june 2020
antonym
&
reflection
action
*
As of May 31, 2020 | Esther Anderson As of June 1, 2020 | Esther Anderson Spinning | Caroline Wolfe-Merritt Harry Dean Stanton | Christopher Barrett A Kitchen of Organisms | Anannya Uberoi There's catfish as big as cars and snappers as a big as washtubs in the bottom of that lake | Kate Marie Wallace Fire-Spewing Nipples, Cannibalism, & Cancer: Meet Saint Agatha of Sicily | Tianna Anderson The Jewish Pharmacist | Esther Anderson Racial Divide | Johanna Monson Geerts Still Standing | Chaz Rhoutsong i never do it on purpose | Erin Laine waiting for a phoenix | Johanna Monson Geerts life passes by | Anna Barrett contributors
Please note: pieces of a sensitive nature (either in terms of language or thematic content) are starred [*] so you can pass over them if needed
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CONTENTS
contents
36 37 38 39 40 41 42 44 45 46 47 48 50 52
Letter From the Editors section I: reflection Aloe Vera | Elisabeth Newton summer 1997 | Erin Laine Black Suede Shoes | Austyn Harwick Black Suede Shoes | Austyn Harwick Untitled Abstract | Kate Marie Wallace Love and Alzheimer's | Anannya Uberoi Individuality & Unity | Tianna Anderson one eyed man | Christopher Barrett Stilll Your Own | Harri Drake lookout | Anna Barrett section II: action
Dear Readers, Last month, we put out our very first issue of antonym—and this month, thanks to you, we're able to do it all over again. What began as a fairly cobbled-together endeavor has proven sustainable, and we're beyond grateful to the many who make this possible. It's been incredibly special for us to get to piece together a written and visual capsule of our time. We would be remiss to release this issue of antonym without mention of the national and international happenings of June 2020. Since the founding of antonym, in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic, we have witnessed and participated in crucial discussions and actions that recognize and work to rectify the United States' deeply-ingrained racism, as well as throughout the rest of the world. Several of the published pieces directly deal with these issues as well as the current political climate. And since creative work is always conceived in the context of its environment, other works offer subtle responses as well. In maintaining our mission to leave room for all types of response and connection, we continue to hold space for work that pertains to many facets of life. In true antonym spirit, we have continued to accept submissions without the limits of medium or subject matter. And in turn, that diverse mix of submissions has led us to June’s theme: reflection & action. Reflection is a word that may bring to mind contemplation, observation, and meditation while action is a word reminiscent of motion and—especially in the context of recent events—rapid change. Yet in life, these two states of being are often interspersed in surprisingly complementary ways. Though we have divided this issue into two sections, each representing one of our themes, we invite you to notice the ways movement appears within the “reflection” section as well as how thoughtfulness is present throughout the “action” portion. We hope you are able to find joy, solace, strength, and motivation in these works. Sincerely, Anna Barrett, Johanna Monson Geerts, and Madeline Wallace.
Cover “big eyes” by Christopher Barrett. antonym logo by Micaela Levesque. Edited using Lucidpress. Digital layout and editing by Anna Barrett, Johanna Monson Geerts, and Madeline Wallace. Submission slection, copyediting, and layout by Anna Barrett, Johanna Monson Geerts, and Madeline Wallace. https://antonymlit.com
letter from the editors
When I was one year old my mother promised me donuts. She carried me to the driveway, sheltered from the Houston heat by our ash tree’s overgrown branches. She buckled me in my car seat and started the car; or at least, she tried. The battery was dead. Lights had been left on the night before. Instead of telling me “we can’t get donuts today,” my mother put me in a basket on her bike. We rode miles to the donut shop, and I imagine the sweat glistening on my mother’s forehead, the wind whipping back her long, curly hair. I imagine myself in a tiny pink helmet, rosy cheeked, beaming into the wind. When she recounts the story I ask, “I was only a baby. Why didn’t you tell me no?” My mother responds, “Well, I promised you donuts. I had never broken a promise to you!” I don’t remember the bike ride, but I remember the donut shop’s green walls, a bag full of glazed donut holes, my mother’s unbroken promise.
Erin Laine
Aloe Vera
summer 1997
Elisabeth Newton
Black Suede Shoes
Austyn Harwick
The sun turned dark, and the stars fell A fear, a sadness so deep I sang a Christmas song Hair too perfect, my too-tight outfit on Of the thought that I’ll be reunited with my paragon A frightened congregation, a blue pew, and ridiculous smell of perfume Though I had my black suede shoes, surprisingly a little happiness too He fears much of my love, now or then, my feelings on that don’t matter All these eyes that would rather see golden chandeliers see my sin From my heart to the end, I was his fool, but they were sadly mistaken His hidden rage lust won, in my sorrow, I only had too much fun The thing dearest, the thing that kept me strong: Black suede shoes, and spear right through my broken design
We keep sipping on crystal ware, tumblers coffee mugs, pitchers, kettles – cafés these days are creative with crockery. You like blue and green colored drinks, I like pale stalks popping out of mouths of wine bottles splitting into tiny tendrils between us – the pothos plant thrives on neglect. I keep forgetting to pick one up for the kitchen, and you are undecided; forget-me-nots taped around mason jar candles and sticky notes clamped to fridge magnets are quite my style of remembering things. We keep meeting halfway here, halfway there, halfway through evenings kissing in half rests of pieces playing in dim lit diners until we can hold back no more. We keep going to the same places because memory follows, and familiarity is a warm rib-knit scarf on a winter walk.
Anannya Uberoi
Untitled Abstract
Kate Marie Wallace
Love and Alzheimer’s
I. Individuality There is a place that isn’t so much a place as it is a memory, a feeling. From where skull meets spine I scratch out a blue cinema. I am swimming in a barley field, the sky is faithful and the pale light engulfs me. There is no tomorrow or past and I am dancing and leaping without fear of falling. My feet don’t touch the ground and my fingertips graze the sky. I am small enough to sit inside of the pink flowers I pass and big enough to drink clouds. I am faster than horses, I am graceful as cats, I am free.
II. Unity I run into the deepest part of the ocean where there is no shore or boats. The indigo water is mercy salted with forgiveness and I float on a kelp bed of gratitude. I am both entirely alone and connected to all those I love. I close my eyes and hold their hands. The sky disappears and the fields of flowers fade away and there is only the ocean and a girl with the universe in her mouth and I am and I am and I am and I am and I am and I am.
and I am and I am and I am and I am and I am.
