, something that 
will give him a case to follow. But it’s going to take so long to develop that. 
[Peel opens the door to Mr. Pen’s room]
[Lemon swipes at Mr. Pen’s shoulder]
LEMON: Then just have something abrupt happen! Like...have a newspaper hit 
him in the face! Then he figures something out that others couldn’t see!
[Mr. Pen shakes his head]
MR. PEN: But that kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life, Lem…!
[Peel throws the newspaper at Mr. Pen’s head]
MR. PEN: Ouch! What the--? 
[Mr. Pen looks at Peel]
PEEL: You’ve got mail.
LEMON: Oh, that’s Peel. I made him. [she pats Peel on the head] He’s meant to 
be a bit more gentle. [Lemon peeks out through the door to the living room] 
Wow, this place really is built like a bunker. I didn’t even hear the door shut. 
[Lemon and Mr. Pen enter the living room] [Mr. Pen throws the newspaper onto 
the table]
LEMON: Looks like someone was at the door. 
SABER: ...And I’m still here! Can I please have a moment?
MR. PEN: Your bot just closed the door on the mail boy? Now why would he do 
something like that?
[Lemon shrugs]
LEMON: I dunno. Maybe because I programmed him to do that. [she opens the 
front door] Hi, I’m not the head of the household so I’m going to close the door 
and hope that your impression of us is not completely based on how I treated 
you. [she closes the door and pulls out her phone]
[Mr. Pen walks toward the door] 
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MR. PEN: You teenagers have no respect. 
[Lemon looks up from her phone]
LEMON: Huh?
MR. PEN: You really are a product of this generation. 
LEMON: Actually, I’m a product of the last generation. 
[Mr. Pen swings the door open]
MR. PEN: Yes?
SABER: I’m the paperboy…
MR. PEN: Funny, you don’t look like paper. Heh, I’m kidding. But that was pretty 
good, so I’ll just make a quick note of that. 
[Mr. Pen pulls out a notepad from his pocket and scribbles away] 
SABER: I was wondering if you had a second to talk.
[Mr. Pen pauses for several moments]
MR. PEN: So, what’s your question? Heh, sorry, I couldn’t resist. [He gestures to 
Lemon] Blame the yellow one, her humor rubs off on me. 
SABER: Right, well as you know there have been many disappearances going 
on in the UCRCCBS area. I just wanted to know if there were any people in your 
household who were of university age…[he looks around the room] Like her? [he 
points at Lemon] How old is she?
LEMON: It’s not that hard to tell!
SABER: I’m just trying to see if there’s any reason to suspect…
MR. PEN: What’s UCRCCBS?
SABER: The university...at the center of town…?
LEMON: [irritated] It’s where Kesler was going. 
[Mr. Pen swings around and points a finger at Lemon]
MR. PEN: Don’t say that name! [he turns back toward Saber] Sorry. Well, she isn’t 
currently attending the university, so I’ll keep it in mind.
SABER: Yeah, but…
LEMON: I have your inciting incident! Someone comes to the main character at 
the beginning of the story with a warning! 
MR. PEN: And who would that be?
LEMON: We wouldn’t need to know that until later. Gives you time to think.
MR. PEN: That’s it! [he slams the door]
[Mr. Pen throws his fists in the air]
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MR. PEN: Wait...you said was. 
LEMON: What?
MR. PEN: You said Kes...you said he was attending the university. [pause] There’s 
a reason you came into my study today. You want something from me. Is it 
about your brother?
LEMON: Well, I figured as much.
MR. PEN: You can’t fool a writer.
