California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Collins, Stephen

stephen collins 
What It Mea ns 
S o  where a n  I ?  Beverly and Western, corner of. Like I 'm 
a lways here man, l i ke it's ali i know and a l l  I ' l l  ever know, because 
it's where I'm at now. But that isn't the story, is  it? No, not one bit of it 
that I 'm going to relate to you, not in  the least. Bu�. to get on with 
this. I 'm on Bev- and Western waiting tor whatever, nothing really­
but something I guess. I'm standing there d roopy-armed, just finished 
s l id ing up and down the block money mooching the citizenry, al l  
these people l ike ch ickens without heads-or heads without 
chickens as it were, or was. Most saying such stuff l i ke, I works tor 
my dough,  Joe; some d igg ing for pocket gold. I stand watching the 
stacks of motorized vehicles vomit in stra ight l i nes smog vapor; 
and so the l ig ht turns green and . . .  they're ott-cars steam-rol l i ng  
on down pu rple streets, man ,  dark black purple and a brown haze 
and I'm standing. 
Then of a sudden it 's Ronny B. again coming i nto view. I see 
h im now walk ing towards me. He has sad eyes, green serene 
genius eyes with red l ines-he always has sad eyes. But my tenses 
are mixed up; he HAD sad eyes, which is the story. Or maybe it's 
j ust th is story where cardboard house boxes plus l ive- in  hobos 
with paper-wrapped Ripple watch the chicken heads rumble by, 
proceed past me, under a clean ly plain g rey sky with just one, i n  
the  far ott, a mean bubbl ish thunderhead cloud. I 'm standing here 
and up came Ronny B., my partner you see, a lways talk ing in rapid 
f ire rattles some such scared stuff l i ke, 
One day the sun w i l l  swe l l  up  and suck in  the earth and a l l  
w i l l  d ie with their shades on ,  and how much of  it is bul lshit  and how 
much of it is real and do it make a d ifference? 
Always scratching his fuzz bal l  black h ead with both hands 
or fold ing h is  g inger-ski n arms i n  front almost around to h is  back, 
Jack, cause he's about as th in as a phone poll, without the wires. 
And he stops here now with this th ing in h is  hand l ike a gun . . .  yes, 
it was a gun ,  most defi n itely: black mass of metal ,  h uge l i ke a 
cannon but smal ler, you know. He is crying l ike a baby l i ke he 
always does, but now it 's d i fferent because it j ust is ,  because he 
has this gun with h im.  
Yes, I see it Ronny B .. N ice, but  don't br ing it near me because 
bad news, you know; it's bad news. At least that's what I heard on 
37 
the street last week from th is TH bum, that's 'Th underbi rd '  bum if 
you don't know. He, a black bum l ike RB 'cept older with grey 
forest-face of curly grey ski n ,  to me and Ronny last week said: 
You don't know what the devi l  them thangs mean , man. Guns 
are bad news, he told me, cause they cou ld  b low a hole in  ya, you 
know. 
Yes s i r, sure, says I. 
But what DO it mean, says RB. What the devi l  does it mean if 
not one but several of the same thang? 
War, says he. But that's with a hugh n umbah son, just takes 
one sti l l  to k i l l .  Why just last n ight  some big Rooster blew up some 
gi bble-gabbl ing harlot right  there in front of the Colonel's p lace, 
then tossed the shooter in  the sewer on his way out a town. 
And now Ronny B. standing i n  front of me has this one, and 
he's cryi ng. 
You found it Ron ny? It 's OK man, OK? cause the fuzz don't 
know, you know? No, don't g ive the sucker to me, I don't want that, 
that thang. No way, Jose. Where-1 mean, where did you f ind it, 
man? 
In a bad can, by an evi l  yellow peel and some goopish sewer 
under a tree, says he. He is scared l ike the ski nny buffalos must a 
been years ago when the wh ite men, l ike me, came; but let's get on 
with this story, could we? 
I 'm under a spy glass, says Ron, a microscope, magn ified to 
intensity and it's getting hot, mistah, hot. Wi l l  ya help me, wi l l  ya 
please? 
I'm always help ing you RB, always man,  l ike it's a job or 
someth ing.  
It's getti ng real hot, mistah, and I can't l et it go outa my hand, 
can't get the sucker outa my hand and I can't figu re what it means. 
Calm down Buffalo breath, says I. Just throw the thang away 
and pretend you never d id f ind it. Why not? Why can't you do it? 
Never mind; it' l l  do what it does; if you don't want to l isten then I 
don't g ive a fuck. l fold my arms and turn my back on the dude, and 
Ronny B. walks away, or  he walked away, I g uess, and I 'm tired of 
al l  the bu l lshit  so you know what I do? It's off to Ray's World 
Famous Ch i l i  Dog's And Bu rgers, which ain't so famous if you ask 
me, but who am I anyway? James Dean? Hard ly. 
Anyway, Ray is a cool dude cause he's never there anyway 
and I don't have to put u p  with h im, you know; he's short and pudgy 
and l umpy with a grey 'stash u nder h is  nose chopped off at the 
edges l ike H itler's; thi nks he's some giant with a cause, the l i tt le 
munchkin .  But today I bummed some money and I got the bread to 
buy some bread as it were, or at least a good dog with some of that 
tar- l ike black lumpy ch i l i ,  l ike the greasiest th ing you ever tasted 
38 
th is side of the . . .  wel l ,  of the 76 station across the street; and 
onions too, lots and lots of on ions, always got to have them. So I 
walk i nto the place and Ray's not there cause he's being a cool 
dude today, and this bald headed wh ite guy with no front teeth is 
chewing h is  gums beh ind the counter; and I say, Hey Joe, how 
'bout a good one? 
A good what, Mac? he says. 
But I don't let on that I know what he means and he gets 
pissed and says shove off if  you a in 't got no green; and I says to 
h im ,  fuck you, you ugly greasy- headed wh ite guy. No, it's a l ie, I 
d idn 't say that, but I wanted to. I j ust pu l led out my wad and said 
someth ing l ike, hold it honey, I got money, and he said, 
Suit you rself, and started to make a good one with g rease 
and onions, a lot of them onions. 
I sat down on a round stool putting my sleeveless elbows on 
the cou nter whi le  he made it up and I thought about how good 
them onions was gonna taste. Just l ike them old onions I use to eat 
when I was a wee boy about 18 in h igh  school at lu nch-t ime with 
the rest of us l ike it was a party or someth ing .  We all sat there, the 
whole BB team, that's Basebal l  if you don't know, we sat and had 
our lunch party-! was qu ite good at the sport back then if I don't 
say so myself, pretty good anyway, but not as good as at that 
grad ing stuff; l ike, I got a lot of A's I think is what they cal led it when 
you done or did good, and I was pretty, wel l  rea l ly  actual ly, good at 
the math stuff l ike what was it? Trig someth ing and Abriga or  
something and they said  I would make a fine engineer i n  that stuff 
or physics stuff; but that was two or th ree decades ago, I th i nk, 
before the old thoughts d idn 't seem to cl ick l ike they a lways done 
or d id ,  and I kept talking more and more funny l ike there was no 
tomorrow, you know. Then it was off to the Pine Street Center, this 
place with wh itish wal l s  and tal l  hal ls with a smel l  tasti ng l ike 
penn ies that they'd lock you i n  if you had the dough or so you'd not 
harm commun ity at large, they said. My  mommy had some green 
l ike this here bald guy asked for, and she gave it to the P ine place, I 
th ink it was. And I kept asking these pebble-eyed white jackets 
with scribbl ing pens if they ever got the u rge to chuck a g lass 
across a crowded room, or punch a nice old lady in the stomach, 
just to knock the props from under everyone, u njoint noses, just 
cause a l l 's too perfect, al l 's too happy, and l ike o ld RB would say, 
what did it all mean anyway? They said I ,  for one, was not to worry 
cause a l i i had to do was try. 
Which I d id ,  real ly; I tried rea l ly  good. They a l l  said as I was 
walking out of the place cause my mommy had no more green, 
and I d idn 't certa in ly, you know. That was just l ike Ronny B. I 
guess, on ly years later, or at least that's what the bumble-head told 
39 
me when I asked. 
One day I went for a visit, j ust to look at the outside of the 
place cause I use to l ive there, and I saw this scrawny black kid 
pou nding on the door with h is  fuzz ball head sayi ng let me in ti l l  a 
couple youth-type white-jackets come out and throw h im in  the 
street and then go back inside g igg l ing n icely. I pick him up  and 
take him home to my card board box for a meal and l ived with h i m  
