California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Svoboda, Jeannette

* 
jeannette Svoboda 
I h ike slowly u p  Rocky Peak Road 
it is seven on a sum mer morn ing 
one h undred and thi rteen degrees, 
there's a snake laid long 
across the m iddle of the d i rt road 
I throw smal l  pebbles 
near its sh iny black and yel low skin, 
I throw smal l rocks 
on its spread strength, 
it won't move 
it is fat and fu l l  of n ight m ice 
I throw a big rock 
it h its hard thickness, 
m uscles twitch, s lowly it pu l l s  itself 
into the crackl ing dry weeds. 
when I get home, hot, 
I grab the sh iny green hose by the neck 
turn on the pent flow 
stick my face in  the cold water 
and stay al l  afternoon 
89 


English

I hike slowly up Rocky Peak Road

Means-Ybarra, Ricardo

ricardo means-ybarra 
Whe,n she came 
to the door 
hammers stopped and they set to 
pu l l i ng  bent nai ls, 
the foreman stayed In the rafters 
joints newly set and bolted 
the flow of wood 
his fingers white on the grain .  
It was the sunset of nuns 
wal king to rosary, 
a man looks at an old letter, 
a woman brushes her hair on the porch, 
wind sets on wet plaster, 
and 
the blood hot whine of a 16 penny nai l  
pu l l ing away. 
12 


When she came to the door

Collins, Stephen

stephen collins 
Christmas Eve 
Plashlessly we dove into a biting December wind 
she lead ing,  and cut through  the n ight 
l i ke sharks through black water. 
Down Rodeo i n  stained levi's past 
closed shops with store-front windows 
ful l of jewelry, white fur, close-circuit TV, 
we dreamt of money and what we'd buy 
taste style class were her words 
fluttering perpetual from l i ps, l iquid red . 
Most of a l l  she said she wanted a Goodyear b l imp 
to say anyth ing she felt in  the sky 
then they'd have to l isten. 
And I said into d istracted eyes, 
Isn't it interesting how peasants 
used to go to Shakespeare plays and now 
the rich go to plays and peasants watch TV? 
I'm an arrogant son of a bitch sometimes 
but only when the curtain's up, the stage is set. 
How often do I get to see myself candid? 
Only in  a memory, maybe in  a poem. 
At home I d ressed her in  Christmas tinsel 
whirled her in  a garland of gold as she gigg led, 
stacked g i fts at her feet. I planted a kiss 
on her nose then swiftly to her l ips 
unti l  she pul led away, a lways. 
We d ined on bananas and barbacue potato ch ips 
by candle l ight smoking g rass l isten ing to 
Beethoven whi le I faithfu l ly wrote it al l  down 
on the back of an envelope 
so I could use it now. 
74 
Sometimes I th ink I hear the phone ring ing 
when I 'm not home,  whi le I 'm walking away 
she cal ls to me, voicelessly, as in a dream 
and I can a lmost feel her fingers spread 
through my hair to the back of my neck. 
1 reach out to hold the wind as it slips by 
and end up hugging myself. 
75 


Christmas Eve

Klein, Sean

Life of Crime

Williams, Kathleen

kathleen williams 
New Age Lament 
In days gone by the art of verse 
Was not enlisted just to curse 
Or let it all hang out. 
The poet's task, indeed his duty 
Dealt with goodness truth and beauty 
Or subjects thereabout. 
However since the time of Freud 
Another tack has been employed 
Call it what you may 
Rhymes that I consider too blunt 
Are applauded now as "up front" 
I am "blown away." 
Defecation, menstruation 
I detect a slight fixation 
On the author's part 
Some aspects of copulation 
Seem best left to imagination 
What became of art? 
Love was once the muse's watchword 
Its replacement is an f-word 
Told in bold parlance 
I consider such devices 
Unauthorized by poetic license 
Give me back romance. 
65 