Tianna Anderson
Individuality & Unity
Harri Drake
Still Your Own
Em could barely hold her phone; her hands shook and her thumb hovered over the ‘end call’ button. She tossed it onto her newly made bed and glowered at it. Leo V. shined up at her, as if he was really laying there next to her, fingers tracing gentle patterns into her knee. Why haven’t I deleted that yet? She thought. She was glad that she’d gone ahead and erased the picture attached to his contact. It was taken at some stupid Fourth of July shindig his parents had thrown. It was a very cute picture: Leo was in a baseball hat and swim trunks, a beer in his hand and Em on his lap, and Em was wearing a dreaded bikini and had a mess of pool hair around her shoulders. It was the first picture to go—right before the picture of Leo in his tacky Christmas sweater, Kitty perched on his shoulder with little antlers on her head. That same Kitty had escaped in the middle of the night, leaving Em to wake up an hour later than usual only to tear her apartment apart trying to find the little shadow of a cat. She looked everywhere Kitty liked to hide or nap, put down an excessive amount of wet cat food, and even started a shower. But the stupid idiot never appeared. Twenty-four years old and you can’t even find a stupid cat, she thought. Have to call your boyfriend for help—need a man to solve all your problems for you. But he’s not my boyfriend anymore, is he? The thought fired before Em could stop it; she smacked her forehead rather than end the still-dialing call. Was the service in her apartment that bad? That it couldn’t connect to the service in Stone Square? Leo’s apartment—their old apartment—had better service than most major cities and a monthly rent to match. But the numbers hadn’t even popped up to show how much of her life she’d ticked away on the phone with him. She didn’t want to see the total number, the hundreds of thousands of hours the two must have spent on the phone together: him shuffling through airports, her pausing at work, the hurried conversations about Kitty eating something and running her to the vet. Goddamnit, Kitty, Em thought as the phone finally kicked over. Contact. She’d never waited for Leo to pick up the phone. He usually called her first or knew to expect her. Leo liked to call people and talk on the phone; he always said he liked hearing the meter their voices had and that he could say more over the phone than a text. Em preferred texting, but she knew Leo couldn’t exactly text her if he was driving a rental car around whatever city he was playing in. When they first got together, Leo would show up at the bar where Em worked on his nights off, getting a couple beers and some salsa before he tipped Em twenty-five percent for her trouble. Leo inadvertently bought Em drinks for the first three months of their relationship.
Christopher Barrett
one eyed man
Now, Leo answered on the second ring. “Hello?” It was his gritty morning voice, when he’d roll over and ask Em to pull the curtains more closed on a Sunday. The one she usually woke up to because Kitty wanted to play with Leo’s feet or nestle herself further between them. You’re a cat, he would tell her in the same voice, I’m the human: I get to curl up with Em, not you. Kitty always bit him after that. “Hey, it’s me.” For a second, Em actually believed that her greeting was far too casual. That for some reason Leo wouldn’t recognize her. “Can I help you?” His voice was rough: freshly-ground-coffee-scattered-along-the-floor- from-the-remains-of-a-shattered-French-press rough. She sighed. “Would I have called you otherwise?” “If I wanted you to pull this shit,” he hissed, “we’d still be dating. Now what the fuck are you calling me at eight in the morning about?” Emilee. There should have been an Emilee somewhere in there. A thought rattled around in her head before she could stop it: he’s with someone. Someone that shouldn’t overhear him talking to his ex. “Did I interrupt something?” Em asked. Leo sighed. “Yes, but it would be a shame if you’d interrupted it just to waste my time.” The last time Leo told her that, she’d been so drunk that she couldn’t be trusted to lay down. She’d called him—just to hear his voice—and he was at her apartment in a flash. When she answered his knock, Leo was clad in a white shirt, the same tweed pants he was wearing when they met, and his hair was the kind of messy you spend hours working to achieve. He’d been on a date; he dropped her off to come look after Em and buy her fries. “I’m sorry,” Em muttered. “Don’t,” he groaned and there was a shuffling on the other end. “Don’t get all meek and chickenshit when you started off so spiteful.” “Kitty’s gone,” Em said. A door shut somewhere near Leo. There was another pause. “She’s…gone?” He asked. Em could tell he’d quirked an eyebrow. Em nodded, then realized he couldn’t see. “Yes, I woke up and she wasn’t there.” “What do you mean she wasn’t there?” “I mean she wasn’t sitting on my chest meowing at me.” “She never did that to you,” Leo said grudgingly. “Kitty only ever woke me up for food.”
“She started doing it to me when she realized…” When she realized you weren’t coming to get us like we both hoped. He sighed and Em heard a faint pop. “Right. Okay, so—you woke up and she wasn’t lying there with you? And you think she’s…what? Missing? A runaway?” “I know she’s missing because I fed her and she never came. I clanked a spoon around in a bowl and on a can before I poured her dry food; she never came out.” “Have you tried the hamper?” Leo offered as a kitchen cabinet shut on his end. It squeaked a little as it did so, and the only one that ever squeaked was the top left on the furthest wall. Leo kept his coffee stuff in there, as if the annoying chirps of a rarely-repaired cabinet would keep others from wanting coffee. “You know, I nearly threw her into the washing machine one time because she was curled up under some shirts.” In spite of everything, Em laughed at that. He didn’t know he had Kitty in a bundle of clothes until it started moving. He promptly dropped them and tried to fish her out, but she bit his hand the second she saw him. Em cleaned it, blotted what little blood sprang up, and pressed a kiss to the pinpricks. “Yes, I looked. I even started a shower.” Leo was scooping coffee into a french press (Leo made coffee every day, sometimes four times a day, and after half a year Em still heard the sound in her sleep) but stopped. There was a long pause and she wasn’t sure what to say. Had the girl he’d been with woken up? Climbed out of bed and made her way into the living room wearing one of his sweaters? Or nothing at all? Em wasn’t sure which made her angrier, but she was glad when Leo spoke. “She loves showers,” he whispered. “I know,” Em said, falling back against her bed. They had to bathe her the night they got her and she would have died rather than go into a sink full of warm, soapy water. In a desperate attempt, Leo started a shower and let it run for a minute. Kitty trotted in, already looking for him, and all but ran into the shower. She played in the water and Leo washed her clean of any grime or fleas that had been living rent-free in her fur. Em knew when Kitty rolled over on her back and fell asleep in the warm stream that she’d be an issue. And she was: the little idiot followed both of them into the bathroom and perched on the sink until she was invited into the shower, where she’d turn circles around their legs and sit on one of the shelves. “I hate to keep asking, but you’ve looked everywhere?” “Yes, Leo—I wouldn’t have called you if I hadn’t torn my entire apartment apart. I’ll admit, there isn’t much to tear, but Kitty is nowhere to be found.” Tears were spilling over her cheeks again and she clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the surfacing sob. Can’t let him hear you crying, you can’t let Leo know that you’re feeling something.