LEMON: Kesler…
MR. PEN: I don’t want to hear that name in this house.
LEMON: What name?
MR. PEN: Kes...stop toying with me, I’m old! [Mr. Pen sits down at the chair by 
the table] 
LEMON: You haven’t been talking to him, but I have. He hasn’t responded to any 
of my messages in the last three days, and you know how much he likes to talk. 
Maybe that mail kid has a point.
MR. PEN: Well maybe you should have grown a few inches since childhood. 
LEMON: Well, maybe you should have gotten something published by now. 
MR. PEN: That’s a bit too far…
LEMON: Sorry, but look. I already lost my parents. I don’t want to lose my brother 
too. Let’s at least go over to his place and check on him. It’s the decent thing to 
do.
MR. PEN: Why do I have to go?
LEMON: It’s too far for me to walk, the public transportation system is in 
shambles, I have few friends who would be willing to lend a hand, and I can’t 
drive on my own.
MR. PEN: This seems oddly thought out. Aren’t you old enough to have gotten a 
license by now?
[Lemon shrugs sarcastically]
[Mr. Pen hops in the chair toward the wall and hunches his shoulders]
LEMON: Fine, I’m going alone then.
PEEL: I will miss you, Lemon. 
[Lemon pats Peel on the head]
MR. PEN: You just gave a whole spiel about why you couldn’t go alone.
LEMON: Well, I’m going anyways. [she marches toward the door] I hope no one 
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kidnaps me!
[Mr. Pen picks up the newspaper and pretends to read it]
MR. PEN:  Me too kid, have fun.
LEMON: You’re not going to let your own granddaughter out on her own…?
MR. PEN: You’re old enough.
LEMON: Am I?
MR. PEN: I’m not going.
[Lemon backs away toward the front door, still facing Mr. Pen]
LEMON: Ok, grandpa.
[Lemon opens the door and steps outside]
[Mr. Pen throws down the newspaper and approaches the door]
MR. PEN: Wait just a minute...I am Mr. Pen.
LEMON: Just because you want a pen name doesn’t mean Pen has to be your 
name! 
MR. PEN: In this house, you call me Mr. Pen. 
[Lemon gestures to her surroundings]
LEMON: I’m not in this house.
[Mr. Pen steps outside]
MR. PEN: Well I am, kid. 
[Mr. Pen shuts the door] [Lemon disappears backstage] [Mr. Pen realizes he’s 
stuck outside]
MR. PEN: What?! Let me in!
[Lemon appears in the living room and locks the door]
LEMON: I hope you remember your characters well because I’m going to give 
them sex changes!
[Lemon walks toward Mr. Pen’s door] 
MR. PEN: Don’t you dare!
[Mr. Pen shakes the doorknob]
[Lemon opens the door to Mr. Pen’s room] 
LEMON: I’m going to write a very anticlimactic conclusion! 
[Mr. Pen pounds on the door]
MR. PEN: I’m still at the beginning of the story!
LEMON: By the time you get in here, I’ll have the whole story finished for you!
[Mr. Pen looks around wildly] 
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[Lemon sits at Mr. Pen’s desk]
LEMON: Haro Fourswords will know you’re one of his fanboys! 
[Mr. Pen looks toward the chimney]
MR. PEN: Screw that. 
LEMON: They’re all going to die in the end!
[Lemon pretends to type on the computer]
MR. PEN: Fine!
[Lemon stops typing and walks back toward the living room]
LEMON: What?
MR. PEN: Are you going to put this on YouTube? I said fine!...I’ll go…
[Lemon opens the front door slightly]
LEMON: Actually, I wouldn’t know how to caption a YouTube video like this. But 
alright. 
[Lemon swings the door open the rest of the way]
LEMON: Let’s go get him. 
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Missing Personalities: Scene 2