for a year ti l l  o n e  day, j ust recently in  fact, I said, 
RB, I couldn't help but notice you came over for d inner and 
stayed for the duration; and he laughed. Then he said: 
I 'd l i ke to go back to the Pine P lace; and I said: 
No way, sugar, not me; and he said: 
Not you, I mean , I want to go back. 
Why? was my reply. 
Cause, just cause, it's where I'm supposed to be, l i ke the 
bi rds are supposed to be i n  the air al l  the ti me and never land. 
But they do; I 've seen them. RB said,  Help me, and I said, no 
way, Jay, he lp yourself, that's what the Lord said .  But he kept on 
asking me, so I kept on saying No, cause I d idn 't want h im to go, 
unt i l  f inal ly i said, Sure, why the hel l  not. 
We went places, real ly we d id ,  and I tr ied l i ke I 'm accustomed 
to doing but to know avai l  or some such. Downtown by the Grey­
hou nds, we found out the r ight bu i ld ing to go to and all from some 
Cat trap named Sal ly; rode e levators up and down l i ke a couple of 
Space Shuttles with bel ls when we'd land, trying to f igure out why 
everyone there was so fat and we just s l immish twigs. Hal lways 
smel led l i ke hot paper and had th in green carpets we staticed our 
feet with. We gigg led good and a lot, and had fun for once. Why, 
even RB didn't cry for about five m inutes, ti l l  some black lu mpish 
cop or dude of some kind,  secu rity pro'bly, gun strapped to side, 
and fu l l  tooth scowl, gave us a one-eyed stare. We stra ightened u p  
fast- l ike and found the right  office. 
P lopped beh ind  a long desk, this chunky octopus- l ike ch ick, 
b lue polyesters wrapped around cottage cheese, g lasses on her 
pug- nose (tip of it), phone stuck between this watermelon shoulder 
and her ear, gabbing and typ ing away; she, barely looking up  at us 
two, says, Sit down boys or some such, and wait, as is the custom.  
And so we wait t i l l  what seems l i ke next week watching a fern by 
the door d roop, turn brown and d ie, then blow away; we said 
noth ing ,  j ust sat on a hard red couch stiffly stari ng at her straight 
on,  ti l l  final ly chunky chubbet snapping her Ju icy Fruit said with 
her nose-It's tim� 
We at long last got to talk  to this betty fella with a striped su it, 
a p in  one, you know, sayi ng he was a lawyer and he would try to 
get old Ronny B. back i nto the place Piny if he could prove he was 
40 
violent or could beat real ly good. Wel l ,  o ld  Ronny was no beat- up  
k ind  o f  guy; I know cause I ' d  knowed h im. Then the pinstripe said: 
Wel l ,  Jesus Christ son, don't you want to be free? 
Like the birds, I b lurted in .  
Free, he said, because you're an American. P ine Street locks 
you up  l i ke a crimina l ,  wh ich you're not, son. Liberty to al l ,  even to 
the psychotic ones of us, and it was our r ight to be free to choose 
and l ive where we pleased, wh ich was the streets for us, not cause 
we pleased it, cause we l ived it. I thought, wel l that sounds just f ine 
to me being I 'm an American and I tried l ike a l l  hel l  to get the dude 
back in .  Not that I would ever want that, I mean,  Hel ls Bel ls, it's j ust 
three hots and a cot, you know. And anyhow, Ronny, he don't need 
no lock-up joint cause a ja i lb i rd-type, crooked felon he's not, not 
in the least, no way, Jay. Seems l i ke a lot to put up with for three hot 
meals that a in 't actually rea l ly  hot at tal l ,  more l i ke l u ke warm, and 
cardboard's just as good as that cot- l i ke bed stuff, softer even; and 
anyway, what about yours tru ly, huh? 
But  old Ronny B .  kept saying,  No sir, no s i r, m umbl ing some 
such l ike that; he don't or d idn 't want to be i n  this world, he said, 
where there are l ibrarians who hate books and vegetarians who 
are butchers and teachers that don't learn, who d ie in  space, get 
AIDS, g ive grades, h id ing i n  dark classrooms . . .  and someone's 
been steal ing his g i rl fr iends, and what does it al l mean?, cause he 
d idn 't know, you know. And then he cried l i ke he always does 
dr ipping h is eyeballs onto his g rey sh i rt that stun k  l ike all he l l  if you 
ask me. 
It's been real, I squealed to p instripe and chubbet, and then I 
said, come on you old stink  butt, pointing to RB, Lets go on home 
which wasn't far and he dripped h is  eyes a l l  the way, damn h im .  
We walked fast and straight-armed on the purple-edged gutter, 
not the wh ite sidewalk cause it's f i l led with ch icken-
headed getto-blasters purched on shoulders, or so crate-l ike, pul led 
on wheels, fi l l i ng up the grey air with anthemish squeal-
type vocal izations. Trees began to bend and blow as a different 
thunderhead wasn't in the so far off, but rain  and sun,  a flower has 
to have these or it won't g row very well , not at TALL really. We got 
back before it damppened us, and the f irst th ing we done was to 
knock on old Ray's door and then go in  and say some such th ing 
l i ke, could we PLEASE have maybe a p iece of bread or someth ing  
cause we're h ungry and ain't got a d ime or a penny even. 
And it's l i ke the depression now-a-days, you know, at least 
that's what it seems from the h istory books saying this in Hschool. 
But that son of a bitch old Ray was there and he told the toothless 
p ink  gummy bald g uy with the g reasy head to shoo us away cause 
they d idn 't much l i ke freeloaders. On the way out, I said: 
41 
But how 'bout at least some of them old yel la  onions which I 
am, or was about to eat now. He yel led, 
NO, that old bald son of a gun d id ,  or done or some such and 
threw a paper cup at us wh ich h it Ron ny B. good in  the head; l ike 
wow, if looks could ki l l ,  wow!! Ronny was so hurt, not bleed ing of 
course, but inside, that he was crying agai n and we left and we 
d idn 't even get the onions. But that was days ago, or maybe hours, 
and now with me sitting here sleeveless el bows and al l ,  bald head 
say: 
Hey mac, here's that dog with the Xtra on ions, which I pro­
ceeded to munch on without any Coca-cola mind you. The place 
got dark sudden wise, grey actually, cause clouds thick and bubbling 
covered the sky outside and a wind wipped up  and shook l ike al l  
hel l  the l ittle greenish sprigs they called trees out front. 
Looks l ike rain ,  mac, said the bald head, out the window 
pearing he does or did. 
That's swell ,  cause I'm thi rsty, said I, and he chuckled wi ld ly. 
Then he says I wouldn't be such a bad guy if I ever combed my hai r 
or brushed my teeth. 
At least I got teeth, says I, and he sputtered his wheezy cough­
ing laugh again l ike he's about to spit up a turkey. Then he regai ned 
h imself, sl icked the top of his head with a di rty pal m and told me he 
d idn't much l ike being mean to people, throwing them out, h itti ng 
them with paper cups and such l ike that, but old Ray would f ire the 
sucker if he didn't. And I said :  
You mean that lumpy ugly stubby grey haired first cousin to 
H itler? Boy that d id it al l  cause he was laugh ing  so hard he was 
dru l i ng al l  over h is  ch in  trying to wipe it off with his sleave with 
unsuccessfu lness of course, and I thought he was just about l ike 
me being that I had ketch up  dripping on my l ips and cheeks and 
even some on my ear lob-That old wh ite bald guy wasn't such a 
bad dude, I was thinking when Ronny B. walks i n  with h is  eyebal ls 
al l  over his sh i rt with a big b lack mass in h is  hand, and I said: 
Hey RB! Man, what's the haps? And the bald dude said: 
Get that fucki ng gun out a th is p lace. 
Where as Ronny B. pul led up the gun  and blasted it hard into 
the chest of the old geezer. Red and Dark blood it was that come 
out good and fast as he lay sprawled on the floor beh ind the 
counter. His head bent crooked - l ike towards his shou lder with 
pudd les of purpl ish Red on h is  gu mmy mouth, grey apron and the 
window beh ind h im ,  and I stood there just watch ing the sucker 
bleed. And then I said: 
RB, what the hel l  d id you do that for? And he said :  
Cause I wan na go back, man. Cause I wanna go back. He 
says th is then d rops the gun on h is  foot and beg ins to drip h is  eyes 
42 
once again .  Them salt and pepper black and whites drove up with 
their cherry tops whir l ing and they took old RB away with hand 
cuffs tight on h is  back- butt; and I saw his green serenes wel l up 
with dew some more and I can remember h im saying some such to 
the cops l ike: 
What does it all mean, he said ,  what the devi l  do it a l l  mean? 
I ' l l  tel l  you what it means, man; I ' l l  tell you. It means I don't got 
no more damn partner no more. I don't got nothing. 
43 