said that Kitty needed the good, expensive food—all while Kitty snoozed in the buggy, occasionally licking Leo’s fingers with her splintery tongue. Even then, Leo was the one that demanded Kitty get a name. Stevie, he persisted as Kitty climbed onto his shoulder—which he did not appreciate—or Hex or Sally or something spooky. She’s a black cat, after all, so she has a brand to maintain. Em won that fight, too: the cat was named Kitty and there was no point debating it further. So, Leo didn’t like cats, didn’t like fancy cat beds, didn’t like expensive cat food, and certainly didn’t like Kitty’s name. This whole cat-owning thing was snakebit for him. The cherry on top was when Kitty would curl up and sleep between Em and Leo; when he tried to move her, she would always bite him. It was their little routine. — — — They went to every vet and animal shelter Leo’s GPS could pull up, but to no avail. They even cruised around Em’s apartment building to make sure nothing little and cute darted out of the bushes. Leo’s piano music filled the car as his fingers played the notes perfectly on the steering wheel. Em caught herself watching more than a few times and tore her eyes back to the sidewalk. The middle-of-October chill made the branches jump and leap and there were several times Leo slammed the breaks, only to find that he was stopping for the wind. Leo pulled up next to a park and sat his jacket in Em’s lap. “Let’s take a walk,” he said, shutting the car off. “We walked her on a leash here that one time; maybe she found somewhere she knows.” “You need a jacket, too,” Em muttered, but he’d already reached into the backseat and pulled another out. They slipped out of the car and Em shrugged on the jacket, realizing with a halting sense of dread that it was the jean jacket. She noticed the constellation of red wine on the cuff immediately and knew that if it still lingered, the coffee stain on the collar must still be there. Em and Leo traded this jacket back and forth for a year and a half: Leo spilled coffee on himself about ten minutes into their first date; Em huddled under the jacket for warmth during a trip to a pumpkin patch; and it was the one thing Leo grabbed as he ran out the door during the apartment fire. Em could even remember once taking a nap under it. It was soft and already warm. She shoved her hands into the pockets and tried to ignore the familiar smell of coffee and honey that drifted to her nose. They walked around the park, both unsure of how much and how little to say. They hadn’t exactly talked about the breakup. They’d fought at the bar—while they were both working, which made everything even messier—and Em left in the middle of her shift, taking the time she had before Leo got home to pack up all her clothes and things and drive away. She piled Kitty into the carrier and stopped long enough to wonder if she wanted any of the furniture
He sighed and Em heard the distant rustle of Leo scooping more coffee grounds from a bag. “I’ll call and tell mom and dad I can’t come in,” he said. That only made Em cry more. “No, Leo, that’s stupid,” she said, voice thick. “You don’t need to do that—” “I do, Emilee,” he said. “I know where Kitty hides and the stupid games she likes to play, too.” His voice was gentle and Em felt a twang in her chest. “We’ll get this fixed, we’ll find Kitty, and everything will be okay.” Em nodded and cast her eyes around the room: they landed on the blinds, and she counted the beat of them swinging. “And please, don’t cry.” There was something in his voice that made her feel his nose nuzzling against her hair. She scratched at the feeling. The blinds clanked against the wall. Then it clicked. “She opened the window.” Em could feel the look on Leo’s face through the phone. She stared at the window, imaging Kitty’s little paw as it wedged itself in the tiniest crack between the window and the seal. She could hear Kitty clicking out a claw to help her shimmy the window open wider and wider. “How do you know?” Leo asked, concern finally mounting in his voice. “Because I’m in my bedroom and when have you ever known me to leave my bedroom window open?” “You don’t, because you watched a Ted Bundy documentary when you were eight.” Something clattered onto the counter on Leo’s end. “How the fuck did she manage that?!” “Oh my God,” Em whined, hurrying to her window. “My fire escape—she could have climbed down and jumped into a tree.” “I’ll be there in fifteen,” Leo said, and the line died with a sustained ring. — — — Leo and Em had barely been dating six months when Kitty literally sprinted into their lives. They had just moved in together and were working a late evening at Big Nose Kate’s, helping Olive take out the evening’s trash. Leo tossed a garbage sack into the bin and Kitty darted out from under it, making for one nearer Em. Leo squealed, Olive dropped her own bag, and Em chased after the little black kitten. No cats, Leo called after Em as she laid on the grime covered ground and cooed to Kitty. Thirty minutes and a can of tuna later, Leo was driving all three of them to a vet’s office, grumbling at the potential of adopting a stupid fucking cat. He’d been upset when Em insisted they get Kitty a memory foam bed and even more when Em
“So, three.” Leo said, turning his back to her and starting to walk again. “I knew when you didn’t say my name that there was someone with you,” Em said as she caught up to him. The corner of Leo’s mouth quirked into a smile. “You know me that well?” He sighed. “You’re right, I didn’t want her flying off the handle because I was taking calls from my ex at eight in the morning after sleeping with her the night before.” “But I thought you said you weren’t looking forward to a second episode?” “Oh, I absolutely was not,” Leo laughed. “I just didn’t want a girl screaming at me that early while she was wearing my shirt.” “Not a nice one, I hope.” He only had nice shirts it seemed. It came with the territory of being a composer, concert pianist, and professional violinist: he couldn’t perform in a worn-out t-shirt and sweatpants. Half the time he barely got away with a sweater. Even as she asked, Em knew she could count the number of t-shirts he owned on two hands. “No, one from college.” He’d once let Em curl up in one of his dress shirts. It was crisp, a drab olive, and Em hadn’t even realized she was napping until she woke up on their couch four hours later, a huge crease down the arm and a wrinkle in the side. Leo chuckled. “Remember when you fell asleep in that green shirt and cried because it was so wrinkled that I’d have to dry clean it?” Em groaned and put her face in her hands. “You had to play somewhere the next night,” she said through her palms. “And you had just bought those white pants, so I thought you’d want to wear that shirt and I had just thrown off your outfits for the whole week.” When a teary Em gave Leo back his shirt, he’d tossed it onto their bed and pulled her into a hug, trying to quell the laughter that was rumbling from his chest. Leo’s laugh echoed across the park and Em had to join him. A pause settled between them and he was the first to break it. “How about you,” he asked, pointedly turning to look away from Em. “How’s it gone since…” “Since the night my friends got me drunk in the hopes I’d go home with someone else and ended up with you?” He nodded. Em shrugged. “Oh, fine.” She hadn’t even been on a date or thought about sleeping with another man since she and Leo broke up. She thought about sleeping with him plenty of times, but she’d never been able to extend the same courtesy to someone else. She wasn’t even sure if she wished she could. “Working, mainly.” “Where?”