New Age Lament

Walton, Wendy

Untitled

Stetler, Paul

Paul Stetler 
Silly Putty 
My roommate, Mark, walks in the door. He grabs the 
last Henry's out of the fridge and asks what I'm watching. 
" Bonanza," I say. 
H e  sits on the couch next to me and watches as Little 
)oe takes on two bad guys. H e  doesn't say anything until 
the commercial. 
"Are you going to be home, tonight?" he asks. 
"Yeah. Why?" 
" No reason. Lori and her friends are coming by, that's 
all." 
"Lori?" I ask. 
"Yeah." 
''Why Lori?'' 
Mark looks at me. 
''I thought you were over her," I say. 
"I am." 
"Well, then, why did you invite her over?" 
He doesn't answer me. Bonanza is back on. Little Joe is 
in jail, now. The sheriff doesn't l ike anybody beating up 
his townspeople. 
Lori is Mark's ex-girlfriend. She broke up with h i m  
about a year ago. I t  took h im a long time to get over it. H e  
was i n  love with her. 
A pretty girl brings Little joe a picnic basket. 
"A-Ha!" Mark says. 
"A-Ha, what?" 
" He's going to smooth talk her into getting him out 
of jail." 
"Oh." 
" I  like Little joe," Mark says. " He's always got the upper 
hand with women. Knows how to manipulate them. H e  
never gets hurt/' 
Mark is the same way. Except with Lori. But that was a 
25 
Northridge Review 
long time ago. When she broke up with him, he was hurt 
pretty bad. He decided never to let that happen again. I 
wonder why he invited her over. 
The phone rings. 
"Answer that," I say. "Wil l  ya?" 
Mark looks at me. 11Why?" 
''Because if it's that girl I took out last Friday, tell her I'm 
not home." 
"Who? That girl from your class?" 
"Yeah, Sharon. She's called me at least three times in 
the past two days. I think she wants to have my baby." 
Mark smiles. "Sorry, pal. You're going to have to do your 
own heartbreaking.'' 
The phone rings a third time. ''So you're not going to 
answer it?" 
" Nope." 
"God damn it/' I say and pick u p  the receiver. 
" Hel lo?" 
It's for Mark. 
''Who is it?" 
" Donna." 
He takes the phone. Donna is gorgeous. She graduated 
with Mark last year from U.S. C.: A degree in Bio-Chem­
istry. Top three in her class. They have been dating for 
about a month. She's madly in love with him. 
" H i  Donna," Mark says. " Listen, can I call you back in 
about an hour? I 'm in the middle of something kind of 
important. -Thanks." 
H e  hangs up and watches as the girl hits the sheriff over 
the head with a gun and opens little Joe's cell. 
"Told ya," Mark says to me. 
On their first date, Mark took Donna to his ten year old 
nephew's junior league basketball game. Afterwards, he 
took her, and the team, to Shakey' s for pizza and root 
beer. Their next date, he took her skeet shooting with his 
26 
Paul Stetler 
shoot and by the end of the day, she actually hit two clay 
pidgeons. Their third date, Mark didn't have any money 
so he invited her over to our place for dinner. The apart­
ment was a mess, but the table was set beautifully: 
Expensive china and silverware that his grandparents had 
given us as a housewarming gift, embroidered napkins 
and gold mounted candles. For dinner he served two 
grilled cheese sandwiches. They drank ice-cold mi lk out 
of crystal champagne glasses. I got home from the res­
taurantjust past midnight and they were playing charades 
i n  the living room. When I went to bed, she practically 
raped him on the living room couch. She's called prac­
tically every day since then. 
One night I was home alone. I was making dinner when 
the doorbell rang and when I opened it, Donna was 
standing there with a half dozen heart-shaped helium 
balloons. Mark was on a date with someone else that 
night, so I wasn't sure what to say. 
" H e  isn't here. I haven't seen him all day." 
"Yeah, I know,'1 she said. " He's on a date with that girl 
from his work. I just wanted to drop these off." 
I let her go into Mark's room and arrange the balloons. I 
went back to the kitchen and dumped the noodles into 
the boiling water. When she emerged from the room a 
few minutes later, I was draining the excess oil from the 
meat into the sink. · 
"Just making myself some spaghetti," I said. "Would 
you care for some?" 
" N o  thanks, I just ate. But I will have a beer if you've 
got one." 
I grabbed two Henry's out of the fridge. Donna took 