English

What It Means

Hirsch, Adria

Disneyland Lovers: for Sheryl

adria hirsch 
I watched 
He popped the 
brown ball 
into basket 
after basket 
to an audience 
of red bricks 
and me 
sitting in the window 
on the 6th floor. 
The ceiling fan 
whirred and chopped 
the air over the bed. 
I thought 
Twilight in Brooklyn 
back to an old Brooklyn. 
An old friend. The 
thick, sticky air 
sat on our shoulders 
like little demons and 
filled the room. 
So, we slept on thin 
blankets on the 
rooftops and the antennas 
shadowed giant crucifixions 
he and I laughed as long 
as those hot nights 
in Brooklyn 
a summer rain 
would creep in cat 
quietly with a fast 
wind, swift and cool 
over our moist skin. 
Then the moon 
would wring out her gray 
laundry and hang it up 
to dry. The sky 
dripped all over us. 
and we let it. 
He changed 
as fast as 
that weather 
or like the basketball. 
bounced through, 
hit rims and always 
landed back 
in my hands. 
In the corner of 
that window, twilight, 
I felt the wind roll again. 
The player bounced 
his ball inside 
and I let 
the hot rain 
cool everything down. 
adria hirsch 
61 


Twilight in Brooklyn

Lewis, Lauren

lauren lewis 
64 
I. 
The mirror 
In which 
I 
See the world 
II. 
The window 
through which 
The world 
Sees me 
Eye 