she’d bought. She also considered taking some of Leo’s coffee just to be mean, but she left the furniture she’d brought, the food she paid for, and even some spare stationary. Everything else was loaded into her car before Leo could get home. She called the bar and said she wouldn’t be coming in and that she was sorry for the short notice, but Olive answered and said she’d had a feeling. “I’m sorry I messed up your day,” Em said now as they passed a swing set. Leo didn’t look at her, but shook his head. “You didn’t interrupt anything I was looking forward to. It’s only the third time you made me cancel a date, anyway.” “Third?” Em asked, stopping in her tracks. “I knew there was one and I had the feeling I’d barged in on another, but three?” Leo stopped several feet ahead and turned to her, regret clear in his navy eyes, but he made no move to say anything. The pair had seen each other once since they broke up six months ago, when Leo abandoned a date to help Em sober up and buy her fries. So, there was one. “Was there one today?” Em asked. He considered for a moment. “A…continuation, of sorts. But the only thing you interrupted was my sleep and, like I said, I wasn’t looking forward to the second episode.” Em blinked. “And I was supposed to go on a date the night after we met.” “We went on a date the night after we met.” “We did, much to the despair of the person I canceled on.” Em and Leo met in a different bar owned by the Vygotsky family: this was the fancy one, where you had to wear nice clothes, the cheapest drink was a ten-dollar whiskey, and the closest thing to a meal was the charcuterie board. Em was on a bachelorette excursion—showing a little more skin than she probably should have been—and Leo was playing piano in the corner, wearing a stupid turtleneck and looking so pretty that he deserved to have his teeth knocked in. During the break in his set, he brought Em a fresh drink and sat next to her. The gaggle of sorority sisters that had been ignoring her declared they were leaving about ten minutes later. We stop letting people in at one, Leo said. I’ll be back by eleven, Em replied. They left at nine and by ten-thirty, she and Leo were sitting at the bar discussing the merits of the different combinations from the charcuterie board. They went on a date the next day, drinking coffee for hours before they got sushi for an impromptu dinner. Em was still very proud to say they kissed on the first date.
“Griffin’s.” Griffin’s was one of the nicer bars in town: Em had to wear an actual button up shirt and a nametag, and only got the job because Olive called the owner and told them to hire her. Leo nodded. “Really nice place. Do they tip well?” Em shrugged. “I’m a new face, so not quite.” His head snapped to her. “You’ve been there six months.” “And I replaced a woman who went on maternity leave and never came back,” Em raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know if you know much about the bartenders at other places, but they don’t really leave Griffin’s; everyone jokes you have to marry in or murder to work there.” “You cashed in on the other ‘m’,” Leo grinned. “Motherhood?” “I can’t decide if it’s the best possible outcome.” He was still smiling and Em could feel a cluster of butterflies knocking around in her stomach. “Stacked up next to marriage and murder,” she considered, unable to look away from him, “it’s not the worst option.” Em and Leo had exactly five fights in the two weeks before they broke up. It was the first time Em realized just how mad Leo could get and what exactly being mad meant for everyone around him. She still wasn’t sure what set him off, but he was pissy for a whole month—it just finally extended to Em in the last two weeks. Their first big fight was about The Future. Were they both the marrying type? What did it matter. Did they want children? How many? Was it important. Leo stormed out and said he’d be back, but didn’t come home until three a.m. Em had been watching a true crime documentary to try and figure out how he’d been murdered when Leo walked in. She screamed, he screamed, she cried, he sat down next to her. There were no apologies, no attempt to continue the conversation, just Em falling asleep with her head resting in the crook of his neck as the narrator talked about a killer collecting shoes. So they were both quick to finish the conversation about motherhood. She said that Griffin’s had good food and good drinks, that the staff was nice but not fully onboard with Em as a bartender yet. They finished the lap around the park and Leo started the car once they came through the clearing. “It’s very nice,” Em said as they got closer to his sparkling car. Leo smiled at it. “Very,” he agreed. “How long have you had it?” “Oh shit,” he muttered as he thought. “A week? Maybe?” “A week?!” He shrugged. “I don’t exactly need a Jag. But I’ve always wanted one.” He held the door open for her and Em watched the color drain from his face. “I take it I’m the second person to ride in it?” She asked, trying to slide in nonchalantly. Leo always held car doors open for her; it was one of those stupid things he did that made her want to kiss him. He did a lot of those—making coffee for her every morning, bringing her chocolate when she felt bad, fetching Kitty for her. But the car door thing? Absolutely stupid and rotten and it made Em want to pull him in with her. She had in one of those dreams she didn’t tell anyone about: Leo held a door open for her and she clutched onto his collar and pressed him against her, the two of them stumbling back into what she assumed was her apartment. She woke up sweating with her heart pounding. She shook that urge off and Leo shut the door. Em let her question settle over her. She might have interrupted last night’s date, but who was to say there weren’t more? Maybe he celebrated owning an E-Pace by having a string of one-night stands? Maybe they weren’t one-night stands? Leo shut his own door and buckled his seat belt before he spoke. “We took separate cars since my lease still covers two parking spots, so you’re the first person to ride in it besides me.” “I beat Olive?” Em said in complete disbelief. Leo’s phone buzzed as it connected to the Bluetooth and something vaguely familiar played over the speakers. He turned to her and smiled, and goddammit it was so sincere and loving that Em thought she’d explode. “Yeah,” he said in a soft voice, “you beat mom.” — — — Em recognized the song because it was one of Leo’s. It was a classical version of an old jazz song, with violin instead of trumpet and piano instead of the singer’s voice. He’d labored over it for days, stringing notes together that didn’t quite fit or were completely wrong on a second listen. He stopped to eat or take a nap, then he’d pick right back up again. I have to finish before I go