one and sat down on the kitchen counter. I stirred the 
Ragu sauce. 
''This is a really nice place," she said. " How long have 
27 
Northridge Review 
you two been here?" 
"About six months. We used to live in an on-campus 
apartment." 
She took a sip of her beer. 110h, really? How long have 
you known him?" 
"Mark? God, I don't know, about ten years now. We 
met in the seventh grade." 
"That's a long time." 
I looked at her. She was wearing a black skirt and an 
oversized white sweater. Her legs were long and tan. She 
had medium length blondish-brown hair that she kept in 
a light perm. Her eyes were a deep green. She was one of 
the prettiest girls I have ever met. 
"You really like him, don't you?" I said. 
She smiled and took a sip of her beer. 
II I s  he the only guy you go out with?" 
She nodded her head. II He's the only guy I like right 
now.'' 
" Doesn't it bother you that he goes out with other 
girls?" 
She shrugged her shoulders. II I don't know. Not really, I 
guess. He's completely different than the other guys I've 
gone out with. He's thefirstguy I've metthat doesn'twant 
to get serious. He just l ikes having a good time." 
I took the noodles off of the burner and strained them 
in the sink. Donna finished her beer and threw the bottle 
into the trash. 
II I guess what I like best about him is that he never tries 
to impress anybody. He doesn't try to be anything he 
isn't." 
I mixed the Ragu sauce in with the meat and stirred 
them together. 
'' But I suppose I would l ike to see if I could get him to 
stop seeing other girls and just go out with me. I guess it's 
28 
Paul Stetler 
kind of a challenge." 
I dumped the noodles on the plate. "Well, if you ever 
give up on that nut," I said, "let me know, will ya?" 
She smiled. I poured the meat and sauce onto the 
noodles. 
Besides Donna, there are at least three other girls that 
are always calling him. H e  likes them all, but if they aren't 
around, he doesn't think much about them. H e  really 
doesn't care that much. Mark seems to have mastered the 
art of enjoying h i mself and whatever it is he  is doing at the 
given moment. I try to figure out why he invited Lori. 
When Bonanza is over, I go to my room and sit at my 
desk. I look at the two framed photographs on my desk 
top: Mark and I, in our freshman year at U.S.C., in our 
dorm room amongst a pile of open books and lecture 
notes. Crystal and I, clad in gown and tux, at my brother's 
wedding. Crystal is my ex-girlfriend. She broke up with 
me last month. I open a drawer and pull  my journal out. I 
read over last weeks entry: 
November 6, 1986 
T h i n gs are gett ing  better. Got an A on my 
Hemingway paper. I may graduate yet. 
Got drunk with Mark last night. Had a heavy con­
versation about life. H e  says that true love doesn't 
exist. It 's just a non-existant goal we have been 
taught to strive for. 
I called Crystal last week and asked her to come 
back. She said no. I can't believe I did that. Mark says 
that it's natural; we all want what we can't have. 
I think I 'm starting to get over her. 
It's 8:30. I'm on the couch watching Humphrey Bogart 
29 
Northridge Review 
and Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep when Mark walks in the 
door with two shopping bags. I turn down the TV and help 
him u nload. A twelve-pack of Michelob. Th ree four-packs 
of wine coolers. Potato chips. Dip. Hot dogs. Popcorn. 
I point to the Michelob. "What's wrong with Henry's?" 
" Lori doesn't like it." 
"Oh. Can I have one?" 
" No. Wait until they get here." 
I go back to the couch. Bogart is trying to smooth talk 
Bacall into untying him. 
"Smoother than Little joe," I say. 
"What?" 
" Bogie. He's smoother than Little joe." 
Mark isn't listening. He's busy wash ing  the dishes.  
"Would you mind cleaning up that mess," he  says, refer­
ring to the remains of my lunch from Burger King. 
"Why?" 
" Because I have guests coming over. Don't you usually 
clean-up when you invite people over?" 
"Yes, but I've never seen you do it before." 
"Well, I'm doing it now. Would you mind?" 
I throw all the wrappers into the bag and throw the bag 
into the garbage. When Mark is finished with the dishes, 
he takes the garbage out. He wipes down the coffee 