Gonzales, Amy

amy gonzales 
Sit Like a Lady 
The brown dog, fast asleep, blended in with the pale 
dirt in the middle of the town square. The square never had 
grass this time of year, or for most of the year. A few bright 
green blades tentatively poked out at the beginning of spring. 
But the square was a direct l ine of access to any point in the 
townfrom anyotherpoint, and newgrasswasquicklytrodto 
dust. 
Marina spit a peanut into a bed of closed-up morning 
glories at the side of the steps. She ate from a bowl of M&Ms 
on her lap, and had accidentally put a peanut M&M in her 
mouth. She swore silently at her mother for mixing the two 
kinds together, the plain ones she liked and the peanut 
ones the rest of her family preferred. "I'm twelve years old," 
she said aloud, "old enough for my own bag of M&Ms." 
Twelve . . .  and old enough to start Junior High in three more 
weeks, a thought that scared Marina, and thrilled her at the 
same time. 
Searching through the candies, she picked out five yellow 
M&Ms. She stared at the dog while holding them in her 
hands, biding her time to see if she could make the candy 
melt in her palms. 
The dog_ yawned and so did Marina. Janie had piano 
lessons and her mother would not allow her to play with 
Marina on Wednesday afternoons because of those lessons. 
Marina was bored and annoyed at the prospect of a long, 
hot afternoon without her best friend. 
She ate the yellow M&Ms and picked up green ones, 
squeezing her fingers around them. Junior High. She saw 
the Junior High girls every morning, as she walked past to 
her elementary school. They were tall and pretty, they 
dressed like grown-ups, wore stockings and shoes with little, 
feminine heels. Marina wondered if, sometime in the next 
three weeks, she was going to look grown-up, too. 
66 
amy gonzales 
Marina squinted at the dog and saw that, with the right 
amount of tears in her eyes, the dog took on the shape of a 
tiny humpofdirt. lfshewalked toward him, keeping her eyes 
like this, she would trip over him, wake him up. Then she 
could say, "Oh sorry, dog. I thought you were a pile of dirt." 
She thought this sounded funny, like Alice in Wonderland. 
She wanted to be Alice. Last summer she spent her days 
searching the fields, looking for a good size rabbit hole to 
jump into. This summer she knew better, but l iked to imagine 
the boring life in town as if she had gone through a looking 
glass and what was normal and everyday was odd, unusual . . .  
queer, as Alice would say. Marina liked to say "queer'' a lot 
last summer, until her brother Bobby laughed at her and told 
her it meant being a fag. Marina had only a vague idea of 
what a fag was, but she knew that Alice meant it differently. 
The M&Ms had melted to a gloppy green and chocolate 
mess on her palm. Marina licked it off and wiped her wet 
hand on her knee. 
The front door behind her opened, slamming against the 
wicker chair, and Bobby ran out, fol lowed by Hank and B.J. 
They leap-frogged over her, and took off after the dog. It 
quickly ran to the safety of a nearby porch. Marina stuck her 
tongue out at her brother's back And at B.J., but not Hank 
Hank was the cutest guy in Junior High, and she had secret 
wishes that when she was there, looking all grown-up, he 
would notice her, ask her to dance with him at the Friday 
noon dances, maybe even walk her to school. 
The boys fled the square. Marina put the bowl on the 
cement step and went over to the spot where the dog had 
been. She walked around it once and then sat down in  the 
slightly indented dirt. Trailing her hand through the dirt in 
spirals, she drew wiggly lines all about her. Like a moat, she 
thought, or a witch's secret circle. Pretending that the tiny 
ruts offered her a protective shield that made her invisible, 
she laid down, curling up in the same position as the dog. 
She closed her eyes and tried to think of what the dog could 
have been dreaming. With her eyes closed, she felt the sun 
67 
Northridge Review 
heating the left side of her face, and the right side was 
warmed by the hot dirt. By laying so still, she could hear the 
sounds of kids playing in the field behind her house. She 
could hear the rumble of the big freezer at the side of Hanson's 
grocery store, and she thought of the fudgcicles and side­
walk sundaes waiting for her inside, behind the frosted, 
freezing glass door in what Mr. Hanson called his frozen 
foods department. She thought of the neopolitan sand­
wiches he had there, the little, three-flavored, ice cream 
sandwiches. She would eat one and imagine she was a 
romantic Italian girl, riding in a gondola in the moonlight. 
She heard voices coming from the Weston house, and 
then the light, hesitant sound of a piano. That was Janie, 
practicing, for her mother, to be the world's greatest pianist 
"Marina! Get up!" Her mother stood over her, casting a 
shadow on her hot cheek, "What in heaven's name are you 
doing? Look at you, you're filthy. Come with me!" 
She yanked Marina by the wrist and pulled her toward the 
house. Marina tried to keep up with her mother's long strides 
but was pulled along, her heels dragging in the dirt. She was 
dragged up the porch steps, through the entryway, up the 
staircase and into the bathroom. Marina stood limply as her 
mother undressed her and ran water in the bathtub. 
"Oh my!" gasped her mother, looking at Marina, now stand­
ing naked in front of her. Marina's indifference vanished and 
she looked down at her body. 
"What's wrong?" she asked, searching for some terrible 
mark, something that signified cancer or some other killer 
disease. 
"It's your breasts. They've started to grow. Take a bath and 
then we are going right over to Aunt Clara's store and buy 
you a brassiere. I can't have you walking around with those 
showing!" Her mother slammed the door behind her and 
yelled back, "Don't take all day!" 
Marina got in the tub and looked at her chest. She'd been 
waiting for breasts, but what her mother noticed were two 
little bumps. Nothing she thought of as different. They 
68 
amy gonzales 
weren't in the way or anything. And she wasn't sure she 
wanted a bra. She'd seen Bobby at school, running up 
behind a girl and snapping her bra strap on her back "Nancy's 
got tits!" he would yell and Nancy, or whatever girl was his 
victim, would blush and look frantically for a place to hide. 
No telling what Bobby would do to her, once he knew she 
was wearing a bra. Maybe she would let her mother buy one, 
then never wear it. Obviously, Mom never noticed she 
needed one until she saw her naked. 
Marina sank down in the water, until her eyes were half in 
and half out. She imagined that this was how a dolphin saw 
things - the clear, real world on the top half of he reyes, the 
little sloshing waves as a dividing point and the murky, grey· 
blue underwater world. She put the bar of soap in the water, 
and maneuvered it like it was a ship. She compared the 
bright white top with the mysterious looking hull that bobbed 
under the surface. 
"Marina!" 
"I'm almost done," she yelled back, and quickly soaped 
and scrubbed herself, got out and poked her head out the 
bathroom door. 
"Mo-om. I need something to wear." 
A hand reached in and offered a clean t·shirt and shorts. 
Marina dressed. She didn't want to wear a bra, but she was 
anxious to have one and see what she looked like in it. She 
imagined that she would buy a pretty lace-covered one, and 
that she would put it on and stand in the little green dressing 
room at Aunt Clara's store and look at herself in the mirror. 
In  her daydream, her mother and Aunt Clara would dis­
creetly wait outside while she admired her now-sexy body. 
Her breasts would miraculously fill the bra, and her waist 
would be slim and curved like the high school girls at the 
town plunge, where they sunbathed in their bikinis. Forget­
ting the possible torment of her brother and his friends, she 
thought of lazily strolling through the school playground 
and having all the cool boys drop at her feet. She saw the 
envy in the eyes of other girls. She was a woman and they 
69 
Northridge Review 
were still children. Marina preened in front of the fogged-up 
bathroom mirror, pulling her t-shirt tight across her chest, 
trying to picture the barely discernable bumps as large and 
voluptuous. Objects of desire, she thought. That's what she 
wanted to be, an object of desire. It sounded so foreign, 
so French. 
She heard her mother pacing in the hallway, so she combed 
her hair and left the bathroom. 
The limp cotton bra was no match for the lacy one of her 
dreams, and to make matters worse, Aunt Clara kept calling 
it a training bra. Marina tried to figure out what it was sup­
posed to train. Would her breasts grow only if she wore this 
itchy, elastic thing? Did it train breasts to be bigger? There 
wasn't even a chance to admire the bumps of white cotton, 
because Mom and Aunt Clara stood on either side of her, 
pulling and tugging on the straps and the elastic that went 
around her chest. 
"I  think it's too tight, Clara," said her mother, indicating the 
red welt already appearing on Marina's back. 
"Nonsense. We'll just loosen the hook one notch. If we go 
bigger, the cups will bag on her." 
Marina grimaced at the word cups. What an ugly way to 
describe a bra. She remembered the phrase from Sunday 
School . . .  cup runneth over. And wondered if they were 
talking about a woman with big boobs, the kind she saw in 
the magazines that Bobby hid under his mattress. 
Aunt Clara told her to put her t-shirt on. 
"Much better," said Mom, and Clara nodded. Marina saw 
no difference in the look of her breasts, but was dismayed to 
see the obvious tell-tale line that went across her back. 
"Marina, you're a young lady now," said Aunt Clara. "No 
more rough games with children." 
"And you must learn to sit like a lady," added her mother, 
"with your ankles crossed." 
"Heavens, yes! Be very careful not to expose your under­
pants! You must never sit with your legs up." 
70 
amy gonzales 
"I don't think you should spend your time in the fields 
looking for rabbit holes, either. A proper young lady doesn't 
play in the fields. And certainly isn't found curled up in the 
dirt, right in the middle of town!" 
"Oh my, has she done that?" asked Aunt Clara, a hand 
clutching the lace collar at her bosom. 
"Today! Would you believe I found her that way just this 
afternoon? Thank God I'm the one who found her. You can 
imagine the gossip around here if someone else saw her 
like that." 
Marina left the dressing room, not wanting to hear about 
her potential for disgracing the fami ly, which she thought 
wasalreadythoroughlydisgraced by Bobby. She wandered 
through the store, picking up delicate perfume bottles that 
she wasn't allowed to touch when Aunt Clara was watching. 
She sprayed herself with a mist of something called Even­
ing in Paris. The smell tickled her nose and almost made her 
sneeze. She didn't like the heavy odor, but she imagined 
tall, elegant people strolling down the Champs Elysee, with 
the Arch of Triumph and the Eiffel Tower in the background. 
She held out her hand to an invisible suitor and sashayed 
through the store aisles, nodding to the dresses on display 
as though they were acquaintances standing at sidewalk 
cafes. In her fantasy, she and her handsome gentleman 
friend would take a seat at a cafe and order croissants. She 
said the word aloud, trying her best to make it sound like 
"kwasahn," as it did in the commercials. 
The perfume became too much and she decided she 
needed fresh air. 
"Mom! I'm going outside!" 
"Don't get dirty," came a voice from the back of the store. 
Marina walked out of the cluttered store and into the 
square. She felt the sun as she stepped from the shade of 
the blue awning. Imagining that it highlighted her golden 
blonde hair, she chicly tossed her head sideways, to make 
her ponytail bounce and sway against her back Miraculously, 
her thin, limp ponytail became full and luxurious. Marina 
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Northridge Review 
stood straighter, and thought that maybe, with this bra, her 
chest was growing, just a little bit already. She felt that her 
long and gawky legs were now long and lean, that she was 
now worthyof being in Junior High. She would wear a hint of 
blush across her cheeks, a bit of pale coral lipstick on her 
womanly lips. She continued her grown-up, sashay walk 
through the square. 
Bobby, Hank, and B.J. came running from the shade of Mr. 
Hanson's store. 
"Outta the way, bozo, we're in a hurry." Bobby yelled, 
pushing past her. 
B. J. slowed down long enough to say, " Pee-uu, you smell 
funny!" and raced after Bobby. 
Hank skimmed by, setting Marina's heart thumping. Her 
heart beat faster when he stopped and turned and looked 
her over. He looked at her slow, from head to foot, then 
smiled, and said, "Are you getting uglier, or did I just forget 
how ugly you are?" 
Then he cackled and ran away. 
Marina yelled after him, "You're too ugly to know any­
thing!" 
"Shoot," she said to herself, "boys are so stupid." She 
reached her front steps, tired, hot and uncomfortable. 
Standing in the shade of the porch, she realized that the 
constricting feeling around her chest was her bra But it 
wasn't just a weird feeling she'd have to get used to. With 
nothing to keep it in place, the bra had slid up, until it was 
digging into her underarms. She wriggled her arms inside 
the sleeves of her t-shirt, found the hook on the back of the 
bra, wriggled out of it, slipped it out the sleeve of her shirt 
and threw the thing over to the white rattan chair. It fell 
behind the chair, and landed in the pot where her mother 
sprouted avocado pits. 
Marina sat down on the steps and reached for the bowl of 
M&Ms, dug out some orange ones and threw them all in her 
mouth. The brown dog came back to the square and lay 
down in the same spot he was in before. 
72 
amy gonzales 
"Object of desire," Marina thought, scornfully, "lace bras, 
acting like a lady. Heck with that. I'd rather look for rabbit 
holes." 
The dog rolled over on its back and scratched itself by 
rolling in the dust. Marina wiggled, imitating the dog, sighed, 
and accidentally tossed a peanut M&M in her mouth. 
73 