back to work, he insisted. He played all through the night and accidentally woke her up every two hours; she eventually just sat in the living room with him, Kitty slinking in to curl up next to her on the couch as she drifted off. When she woke up next, Leo was staring at the keys blank-faced, his head in his hands. Hey, she whispered, and he turned. Nap. He didn’t fight her. He did finish the piece and Em tried to stream it, but ended up turning her volume all the way down and letting it play through for a couple hours. She loved Leo and loved his music, but if she had to listen to “La Vie En Rose” one more time she thought she’d die. The next one was a Britney Spears song. He got it done in four hours flat. — — — Leo insisted he buy Em a drink, that she was owed it after she spent the whole day looking for her cat with a less than satisfactory outcome. They split an order of chips, queso, and salsa (Leo always ate the salsa and Em always ate the queso) and Leo got a burger. She was just hungry enough to eat the queso and drink two double margaritas. Leo knocked back two Blanton’s on a ball of ice and kept glancing over his shoulder for his parents. Em, meanwhile, was staring at the bar as if it had cheated on her. She hadn’t been back in Big Nose Kate’s since their fight and while she wasn’t keen on going back, she also wasn’t keen on Leo paying money for her to barely eat. The two of them worked behind that bar for over a year and made a damn good pair of bartenders. They could handle a packed bar and packed restaurant just the two of them, making drinks for all the seats in the house and then some. She liked working with Leo—it was part of the reason she liked dating him. They just…worked. They went well together. “Have any of them come back?” Em asked as Leo finished his drink. He didn’t need clarification. “One did and I threw him out again. Not before he took a swing at me.” Em opened her mouth to say something, but Leo cut her off. “I decked him, don’t worry.” In the last week they’d been together, three customers had made “passes” at Em. They usually involved a hand and Em screaming, so she didn’t count them as true passes. The first one was someone reaching around the bar to smack Em’s ass as she walked by; before she could turn around to grab his hand, Leo had slammed his head into the bar. He told him to leave and never come back—if he did, they’d call the cops and say it was harassment. Em sighed. “You don’t need to do that.” Leo quirked a brow at her. “Keep my promise?” The second guy literally grabbed Em’s arm and tried to pull her to him over the bar. Walt grabbed Em and Leo cracked a glass over the man and pointed to the door. When he refused to leave, Leo brandished a piece of glass at him and Walt told him to either leave in his own car or an ambulance. “I don’t know what they think gives them the right—I mean, look at you. We dated for a year and a half and…I don’t think you ever pulled that shit.” Em couldn’t think of a time where Leo’s hand drifted anywhere close to her ass while they were out. Her back sure, her knee no problem, but there was always a boundary. “I know better,” he said with a smirk. “They were paying customers, so you were tempted to be nice. If I had been the sorry son of a bitch that smacked your ass in public, I’d gotten my mom called on me and my jaw busted.” Em spit her margarita back into its glass and cackled. She tried very hard to ignore the smile blooming across Leo’s face. — — — Leo graduated from a private liberal arts school that had brick buildings with white columns and ivy growing in carefully-maintained sheets. He studied business and music, graduated with honors, and his senior recital was made up of music he composed. Em graduated high school and moved a couple towns over. She didn’t know what she wanted to do and still wasn’t sure what she would study if she went to school, so she never really considered it. She liked bartending, even if she was eighteen when she started and couldn’t drink anything she served. Em only ever felt pressed about it when she first started dating Leo; she thought he might care that she hadn’t even tried to go to community college. She bit the bullet and blurted it out on their official third date. They rented bikes and rode a trail. But Em swerved to avoid someone barreling down at them and fell into the dirt, scraping the absolute hell out of her knee in the process. They peddled back to the starting point, returned their bikes, and Leo drove her home so she could get cleaned up. I didn’t go to college, she said. Leo furrowed his brow and glanced at Em from the corner of his eye. She was holding a towel to her leg so it wouldn’t bleed everywhere and there was a small scrape at her hairline. Em knew she looked insane and that he probably thought she’d hurt her head in the fall. You didn’t miss much, he said. Is that a deal breaker? Leo actually laughed at that. No, Em. He didn’t say anything else and they eventually got all of the dirt out of Em’s leg. A year later, as Em dozed in and out of a fitful sleep with her head on Leo’s chest, he finally continued, I don’t think you could do anything I’d consider a deal breaker. — — — They hadn’t been driving for five minutes when Leo spoke over the violin music. “Did I ever…did I ever apologize?” Em shook her head, not looking up from the temperature knob. “You don’t need to and I don’t want to talk about it.” She hadn’t been very good at keeping Leo out of her head, but she could succeed at keeping him out of her life if they kept avoiding this talk. “Which part?” Her stomach flipped. There were several things she’d like an apology for, but she didn’t want to ask and she certainly wasn’t going to insist he give her one. She’d actually prefer if the whole conversation ended. “Leo, it doesn’t matter.” “Yes it does.” “What’s done is done and there’s no use trying to go back and pick up the pieces from it.” He flicked his blinker on and crossed into the right lane, then onto the shoulder. Holy shit, I’m going to get murdered. Listening to piano music and string orchestras. God, what a way to go. He put the car in park and took off his seat belt, then turned to Em. “I’m sorry I wanted to rock your shit and not in a sexy way.” She just blinked at him, not sure what to say or what he wanted to hear. “I’m sorry that I picked so many fights with you and acted like a jackass when you picked one back.” Em checked one of the needed apology boxes in her head. “No one picked those fights. We just got mad and—” “I’m sorry that I overreact or just react before I can stop myself.” She thought Leo might be reading her mind and ticked another box. “I shouldn’t—that isn’t—” “I’m sorry that I didn’t act up when that man put his hands on you and—” “I’m really not talking about that,” Em cut in, turning away from him. “That’s