Duke, Lee

Reunion

Woo, Christopher

Blowin\u27 Smoke

Lynn Snyder, Stacy

The Princess Story

Becker, Sharon

SHARON BECKER 
HOLLYWOOD 
bed 
There is a space, 
a sliced wedge of time -
thin, green and - a risky word -
revolutionary, when I swing 
to the edge of my bed. 
A place where nothing 
is better than The Blasters, 
nothing better than draped 
50's suits and hair 
brushed back from wide foreheads. 
A suspended moment that shrinks 
from the first, across the ocean 
origins and settles into dust 
that covers, secretly pleases 
carefully shined black shoes. 
Now there is something brown 
about this place -
bare feet on carpet, 
my head still new and growing 
back into it's old, unslept form. 
Simple as a gift of a new dress, 
the shape of a man's brocade 
vest- teasing because it's hidden 
under a carefully buttoned jacket. 
The undemeathness of it all -
a society that moves somewhat without 
the knowledge that there are things 
Hollywood Bed 
going on elsewhere. 
The blue collar birth 
from the belly of Elvis, 
the solidity of silver skeleton 
rings and rings that boast 
a single, round black onyx. 
What am I waiting for? 
I stand up and actually put on 
The Blasters and get to the work 
of readying myself. As daughters, 
sisters I wish we could grip wrists 
and spin in a slow circle 
and then widen the circle out 
so the middle could include 
the backrooms of jazz record 
stores, and 45's released in 1956. 
Cigarettes that look delicate and acceptable 
in thin, slightly yellowed holders 
and shot glasses etched 
with crude, bulky dice and the name 
of a funny sounding state like Oklahoma. 
It's a feasible thing, I think, 
an inevitable thing like clipping 
my fingernails down to boyish 
rounds or the straight hang 
of my hair. This section of time, 
my first pull into morning, 
sighs like finely woven material 
caught between the crux of crossed 
legs (the album is almost over) 
and it smells simple as hair pomade. 


Hollywood bed

Erikson, Chip

San Felipe, Geckos, and Mescal

Simon, Von

Von Simon
ETHEREAL DISEASE
You remind me of this !irl I dated in hi!h school
A small !irl
With brown hair
And an infectious lau!h
I wanted to !o swimmin! in her Petrie dish
And catch her ethereal disease
You remind me of this !irl I dated in colle!e 
A "ure !irl
Clean Breath
Milk# arms swa#in! on our smolderin! walks to the 7-11
I !ave her m# heart 
M# mind
M# bod#
I !ave her m# ethereal disease


Ethereal Disease

Darian, Morgan

44
The Funny Ones
Morgan Darian
My sister farted right after everyone was loaded 
onto the airplane.
The cream and blue striped hatch door had 
already been closed, duffel bags and roller bags and 
backpack bags and other baggage had been stored 
above humans, our seat belts had been tugged at, 
and our tray tables were definitely up. And then 
she farted. And I squealed in offense. And mom 
smacked me across the head. And dad looked up 
from his newspaper. And then my sister had the 
audacity to ponder where the fart would go. And I 
said it would just circle and circle until everyone had 
a little bit of it in their noses. And she said, good. 
And I said why the hell would that be good? And 
mom smacked me on the head again and pointed 
her finger saying watch your mouth Sherri. To which 
I shrugged and said, watch my mouth? Tell Tams to 
watch her ass. And mom smacked me a third time, 
and that’s when I decided to take my act on the 
road.


The Funny Ones

Beronio, Bianca

74
The Return
Bianca Beronio
From above, everything seemed smaller.
She looks at the pallid form in the bed, recognizes 
her own face.
It was the face of a life well-lived, she decides, 
taking in the permanent laugh lines.
Her hands seem so small now, hands worn from 
years of planting, nurturing, teaching…
In the room she recognizes family…
And in their faces there are flashes of the past.
A baby at a breast, celebrations, weddings, 
grandchildren…
All leading to this moment.
She drifts farther away, in spite of herself. 
She fights to stay close, but something tells her to let 
the currants carry her. 
It’s OK, a voice echoes from somewhere both far 
and within, they understand 
She feels herself turn inward and toward the voice.
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“But can I hold them, just a little longer?”
You will, says the voice, in other lives and other places
But how will I know them?”
You will know
We always return to those we love
She looks at her loved ones and sees the light within 
them and recognizes them 
beyond the life just lived.
And she closes her eyes, and feels herself become 
stardust once more, 
ready for all the possibilities of the universe. 


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