Sit Like a Lady

Weston, Joi

Joi Weston 
Thursday on th e Couch ­
for )  ulie 
This couch has held 
a broken neck screwed in an aluminum cage 
a heroin-racked body growing clean 
poker games/backgammon/Trivial Pursuit Baby 
Boomers edition 
beer drunks asleep/Valium dreams 
a woman cherishing her new lover/lovers 
screaming across the room 
holiday festivities/terse, tense business meetings 
student essays spil l ing onto the floor while tutor 
and tutee grapple for words. 
But above all, two woman exploring life, drinking Dr. 
Pepper 
while the smoke rises between them. 
They talk of rape and abortion; 
of finding love and losing it; 
of finding life and hating it; 
of teenage lives: first love, first sex, first drugs; 
of screaming mothers and silent fathers 
(yet hers still breathes). 
''Every man benefits from rape," we quote, we believe, 
we know 
"So I said ' Fuck off.' They laughed." 
" H e  said ' I  can arm wrestle any woman in this 
room. So what?" 
" H e  can't communicate . . .  an emotional cripple." 
" I  told him no more silence." 
''Have you read . . .  ? Because she had three abortions 
they said she was a bad woman.'' 
82 
)oi Weston 
"The doctor said, ' I t  says here you're a twenty-five 
year old woman, two abortions" - my label: 
twenty-five & 2 TAB. 
"They didn't get it all the first time." 
'' Fuck them all." 
While around them the girls squabble. 
The dog begs, eats, barfs. 
Sizzling onion-stuffed chicken sends salivation. 
The cleanser-scented engine artist enters, collapses with 
his beer. 
The afternoon is over. We'll begin again next Thursday. 
83 