the root of the issue, then.” Is that what he’d been doing? Saying things and talking until finally something got caught in their teeth? “Straw that broke both camels’ backs is more like it,” she muttered. “Then what else was it?” “What?” “The root issue,” Leo said, his voice sharp “I said I’m not having this conversation.” Em snapped. “It’s not a conversation, Em. If you can’t tell from your own tone of voice, it’s a fight.” “Oh, my tone of voice?!” “Yes!” “I’m sorry that you aren’t taking a very clear no for an answer. It’s not like you would even care to hear it or want to give me the spare time to let me explain what the hell was going on.” “Oh, don’t start that bullshit again,” Leo groaned, resting his elbow on the door. “What bullshit?” “This deflecting that you do when you don’t want to answer a question—” “That I do?! Who left the apartment because they didn’t want to answer the question about having children? Suddenly I’m the bad guy when I feel inferior about—” “I didn’t say anything about you feeling inferior!” Leo pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if trying to squeeze something out. “I just said that you push shit away and don’t bring it up!” “Fine!” She screamed. “I was mad that you didn’t stick up for me and even more mad that you started a fucking fight with me right after. I’m pissed that you want so badly to have this conversation, but couldn’t get through a five second question and answer about whether or not you want to have children. I’m angry because you flew off the handle at not meeting my family and never gave me proper leeway to explain why. Because I wanted you to meet them; I just happen to know they fuck things up for me. And I don’t know if I want kids and I don’t know if you do either and I thought we’d—” Figure it out together. I thought I’d never be without you. The unfinished sentence hung between them like a Christmas tree ornament, shiny and fragile. Either of them could reach out and touch it, poke and prod at the nearly finished conversation and make it spring back to life. They stared at each other, Leo’s face pinched with a tinge of pink and Em’s hands shaking where they clenched in her lap. I’m not having this conversation, she thought, not now and not in a car. But once she’d started, Em knew it was going to be difficult to tamp everything back to where it came from. She ground her teeth together, not sure what she was about to say. “I should never have called you—” “No, Em—” “I shouldn’t have—you didn’t want to help me.” “Don’t—” “But I couldn’t think of anything else to do and I haven’t stopped thinking about you for six months.” She let out a humorless laugh. “I can’t even pretend I’m interested in other people. I get coffee with a friend and I wonder what you’d say about it, I see a bottle of vodka on the shelf and I can hear you talking about how it’s made, I hear a violin and I can critique exactly what they’re doing wrong. I wake up sometimes and think you’ll be next to me. But you…you’re like a cat, though: always landing on your feet. Now you can go and keep not shaving and sleeping with pretty blonde girls and driving a Jag. I’m so glad to see you haven’t stumbled over the memory of me at all.” Leo didn’t say anything. Em kept her eyes trained on the floorboard and her sneakered feet. She felt like she was shrinking into the seat and that she’d disappear forever—she wanted to. She wanted to be so small that she’d get lost in the floor mat, a piece of something that would take the better part of a lifetime to get from the front to the back of the car. She knew how Leo was looking at her and she tried to wipe that face from her mind. Em trained her eyes down, desperate to not look over at him. Because he certainly wasn’t looking anywhere but her. It was a familiar feeling, a look she’d gotten more than a handful of times: in an airport when she’d gotten them seats on an overbooked flight, late nights at the bar when he thought no one was looking, when they were curled up in bed watching an entire TV series. She felt everything she’d wanted to hear in that look. I love you reverberated around her, I love you smacked her across the face, please look at me scratched and itched at her skin. Just like a cat, Leo had been weaving around her feet all day, and she’d finally tripped over him. “Emilee—” “Take me home, Leo.” — — — Unsurprisingly, Em couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about a time, not too long ago, when they had been bingeing an entire series in one night. Leo was more determined to finish it than Em was and she left their nest to get more water. He followed her, a blanket draped over his shoulders, and wrapped both his arms and the blanket around her. Em had just enough time to set down her water before Leo started to sway behind her; she leaned against his chest and let him rock her side to side. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that, how soon after he pulled the blanket from her shoulders and let her shiver in the cold kitchen. — — — Em’s phone rattled on the bedside table and she hmphed at it, reaching one hand over to look at the time. She didn’t work until late tonight and, after yesterday’s disastrous excursion, she had no intention of being up this early. When she blinked at the faded grey screen, she saw Leo V. plastered across it. “Hey?” She said “Answer your door.” “What?” “I’m at the door. Answer it.” “Why?” “Just do it.” Em shut her phone off and threw her covers from her, shuffling groggily to her front door She swung it open and was face to face with Leo. Tucked in his arms, purring and rubbing her head against his chin, was Kitty. Em’s jaw fell open. “Where?” Tears welled up in her eyes as the pounding in her head got louder and louder. Leo shook his head. “I couldn’t get to sleep. I got back up and went back to the park and I was just…walking.” Leo stepped into the apartment and nudged the door shut with his foot. Kitty was purring louder than Em had heard in a while and was still rubbing the sides of her face on Leo’s chin. Everyone always told Em that cats did that to put their scent on people, and she thought dimly that Leo’s scratchy chin must have felt good. “She was playing, I think—running around like a little madwoman!” He lifted the cat from his arms and held her up. “She jumped into a swing when I found her.” He rubbed his nose on the top of her head. “I think she was mad that I didn’t give her a push.” He was cooing at her, as if she was a baby and he was her proud father. Em hadn’t heard him talk to Kitty like this ever; not when they had to get her in a carrier or when she climbed into his lap while he clicked his pen and crossed out entire poems. Em thought she would lose it if Leo didn’t give her Kitty, and—as if on cue—Kitty made a swipe for Leo’s face; she missed because he’d