table, the dining-room table, and the kitchen counter. He 
runs the vacuum over the carpet. Our apartment looks 
good. 
Mark takes a shower. He puts on a nice pair of slacks 
and a button down shirt. He looks good, too. 
"Aren't you going to change?" he asks me. 
I 'm wearing an old faded pair of jeans and a high school 
football sweatshirt. 
"Why?" 
"You look like a bum.''  
3Q 
Paul Stetler 
He wore army pants the night Donna came over. 
II So?'' 
" I'd appreciate it if you changed." 
I go to my room and put on a less faded pair of jeans and 
a polo shirt. I'm thinking maybe I ' l l  go see a movie. I have 
no money, though. I decide to stay. 
The girls show up a little after nine. Lori and her friends 
Beth and Monica. Monica is pretty cute. Beth is over­
weight and has braces on her teeth. 
11You remember Tom, don't you?" Mark is saying to 
Lori. 
110f course I do," Lori says, and gives me a hug. But it's 
not a real hug. It's more like a cheerleader hug. Lori was a 
cheerleader in high school. She's very pretty, but doesn't 
come close to Donna. 
Mark breaks out the booze. Beth and Monica opt for 
wine coolers. Mark and I start on the beer. Lori wants to 
make Pina Colladas. We don't have the ingredients, we 
explain to her, so would she settle for a Bartles and 
Jaymes? No, she really wants a Pi na Collada. Could some­
body please go buy the necessary ingredients? Mark says 
he will. I think he's kidding but he isn't. H e  gets his jacket 
and he and Lori set off to the liquor store. 
I try talking to Beth and Monica. Monica is a hair stylist 
in the Valley. Beth is a cashier at Alpha Beta. Neither go to 
school. They both have boyfriends. Beth thinks hers is  
cheating on her and Monica is thinking about cheating on 
hers. Monica pul ls out a cigarette. She looks ridiculous 
with it in her mouth. We don't have an ashtray. I give her a 
soup bowl. 
Mark and Lori are back with the stuff. We make a whole 
pitcher ful l  of Pina Colladas. Lori has one, then switches 
over to beer. Mark turns on the stereo. We s it  around 
31 
Northridge Review 
listening to Johnny Reno and the Sax Maniacs. 
Lori is rummaging through her purse. She pulls out a 
plastic egg and opens it up. A small ball of clay falls out. 
She picks up the clay and rolls it between her hands. 
" H ey," Mark says, watching her. ''Are you still playing 
with that sil ly putty stuff?" 
"She sure is," Beth says. "We went to the store yester­
day and she bought four eggs of it." 
Lori smiles and takes a sip of beer. Monica lights an­
other cigarette. 
" What's sil ly putty'" I ask. 
"Oh, you know," Mark says. " It's a kids toy. It's l ike a 
ball of clay." 
"Yeah, and you can mold it into things," Monica says. 
"Well, anyway," Mark tells me, " Lori's always been 
really good at molding this silly putty into little animal 
shapes and stuff. They look incredibly real." 
" It's just a hobby," Lori says, pul l ing out a little plastic 
instrument from her purse. She starts working on the 
sil ly putty. 
"She made this really cute little cat yesterday," Monica 
says between drags. "You should have seen it." 
I get up to go to the bath room. When I get back, Mark is 
talking about how he saved the next door neighbor's cat. 
It's a funny story. I've heard h im tell it before. I t  isn't very 
funny tonight. He's not telling it right. He's trying too 
hard. The t iming is off. No one laughs. Lori makes a sarcas­
tic remark about it. 
I watch Lori. She is working intently on the clay (it 
already resembles something from the animal kingdom) 
yet doesn't miss a word of the conversation. 
The album is over. Mark gets up to flip it over. 
"Can we hear something else?" Lori asks. " I  hate this 
group.'1 
32 
Paul Stetler 
"Sure," Mark says. " I'm getting kind of tired of these 
guys, anyway." 
"You just bought the album two days ago," I say. 
Mark gives me a dirty look. 
I've switched over to Pina Colladas. I 'm starting to get 
drunk. Lori seems to be finished molding the clay with her 
hands. It looks sort of like a little man. She starts carving 
features into it with the plastic knife. 
We start playing charades. Mark is great at charades. 
He goes first: 
Television show. One word. Three syllables. First syl­
lable. Bone. Second syllable. Small word. And. Third syl­