Thursday on the Couch: for Julie

Amy Gonzales 
You Are Here 
You want a bite to eat before you meet Karen and 
Donald in Westwood. The nice thing about your neigh­
borhood is that there are so many fast food places within 
walking distance. Your mother always laughs at you for 
calling this a neighborhood. No place in  LA is a neigh­
borhood like the one you grew u p  in, where you knew all 
the neighbors. Here, you know all the kids who work at 
McDonald's, Taco Bel l ,  Burger K ing and Hot Diggity 
Dog. 
So you walk to Taco Bell, only superficially noting the 
group of people clustered together under one of the 
orange metal umbrellas, clustered around a round, rust­
ed white table, at the edge of the outdoor dining area. Ten 
or twelve people sitting and staring at the service win­
dows of the Taco Bell. 
You ignore them and walk to the order window, think­
ingonlyofa Macho Burrito and a Diet Pepsi. A t each of the 
four windows, a young employee stands, staring out at 
you. I n  their plaid uniforms and name tags with the chip­
per message, ''Try Taco Light!" they look like the goofy 
painted ducks at a shooting gallery, set up straight and 
even and identical. They al l  stare at you and a voice from 
behind you, from the crushed group of people, is going 
"psst, psst." You approach the window and the girl be­
hind the counter, you know her as Suzie, is very slightly, 
almost imperceptibly shaking her head no. As you get 
nearer, you see her eyes are damp. Big brown eyes and 
full of tears . . .  a tear slides down her cheek as you open 
your mouth to order. 
A motion catches your eye in  the back of the Taco Bell. 
A red knit hat . . .  no, a ski mask. You forget about ordering 
and realize that there is a man in a red ski mask holding a 
85  
N o rth ridge Review 
gun agai n st the h ead of a tee n age, ski n ny, p laid- c lad boy 
who is franti cal ly  try ing  to stuff d o l l ar b i l l s  i nto a wh ite 
Taco B e l l  paper bag. Ever so s lowly you back u p. The s ki­
m as k  man is not loo ki ng toward the wi n dow and you i n ch 
bac kward u nt i l you b e co m e  part of t h e  gro u p  at t h e  
tab l e. 
A h eavy- set woman i n  a p u rp l e  f loral polyeste r b l ouse 
wh i s p e rs at  you. 
I t 's  a sti ck- u p." 
Th is you know. Th i s  yo u fi na l ly  f igured out. You watch 
th e stand,  gap i n g  at the b right i nterior, as fasc inated with 
th e scene as the ten o r  twelve peo p l e  aro u n d  you. Fas­
c inated to see t.v. - l i ke action right h e re i n  real l ife. The 
Taco Bel l  k ids  u p  i n  the front stare back at  yo u, m ute fear 
in t h e i r  faces, yet they look so perky in t h e i r  u n iforms,  it  is 
hard to co n n ect t h e m  with the strange d rama beh i n d  
the m .  
T h e  boy o p e n s  a n oth e r  d o o r, s h akes h i s  h ead a n d  
closes it. T h e  s ki- mask man shakes t h e  boy' s s h o u l d e r, 
waves h i s  gu n as if he is u n h appy. The boy' s m o uth fo rms 
an " 0" and even from this  d i stance, you can al l see h i s  d i s­
tress. I t  is obvious h e  i s  p l ead i n g. Perhaps t h e re i s  no m o re 
mon ey. Perh aps there is a safe h e  can n ot o pe n .  W hateve r 
it is ,  the s ki- m ask m an is angry and the boy i s  vis i b l y  
sh aki ng. 
P u rp l e- Polyest e r  says to yo u ,  " T h e re' s  s o m eth i n g  
wron g." 
" H e looks m ad," says a ve ry b l o n d e  gi rl, peer ing ove r 
you r  s h o u l d e r. 
H e r boyfrie n d, fash ionably c rew- c utted and d ressed i n  
b right s u rf s h o rts, p uts h i s  arm aro u n d  h e r  s h o u l d e rs and 
says, " H ow m uc h  money did h e  t h i n k  there' d be at a 
Taco Be l l ?"  
A man i n  a grey b u s i n ess s u it says, " I f h e  wanted a lot of 
86 
cash he picked the wrong place." 
Amy Gonzales 
" I  th ink  . . .  " you start to speak but there is a loud 
explosive noise and you see the young boy's face disap­
pear into a mass of red, just before he slips out of your 
sight to the floor. Purple-Polyester grabs your right hand. 
Blondie gasps in your ear and puts her hand on your 
shoulder. You reach to the side and grasp the elbow of the 
business man and feel the deep trembling that started in 
you is also shaking through him. There is a general com­
pression of the ten or twelve bodies around the white 
table as everyone pulls in trying to make contact, get 
reassurance, share fear. 
The ski-mask man turns to look at the service windows. 
He holds up his gun and fires. One of the boys facing out­
ward drops. He fires again and Suzie, the girl with tears in  
her eyes, the girl who warned you away, she drops and 
you cry out, " No!" The gun turns so that you can look right 
down its barrel, though you are maybe fifty feet away. As a 
group, as a mass of skin, bones, breath and fear, every­
body falls to their knees at exactly the same second that 
the gun fires inside the Taco Bel l  and mil l iseconds later, 
you hear an odd metallic noise and you realize the orange 
umbrella is quivering, reverberating, shaking the pole 
and shaking the white table that all of you are clinging to, 
and the reverberations go right through your a lready 
trembling bodies. 
The metallic ringing noise is drowned out by distant 
sirens that hurry nearer. You huddle together, until the 
business man strains his neck and looks, then stands 
up. 
" H e's gone," the business man says, and slowly, help­
ing each other, the rest of the group stands up. Purple­
Polyester is still clutching your hand, and you pat it. 
The two remaining Taco Bell employees are hysterical. 
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N o rth ridge Review 
O n e  is scream i n g i n  s ho rt b u rsts, echoi n g  the s i re n  that 
you can hear i n  the d i stan ce. The oth e r  is d raped across 
the co u nter, her body s haki ng as she c ries.  
You and the oth e rs move forward to t h e  w i n dows. Yo u 
see ove r the cou nter a n d  rea l ize  that t h e  b rown and red 
th i n g  on t h e  f loor is  the g i r l  you h ad a l m ost s poken to. You 
back u p  a few ste ps.  
In  n o  t i m e, the po l i ce are j u m p i n g  out of b l ac k  and 
wh ite cars and ru n ni n g  past yo u. They swarm aro u n d  th e 
taco stand,  so m e  ru n n i n g  down the a l l ey, oth e rs gather­
i n g  i n s i d e  and hove r ing  over the k ids  on the f loor. 
O n e  off icer comes to you r  gro u p  and asks if you wi l l  a l l  
stay f o r  a few m i n utes so they c a n  take re ports. You say 
yes. 
You go back and sit at the wh ite tab l e. P u r p l e- Polyester, 
B l o n d i e  and h e r  boyfri e n d  sit aro u n d  it with you. 
" I  can' t b e l i eve it ," says B l o n d i e, s haki ng her h ead and 
cryi n g  s i l e ntly. 
" H e j u st b l ew ' e m  away, bang, bang, bang, j ust l i ke 
that," says h e r  boyfri e n d .  H i s  face i s  wh ite and s hoc ked 
and he looks as he m u st have looked w h e n  he was ten 
years o ld .  A c h i ld ,  rea l ly, not a grown- u p  at al l. 
" Wh y  ki l l  those k ids ,  why?" says P u r p l e. " I t' s n ot t h e i r  
fau lt, it' s n o t  t h e i r  b u s i n ess.  They can't h e l p  it  i f  there i s n't  
any m o n ey." 
You all agree. Purp le  h o l d s  you r h a n d  on to p of the 
tab le,  and B lon d i e  takes you r oth e r  hand.  H e r boyfrie n d  
i s  w ra p p e d  t i gh t l y  a ro u n d  h e r, h i s  h ead agai n st h e r  
s h o u l d e r. 
The pol i ce are b usy a n d  you tal k q u i etly with these 
three people for about ha l f  an hour. You re- l ive it  ove r and 
ove r. B lo n d i e  says, " I  can sti l l  see the k id,  shaking h is  
h ead." Yo u say, I cou l d  t e l l  h e  was apologi z i n g, that h e  
was p l ead i n g. "  Th e boyfrie n d  says, " T h e  way h e  raised h i s  
8 8  
Amy Gonzales  
gu n ." P u r p l e  says, "The way the u m b re l l a  s h ook when t h e  
b u l let  h it it." You a l l  agree that wh e n  he tu rned the gun 
toward you r  gro u p, you each thought you wou l d  d i e. You 
swear that you loo ked down the barrel, that yo u knew it  
was poi nted at you, that you cou l d  see the b u l let  i n  the 
cham ber, the f i n ge r  tighte n i n g, the s low cruel  h e artbeat 
i n  the chest beh i n d  the hand b e h i n d  the g u n .  You knew 
yo u were d ead. " I f you guys h ad n' t p u l l ed m e  down with 
yo u . . .  " you shake you r  h ead, and the h an d s  hol d i n g  
you rs squeeze a n d  console.  
T h e  p o l i ce f i n a l l y  tal k to yo u .  They tal k to you a l l  
together, then tal k b rief ly to you a lone. F i n al ly, they say 
you can l eave. You go ove r  and h u g  P u r p l e- Po lyeste r. You 
h u g  B l o n d i e  and h e r  boyfri e n d  toget h e r  as if they were 
one person. You wal k up the street, head i ng back to you r  
apartm e nt. T h e  last t h i n g  you need i s  a m ovie, s o  you cal l 
Karen an d beg off. I n stead of the m ovie, you s p e n d  the 
n ight watch i n g  stu pid  sit- co m s  on tv. You l o n g  fo r t h e  
com pany o f  P u r p l e, or B lon d i e  and the boyfrie n d. You 
want to d iscuss t h i s  one m o re t i m e. You've shared som e­
th i n g  with them that you n ever sh ared with Kare n and 
Donald ,  a n d  even though they are you r best  fri e n d s ,  they 
can' t poss i b l y  know you o r  h e l p  you l i ke P u r p l e  and B lo n­
d i e  a n d  boyfri e n d. You th i n k, "This  m u st be what it' s  l i ke 
i n  war, th i s  m u st be what it' s l i ke after a p l an e  crash." 
S l e e p  ove rcomes need, and you toss fitfu l l y  the whole 
n ight o n  the couch. 
Two wee ks late r you wal k  past the Taco Bel l. A heavy­
set woman i n  red pants a n d  a b l u e  sweatsh i rt is at the 
w h i t e  tab l e, l o o k i n g  at yo u from u n d e r  the o ra n ge 
u m b re l l a. S h e  eats a taco, h o l d i n g  it  caref u l l y i n  two 
hands.  You wo n d e r, " I s  that Purp le?"  But her face i s  n ot 
cl ear i n  you r  m e m o ry and you wal k on past. 
89 