been anticipating an outburst and pulled her away. Em took the opportunity and wrapped her arms around Kitty, who set to purring loudly again and snuggled up in Em’s arms. If he hadn’t kept talking, Em would have forgotten all about Leo for once. “I tried to give her a bath,” Leo continued, reaching up to scratch Kitty behind the ears. “She wasn’t too fond of it, so I had to start a shower and pretended like I was showering. She climbed in.” Em buried her face into Kitty’s fur, tears streaming down her cheeks. Kitty purred still, kneading her little paws against Em’s shoulder. She smelled like the soap Leo used, like honey and cream. The tight feeling in Em’s chest got worse and as she took a deep breath, she got another pull of the unsettlingly comfortable smell. And a clump of cat fur, but that was hardly a problem. “I was so worried,” Em said finally, nuzzling kitty with her nose. “I missed you.” Leo ran a hand down kitty’s back and his fingers brushed along Em’s shoulder; there was a half-second pause before he traced the back of his fingers along Em’s arm. She jumped at the feeling and he pulled his hand away. “Sorry,” he muttered. Em shook her head, still buried in Kitty’s fur, and found her way to a chair. She sat and Kitty squirmed to be in a better spot. Their last conversation clung to the air between them, Kitty’s purrs and pinprick nails punctuating the silence. Leo sat in the chair across from them hesitantly, as if hoping to make as little noise as possible. I can’t look at him, Em reminded herself, and she was even happier for Kitty’s head butts and sandpaper tongue if it kept her eyes off Leo. He was giving her that same look from the car last night and Em felt a warm blanket wrap around her shoulders as her stomach lurched. When they took Kitty to the vet for the second time, Em sat in the lobby and stared past the door they took Kitty through. When Leo came up next to her and placed a hand on her back, all Em could ask was, “Do you think she’ll miss us?” Leo hadn’t heard her—or had and didn’t care. He pressed a kiss to Em’s hair in front of God and everyone on a Tuesday at nine in the morning. “I love you so much, you have no idea,” he whispered, still smelling like coffee and honey as his warm breath flushed across her ear. When their first apartment building caught fire and they stashed Kitty in the car, the two of them waited for the fire on their half of the building to go out. They could see their charred living room when it did, and the remains of a piano threatening to break through the ruined floor was so clearly Leo’s that it made Em cry. “I’m so sorry about the piano,” she whispered, batting away a tear. Leo looked down at her the same way he had last night in the car, as if he hadn’t loved anyone more than he did then, and pressed a kiss to her hair. Even over the smoke, she could smell honey on his skin. But now a tear streaked down her face and she made no move to push it aside. She pressed her nose back into Kitty’s fur, cheeks burning and her eyes aching with the effort it took to not look at Leo. “I’ll, ah—” Leo started; the chair he’d been sitting in creaked as he stood. “I’ll see myself out?” Em didn’t say anything, just gave him a nod so he knew she heard. He stopped on his way to the door and gave Kitty another pet before letting himself out. Em didn’t turn to watch him go, but Kitty did; she lifted her head and chirped as he opened the door. There was a pause, as if he’d stopped to give Em one more chance to turn over her shoulder. If I don’t look up, she thought, he’ll go. But if I turn around, I may ask him to never leave. “I haven’t stumbled over you because I’ve been lying flat on the floor for six months.” The door creaked open and shut with a soft click.
lookout
Anna Barrett
Esther Anderson
“When white people say violence is not the answer...” “I’m black and I’m proud and I’m strong.” “How about all the white people shut the fuck up for a while.” “Marsha P. Johnson threw the first brick at Stonewall.” “Take a chill pill, sit down, this isn’t our issue.” “Don’t you remember how the cops come for the queer too?” “So, let’s shut up.” “After Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, 110 American cities started to riot.” “Let the people who are affected by this talk now.” “I’m tired of being peaceful. I lost three brothers to this, sir.” “As Desis and Asians living in America, we owe our lives to the Civil Rights Movement.” “Jewish pharmacist witnesses the looting of his own store.” “I want to make this a parade, not a protest.” “On the 6th day of riots, the Civil Rights Act of 1968 was passed.” “Together we are strong.” Quotes from: Protestors from the Black Lives Matter Movement as of June 1, 2020
As of June 1, 2020
"Please, I can't breathe" “These THUGS are dishonoring the memory of George Floyd, and I won’t let that happen,” “My stomach hurts” “at least 40% of police officer families experience domestic violence” “My neck hurts” “The officer has been arrested for 3rd degree murder.” “Everything hurts” “Any difficulty and we will assume control but, when the looting starts, the shooting starts." “They’re going to kill me” “Say his name!” “In order for nonviolence to work, your opponent must have a conscience.” “Don’t wear contacts! Wear goggles instead.” “When cops have more gear than robo cop while doctors are literally wearing trash bags and washing face masks, that's when you know America is broken.” “This is America/Don't catch you slippin' now” “Don’t act like everyone loved my father. He was assassinated.” “In the final analysis, a riot is the language of the unheard. And what is it that America has failed to hear?” “We cannot let them terrorize us into silence.” Quotes from: Bernice King, Martin Luther King Jr., George Floyd, May 2020 Protesters, Stokely Carmichael, Childish Gambino, National Center for Women and Policing, and Donald Trump
As of May 31, 2020
Harry Dean Stanton
Spinning
Caroline Wolfe-Merritt
Basil leaves tussle with their soaked stems to breathe through the greenhouse of plugged Tupperware, the wetness of one like rain upon its sisters. In its brief time on the humid countertop the pastel jam grows strawberry seeds inside the glass jar – many-eyed flesh, bright red, duplicating for the next morning. Long-necked bottles grow tendrilled vines in response to seaweed extract on the twisted trellis, pinking the waters, refurbishing themselves for soirées of another day.
Butterflies visit to feed their young on sun-drying cherries and squash blossoms, mushrooms with silicone umbrellas over their verdant legs against oak cabinets that hole up lesser-used buckwheat bags of dust in old trunks, insects feeding, passing grain to the next as they go – some flying off the window slits some webbed in a corner watching me tend the fire rising on their smoked skins.