lable. (Sounds like '1draw".) Saw. Bon e - And - Saw. 
I know what it is but let the girls try and guess. They 
repeat the three syllables. Bone- And - Saw. Bone-And­
Saw. BoneAndSaw. Boneandsaw. Lori stops working on 
her sculpture. Beth and Monica look at each other. They 
can't figure it out. I can't take it. 
" Bonanza!" I scream. 
"Shit," Lori says. " I  was just about to say that." 
Mark gives m e  another dirty look. 
" I  hate that show,'' Lori says. 
" How can you hate Bonanza?" Mark asks. 
"I just do. It's boring." 
"Well, what about Little joe?" I ask. "Whatdo you think 
about him?" 
" He's a wimp." 
I stand up and go to the kitchen to make another 
pitcher of Pina Colladas. Monica whispers something to 
Beth and they both laugh. Lori wants to know what they 
said and Beth whispers something to her. All three of 
them laugh. I sit down at the kitchen table. 
" It's all finished," Lori says. She puts the figure down on 
33 
Northridge Review 
the coffee table. I get up to take a look. It's a sculpture of a 
little monkey. I carefully pick it up. It is incredibly real 
looking. The face, the body, the hands and feet. A little 
paint and it would be a perfect replica. I can't believe it. 
The whole thing took her less than twenty minutes. 
" Let me see," Mark says. 
I hand it to him. After everybody gets a good look at it 
and after we all take turns complimenting her, Lori takes 
the monkey, rolls it up into a ball of si l ly putty, and puts it 
back in the plastic egg. 
" I'm hungry," she says. 
Mark gets up. "We've got potato chips, popcorn, or hot 
dogs," Mark says. " Take your pick." 
Lori thinks for a second. " Bacon and eggs." 
" Yeah," Mark says. "That does sound good." H e  gets 
up, goes to the kitchen, and turns on the stove. 
I stand up. " Jesus Christ! I cannot believe this!" 
"What's wrong with you?" Mark asks from the kitchen. 
Lori sits on the barstool at the kitchen counter. Beth and 
Monica look at me. 
''What's wrong with me!?" I look at him scouring the 
refrigerator for eggs. "Oh, Christ." 
I grab my pitcher and go to my room. I open my journal 
and begin an entry: 
November 1 4, 1986 
Tonight I have witnessed the most pathetic act in 
the history of mankind . . .  
The phone rings. Mark answers it in the next room. 
There is a knock on the door. " It's for you," he 
says. 
I think of Sharon, the girl from my class. "Tell her 
34 
Paul Stetler 
I'm not home." 
Mark sticks his head in the door. ''It's Crystal." H e  
closes the door. 
I look at the phone. I can't believe it's her. I pick up the 
receiver and listen for a moment. 
" H ello?'' 
" H i, Tom." 
" Crystal! How are you?" 
" I'm doing just great, thanks. How about yourself?" 
Oh, not too bad. jeeze, this is kind of a su rprise. Is any-
thing wrong?" 
''No, not at all. I just wanted to see how you were doing. 
I haven't talked to you for awhile." 
" I  know. It's been a long time." I sit on the edge of my 
bed. "So, how have you been?'' 
"Oh, pretty good," she says. " Listen, Tom, do you mind 
if I ask you a small favor?" 
" Not at all." 
" Do you think it would be okay if you could call me 
back? This is a long distance call and I don't want to run 
my parents' bill up." 
" N o  problem," l say. "598-5288?" 
"That's it." 
"Okay, I'll call you right back." 
I hang up and wait for the dial tone. As I dial her num­
ber, I hear Mark in the next room. 
" How do you want those eggs? Scrambled or over­
easy?" 
I finish dialing and realize that my hand is sweating. I 
hope I don't make a complete fool of myself like I did the 
last time I talked to her. 
35 


Silly Putty

Willging, Mary

Mary Willging 
Waiting 
A clam b u ried d e e p  
down i n  the wet san d, I wait ­
shel l sealed s h ut 
fee l i n g  o n l y  the d i stant rhyth m i c  t h u d  
that can n ot reach far enough 
below to fi n d  m e. 
Even as the t i d e  c reeps  n earer 
an d the ocean' s  p u l s e  s u rrou n d s  m e, 
I re main  b u r rowed, ref u s i n g  to su rface. 
I m u st be d ug u p, 
p ried open,  
c l eaned out. 
90 


Not a member yet

I hike slowly up Rocky Peak Road

When she came to the door

Christmas Eve

Life of Crime

New Age Lament

Untitled

Silly Putty

Waiting

Interview with Jello Biafra

City\u27s Edge

2,246

2,976