Ackerman, Stuart

Stuart Ackerman 
The Coria/is Effect 
Jacob Wilsey bit his lip, waiting for the perfect bead of 
solder to drop onto his circuit board. Nothing but a per­
fectly round silver ball would do. Anything else would be 
scraped off so he could re-solder; but he rarely had to do 
this. He had honed his soldering skills to as close to per­
fect as possible. 
H e  became obsessed with anything of at least marginal 
interest that crossed his path. The laboratory in his base­
ment overflowed with half-finished p rojects that had 
started as obsessions, but quickly became uninteresting. 
His  life's history matched his basement's; it consisted of a 
long series of events, mostly uncompleted, that simply 
failed to keep him intellectually occupied. His hopes for a 
successful life rested in  the back of his mind along with his 
incomplete doctoral studies, his disassembled 1 934 Ford 
Coupe, his relationship with his wife, and hundreds of 
other disregarded heaps of rubble. None of this mattered 
to Jacob Wilsey at the moment. Only the various possible 
solutions to his current obsession had any real meaning; 
and of these solutions, only one had plausibility. 
The obsession that currently kept him occupied was to 
harness all the unused knowledge in the world. The fact 
that he had not thought of a solution that worked did not 
make this obsession an im possibility; it was obviously just 
a problem that he had not attacked in enough depth to 
solve. Looking up every factthat had no use and putting it 
to use would be impossible. Making his obsession into a 
global obsession was more realistic, but he could not trust 
other people with such complex issues. He would have to 
do it al l  himself. The key was in the Coriolis Effect. People 
knew the Coriolis Effect had im portance, but Jacob had a 
hunch it was even more important than they realized. 
96 
Stuart Ackerman 
R uth W i l sey m e e kl y  t i ptoed d own the d a m p grey 
c e m e nt steps that led to th e base m e nt. She stood beh i n d  
h e r  h u sband w h o  was sol d e r i n g  a green pr i nted c i rcu it  
board the s ize of  a s l ice of  b read. The s m oke from the acid 
core of the sold e r  rose i n  a steady wh ite stream .  To Ruth, it 
m ust have l oo ked as if  J acob had an exhaust h o l e  h i d d e n  
i n  h i s  greasy b l ack hai r. 
" J acob?" 
H e  th rew h i s  c h a l k w h ite arm b e h i n d  h i m s e l f  a n d  
waved h e r  away. 
" H u ngry, J acob?" 
H e  wi ped the sweat from his forehead, and gestured 
with th e s m ol d e r i n g  sol d e ri n g  i ro n .  
' N o use, R u sty. I ' l l  get som eth i n g  later." H e  h e l d  h i s  
arms ove r h i s  h ead and yawned.  Ruth saw h i s  s h ou l d e r  
b l ad e s  b u l ge ben eath h i s  grey t- s h i rt. 
" S u re?" 
" Late r, R u sty." 
She turned and went back u p. He s lapped the board 
down o n  h i s  b e n c h .  Th e re used to be som eth i n g  about 
h e r, someth i n g  that h ad kept h i m  i nte rested for years. H e  
hadn't  been a b l e  to b e l i eve h e r  pe rfe ct p roport ions and 
had on ce m easured h e r  wai st at  exactly twenty two and 
th ree q uarte r i n ches .  F rom the m o m e n t  that h e' d  m et h e r  
u nti l a few years after  they we re m arr ied, J acob d i d  n ot 
d e s i re to p lay with h i s  mechan ical  toys. H e  l et h e r  con­
vince h i m  to quit col lege - to get a teach ing job at the local 
h igh school. H e  l et h e r  occ u py h i m  with fruit less hou rs. I f  
he h a d  pers isted i n  what h e  cal led " th e  s loth years" any 
longe r, there m i ght have been a c h i l d  ru n n i n g  wi ld d e­
stroyi n g  ord e r  i n  h i s  lab. N ow forty th ree years late r, J acob 
congratu l ated h i m se l f  for co m i n g  to h i s  s e n ses.  H e  h ad 
start e d  cal l i n g  h i s  wife R u sty rat h e r  t h a n  My Lo ve o r  
Dearest; h e' d  gotten back t o  work o n  th i n gs with real 
9 7  
Northridge Review 
rather than personal significance. 
The only thing left from that island four decades in his 
past was the teach ingjob. Every weekday, jacob slithered 
into class. Motivated only by caffeine, he demonstrated 
the significance of mathematical formulas in the me­
chanics of his students' everyday life, then rushed back to 
his basement. H e  had a loose mastering of names and 
faces, bu_t rarely associated the two. 
He remembered his first lecture on the Coriolis Effect. 
He had explained how the Earth's rotation influenced 
natural circular motions like hurricanes, tornados, and 
whirlpools. This bored the class until he explained that 
the Coriolis Effect made the water spin counterclockwise 
when they flushed the toilet; not only that, but if they had 
lived in the Southern Hemisphere, say in Australia, the 
water would sp in  clockwise. That evening he had 
received several angry phonecalls from parents who won­
dered what Jacob said to make their children lock them­
selves in the bathroom and repeatedly flush the toilet. He 
had told one parent, " Knowledge is useless without 
action." He had confided in Ruth that these "walking 
wastes of energy could never learn." 
There had been a student that Jacob considered uni­
quely gifted. The boy listened intently and thought 
jacob's word was law. He did everything he could to 
encourage the child's mental stimulation, even paying 
the boy to assist him in the basement lab. Soon, however, 
jacob found that the reward of working quickly far out­
weighed the l imited satisfaction of teaching as the child 
slowed the pace of his work. jacob now knew that he 
could only work alone. No one would understand what 
he was doing. I n  fact, they might endanger his work. 
This experiment was particularly crucial. The signifi­
cance of his completed work would change the world 
98 
Stuart Ackerman 
forever. Jacob would permit nothing to interfere. He locked 
the lab with a dead bolt and two padlocks before going to 
the kitchen. Ruth sat at the table peeling the greasy 
yellow skin from a leftover chicken breast with her teeth 
while reading The Fourth Deadly Sin. jacob took a Coke 
from the refrigerator. 11 jacob, aren't you going to eat 
anything?" 
He slammed the door and started back down to the 
lab. 
11 How many pounds have you gained since we got 
married, Rusty. Fifty? Sixty? Huh? How many?" 
"You have to eat something, honey. You're going to 
starve down there." 
jacob turned and faced her, pointing with the wet Coke 
can. "You used to have a twenty two inch waist. Twenty 
two inches." 
"I'm not fat, jacob. So I gained some weight. Every­
one does." 
"I didn't." 
H e  turned and walked down the stairs. I t  was true. Not 
only had he not gained weight, he had lost some. In the 
last two months alone he had gone from 1 31 to 123 on his 
homemade d igital scale. He looked over his shoulder and 
found her reading the novel again. He yelled back up the 
stairs. ''It's sloth, Rusty. Just one from three of the seven 
deadly sins you indulge in." 
"What the hel l  are you doing down there anyway?" She 
garbled with her mouth full. 
"And gluttony! You can't even swallow before you 
talk." 
" Forget it, Jacob. I don't care what you're doing any� 
way. It's stupid. Who needs youl" 
H e  snorted a deep inhal ing chuckle. "And finally 
there's envy. You're a walking Lawrence Sanders novel, 
99 
Northridge Review 
Rusty." H e  inhaled another elephant seal laugh and 
unlocked the door to the lab. 
This would be the one. Not only did Jacob feel a larger 
compulsion than ever before, but this experiment would 
make a difference. He could forsee an end to inefficient 
energy sources, inefficient devices, and inefficient peo­
ple. Everything had a reason for existing. Knowing that 
reason, Jacob could put everything to use and set the 
world free from waste. 