A Kitchen of Organisms
Kate Marie Wallace There’s catfish as big as cars and snappers as big as washtubs in the bottom of that lake
Mt. Etna’s breast-milk incinerates all in its path molten lava turning forests into fuel and from the ashes, newness of life.1 Fathers sacrifice their own children: Abraham, Agamemnon, God himself. Meanwhile, mothers endure gnashing of teeth2 on their own breasts daily to keep their children alive. Patron Saint of breast cancer patients, fires, nurses, walking the line between fertile and futile Breast cancer will claim approximately 42,260 bodies this year.3 Madonna Lactans (sans child) Agnes Sorel championed the fashion of a single breast, fully bared in 1445. The year is 2019 we restrict images of female breasts that include the nipple.4 We’ll rip them off of your body with pincers you ignorant slut you - eat them up they’re piping hot enjoy your Minne di Sant'Agata5 my breasts on a plate. Mammary glands, breasts, bosom, boobs melons, jugs, titties, Agatha’s were forcefully taken from her she became Mt. Etna instead. I hope you quiver in your boots knowing the patron saint of fire is a tortured woman. Helen had it good, and look at what she did to watch the world burn. 1Romans 6:4 KJV 2Luke 13:28, reference to Hell 3https://www.cancer.net/cancer-types/breast-cancer/statistics/2015 4Facebook Community Standards Policy 5A typical Sicilian sweet shaped as a breast, representing the cut breasts of Saint Agatha
Fire-Spewing Nipples, Cannibalism, & Cancer: Meet Saint Agatha of Sicily
Racial Divide
“On May 30,” “I watched them from across the street,” “The looters smashed the pharmacy’s windows, “I’ve been broken into before, knocked down the shelves to watch people viciously destroy your store took all the street drugs for no reason including painkillers” is a whole different ballgame.” “the protest started at Pan Pacific Park “I was standing here with the cops then police pushed the crowd down Beverly. and there was nothing anyone could do.” Quotes from: Kylie Ora Lobell and Jonathan Friedman via Jewish Journal
Johanna Monson Geerts
The Jewish Pharmacist
Still Standing
i never do it on purpose
Chaz Rhoutsong
i say i just “forget” but the moments where i am most exhausted i want my body to be a wasteland it begs me to feed it so i toss unsalted peanuts down my throat, wash them down with water the truth is that maybe i like the hollow ache in my stomach, the pulsing vein in my forehead, hungry pressure behind my eyes, the outline of my ribs a side effect of hurt is the impulse to wallow, to embody, to distract, to starve so i give in
last night it was april. so i stayed up till midnight just so i could change my calendar; april is my least favorite month. last night i stayed up until 3 am, cutting, gluing punching holes and then connecting them with thread. i could have finished in the morning but hope is dangerous and fleeting and i didn't know how long this might last. last night they decorated the statues: the greatest hits of the confederate union now wear neon graffiti and slurs. but i very much hope that no one ever scrubs it off, because those statues are coming down anyways, because spray paint is not less important history than bronze. last night dave simonett sang to me. he told me that morning is peaceful, and i stood in the backyard and the streets were so unnaturally silent all i could hear were the helicopters circling, surveilling us. this morning was peaceful. and the sun shone and the world was blue and green and yellow and calm,
because morning is always peaceful, because it is evenings when they tear-gas the vigils. last night i got a text. and just for an evening i could imagine i was a teenager again; i checked my phone, i grated zucchinis, then i fried them into fritters, then i checked my phone again. part of me wondered why it had taken so long but more of me didn't care because that night i became a sparkler on the inside. yesterday i scrolled my way through social media apps, just so i could heart all the learning, connection, solidarity, goodness in the world. but also i wanted so badly to tell my friends that white allyship doesn't need to be accompanied by self-hatred, though i don't know if anyone would still like me if they knew that that's what i thought. today i reread what my art teacher wrote about how there is space for all types of work in this world, and maybe there is room for all types of people in this world, and in this new revolution, too, but i still couldn't not wonder if maybe
and i sliced away my own peel until there was no more pale skin, only raw and red. this morning i flipped the pages of all the calendars in the house, because this morning it was june. until now i had never been afraid to leave my home but maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's my turn to understand, and not just empathize. last night i watched my phone play videos of cities being destroyed and i desperately wished that it didn't take violence to dismantle violence. and i didn't know how to respond to all those digital cheers for all that wreckage, but maybe it's different when it's not your home that's burning but mine. last night i listened to mandolins and fiddles and guitars around a campfire. when i came inside i took off my jeans and i washed my face and my feet but i still went to bed with hair that smelled like smoke.
waiting for a phoenix
i might be a waste of space. last night i heard the voices. i heard the cars honking and the engines revving, and i heard the people chanting black lives matter! chanting hands up, don't shoot! and even though i know that this is what the change we want, we need, looks like i still turned off the lights and sat scared, on my bed until they faded away. this morning i went shopping. i pretended it was two summers ago when i went to the mall and ate frozen yogurt with sprinkles. today i just bought soap and potatoes. but i wore pink sequins and i put my hair up all fancy and i sang as loud as i could to taylor swift, and even though i know i should have been ashamed for how basic, privileged, how white-girl i was being, with the windows down all the way, all i could feel was pure joy. last night i ate dinner at 11; i microwaved noodles and peeled stripes into the cucumber rounds that i put atop my salad. i cried myself asleep to the sound of fire trucks, then i dreamed that my arm was the cucumber
life passes by
CONTRIBUTORS
esther anderson is a college student who enjoys writing. Her writing is fueled by raw emotion and observations of the world around her. She hopes that her work will leave an impact on readers. tianna anderson is an Austin College graduate, Fulbright Alum, avid reader, tea drinker, and animal lover. Her worldview has been deeply shaped by her studies in Political Science, English, and Religion, as well as her travels abroad. anna barrett I take photos, I write, and I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. christopher barrett I’m Christopher Barrett, I’m going to be a sophomore in college at some point I think. Everything’s up in the air at this point! harri drake is a recent college grad still trying to make writing an every day thing. She prefers to work with prose and playwrighting, but has been known to crank out a really bad poem when she feels like it. johanna monson geerts is a multi-media artist and explorer currently located in Richmond, VA. She believes in the power of quiet work and ordinary stories. austyn harwick Artist! Artist! Artist! erin laine is a law student, caffeine enthusiast, cat mother, and lover of words elisabeth newton is a multi-genre writer and multi-media artist currently based in New Mexico. She is finishing her BA in English and Philosophy while working full-time with the Air National Guard. chaz rhoutsong is a wannabe traveller stuck at home. anannya uberoi (she/her) is a full-time software engineer and part-time tea connoisseur based in Madrid. Her poems and short stories have appeared in Jaggery, LandLocked, Deep Wild Journal, Tipton Poetry Journal, Lapis Lazuli, and Marías at Sampaguitas. Her writing has also featured on The Delhi Walla and The Dewdrop, among other literary blogs. kate marie wallace I live on my family farm in Cambridge City, Indiana. I am a Bonner Scholar and studio art major in the Earlham College class of 2023. caroline wolfe-merritt (she/her) loves ecology and is a recent graduate from Earlham College. She spends as much time as possible outside, and is an avid birder and photographer.
contributors
esther anderson tianna anderson anna barrett christopher barrett harri drake johanna monson geerts austyn harwick erin laine elisabeth newton chaz rhoutsong anannya uberoi kate marie wallace caroline wolfe-merritt