She could not comprehend that. She refused to under� 
stand any of his work. When he took their first car apart to 
try to design an automated driver1 she could only com­
plain about the money and the waste. She couldn't see 
the possibilities. "She never sees the possibilities," he  
m uttered aloud. "There are none so blind as those who 
will not . . .  " 
He set down his soldering iron. 1' Rusty! Rusty! Come 
down here! I want to tell you something." He pivoted on 
his stool and faced the door. 11 How can I expect her to see 
if she doesn't know where to look?" he asked himself. 
Ruth hopped down the steps, her yellow flowered 
blouse conceal ing a small tummy bulge, but nothing that 
kept her from looking trim. 
" Did you call me?" she said, twisting her dry white hair 
into a bun. 
"Sit down, Rusty." 
The floor around her feet displayed various wires, cogs, 
electronic components1 and rat droppings. " I ' l l  stand if 
you don't mind. What did you want to tell me?'' 
Jacob walked without lifting his feet, gesturing with 
open hands in the air. "Just imagine that there was no 
waste in the universe. Everything had a purpose." 
She put her hand to her chin. "O.K.'' 
'' Easy, right? Right?" 
1 00 
II Right." 
Stuart Ackerman 
"Right!" he yelled, startling her. 11That' s because every­
thing does have a purpose. Only, we're too stupid and 
fallible to know them all." 
"Got it." 
H e  clenched his fists, beating the air with each stressed 
syllable. "Yes! And that's why I have to have enough time 
to figure everything out . . .  discover everything's pur­
pose." 
"You've got time, jacob," she snickered. " I  doubt you 
have that much." 
"Exactly!" 
She leaned against the cold cement wall. "You lost 
me." 
H e  went into what looked l ike phony concentration. 
His hand tapped and stroked his chin. His eyes darted to 
the upper corners of the sockets. 
"Ah," he snapped, pointing at her. " We're both 72, but 
you have white hair and mine's still black . . .  Why?! Be­
cause different people age at different rates. Right?" 
"Jacob, maybe we should have some din-" 
" I  just have to live forever. There has to be a way to 
do it." 
Ruth kicked a discarded rusty nail a few inches. " jacob-" 
" I  just have to build a time machine so I can go to the 
future when they have immortality so they can give it to 
me and I can find purpose for everything. Do you see?! 
It's the Coriolis Effect. If  I figure out the relationship be­
tween it and t ime- I have the circuitry to do it! I just 
need to work it out." 
She kicked the nail again. 
H e  turned away, then back. "Get out! You stupid slob! 
Go get something to eat, you God damned cow. Get out 
1 0 1  
Northridge Review 
of here." 
She stumbled quickly up the stairs. 
The boy was holding a circuit board with a pliers as 
jacob soldered. jacob fed the solder to the tip of the iron. 
The gray wire turned silver as it melted, dripped onto the 
circuit board in a steaming mirrored d rop, and sent a curl­
ing white tail of smoke above the connection. The boy 
watched the drop turn grey again as it  cooled. 
"Why does it turn grey like that?" 
j acob grinned. " Because when it's liquid, surface ten­
sion makes it perfectly smooth, allowing it to be a mirror. 
When it cools to a solid, it dries uneven. Therefore the 
surface reflects light unevenly, and it looks grey." 
The boy looked up at jacob, who was al ready looking at 
him. " How did you learn so many stupid things?" 
jacob bit his lip until it turned white. He let go, leaving 
pink tooth impressions. 
" It's so funny. You even know why the water spins to 
the left when you flush the toilet. Wha' d you call that? The 
Cor-" 
"The Coriol is  effect," jacob snapped imposingly 
enough to silence the boy. "The Coriolis Effect is the basis 
of earthbound physics. Without it, there would be no 
weather patterns, no ocean currents-" 
''Yeah, but it's funny. Why do you need to know which 
way the water spins? It still flushes either way." 
jacob pulled out his wallet. " Here's your dollar. Go 
home." 
The boy scowled, wrinkled pink flesh crept over his 
wide eyes. "Why?" 
"You don't need to know why. Go home." 
jacob watchBd Ruth as she tripped into the kitchen. He 
turned and carefully soldered the last component into 
1 02 
Stuart Ackerman 
place. He set the smoldering soldering iron tip down onto 
the wooden work bench. The circuit board slid neatly into 
a frame made from the front seat and cab of the Ford 
Coupe. Jacob got in, held onto the steering wheel and 
turned the ignition key. 
Nothing. 
He turned it again. A faint buzz built in the circuit 
board. Blue sparks flew down as if from a luminescent 
shower head. Spattering smoky drops of mirrored solder 
burned tiny brown holes in his pants. He thought he 
heard Ruth scream, but maybe not. Then it ended. The 
green circuit board sported a charcoal colored burn over 
most of its surface. He touched it, brushing the charcoal 
away. He looked at the blackened tip of his finger. 
The door to the basement flung against the cement 
wall. Chips of sandy grey cement showered the floor. 
Ruth stood in  the doorway, white l ight streaming in  
around her. She held her  throat with one hand, waving 
something indistinguishable in the other into a silhouet­
ted blur. He could hear a faint gasp, air and bubbling. 
" Rusty . . .  " 
She dropped to her knees, waving for him to come 
up. 
" Rusty? What is it?" 
Yellow saliva ful l  of bubbles dripped from the corner of 
her mouth. 
jacob got out of the car and took a couple steps towards 
her. 
Ruth dropped the object in  her hand. jacob started up 
the stairs. As he reached the top, Ruth had already fallen 
back on the floor, gasping a monotone bubbling buzz. He 
picked her u p  from behind, wrapped his arms about her 
torso and wondered if he should squeeze his fist under 
her ribs; but he had hesitated too long. The gasping 
1 0 3  
Northridge Review 
stopped. Her dry yellow eyes stared off into space. 
jacob cleared his throat and set her down quietly. He 
lightly fingered the chicken breast she had dropped on 
the floor. She really wasn't so fat. I n  fact, she looked 
almost as lovely as she did when he had married her. H e  
stood. "Unbelievable," h e  muttered. 
And he thought it too. It couldn't be. H e  had stood 
there staring while his wife choked to death. H e  couldn't 
do anything. H e  knew what to do; the Heimlich Man­
euver would have saved her. Squeezing below the 
diaphragm created pressure i n  the l u ngs, forcing any 
foreign object to be expelled. He just couldn't do it. The 
same hesitation that kept him from completing anything 
he ever did struck again. 
jacob watched his smoldering soldering iron burn a 
charcoal black hole in  his work bench. For the longest 
time he had worked on a time machine to go forward. A 
mind full of theories proved useless because he couldn't 
do anything with them. N ow, here he was, naturally in the 
future, unable to go backwards to his wife. He couldn't 
even unplug the soldering iron. 
1 04 


The Coriolis Effect

Comenas, Cathy

Mari\u27s Backyard

Klein Healy, Eloise

Eloise Klein Healy 
Roofs 
Roofs. Now which color wins? 
Red shows best, but if I wait 
then there are many green ones 
and mine is the newest. 
Mine is new but plain. 
The old green one down the hill 
is laid on with a scallop design 
so it looks like a fish-
net or mossy old carp. 
Another one, maybe its garage, 
swims alongside it, pointed upstream 
toward Silverlake Reservoir. 
When I think about it, 
my house is on the bank 
and not swimming away. 
You could tie a boat to my cypress. 
You could think you were in a painting 
in this light, this time of day, 
ready to fish. 


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The Coriolis Effect

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Roofs

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