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Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 07 (08)
Item
Item’s are ‘child’ level descriptions to ‘parent’ objects, (e.g. one page of a whole book).
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14 invisible academy 10.19.95 'Smoking" Continued from page 13 "I wasn't." "Well, I've got this BAD ASS mix I just made. It's all like—textures and emotions—only it's music." He put his tape in the stereo and tossed hers aside. "Sounds enthralling." Grace climbed out of the window and crouched on the sofa. "Is there a burlap song in there?" "Ha Ha very funny." He sat back down in the rocker. "This is raw silk." K. D. Lang started singing. Mark closed his eyes and rocked back. He pulled a pint of vodka out of his pocket, took a shot, and offered it to Grace. "Are you trying to turn me into a dead- beat alcoholic like you?" Grace looked at the bottle. "I don't see you refusing it." "Well, you do now." She made a face and stood up. "Look, I'm sorry I ditched you this morning, OK? It just sort of happened." "Yeah, had to go get coffee with No One, huh? You gonna do him?" He turned to face her. "OK Mark. I think you should take your liquor and your tape and go back to your apartment." She stood up, walked to the front door and opened it. "What and who I 'do' is none of your business. I don't quiz you on the chicks you pick up at parties, fuck, and never talk to again, do I?" She tapped an impatient foot. "Just get out. Please." She was gonna hit him if he didn't leave. "Fine." He stopped in front of her. "A little touchy tonight. Are you having PMS?" "OUT!" She pointed towards the parking lot, slammed the door behind him, and crash landed on the sofa. "Rat bastard." She got up and took his tape out of the stereo. "And take your GODDAMN RAW SILK BULLSHIT TAPE WITH YOU!" She threw it out the window. "Goddamnit." * * * She saw them walking across campus, Paul and some chick, shoulder to shoulder. They didn't see her sitting in front of the student center. They went into the computer lab. Grace got up about 5 minutes later and went in behind them. She walked into the lab, obviously not noticing them in the back corner. She sat at a terminal and logged on. They were sitting next to each other. Paul kept leaning over and pointing things out on the screen and keyboard. Probably just some friend. Grace checked her mail. A message from Mark—very drunk— apologizing for being a dick. "Yeah, whatever. She peered at them again over the top of her terminal. Paul looked up at the same time. He caught her eye. She smiled.He looked at the girl beside him, at Grace, back at the terminal, then at the girl again. A knot formed in the pit of Grace's stomach. Something was up. Paul leaned over and whispered something to the girl. She smiled and nodded. He got up and walked over to where Grace sat feeling like she was two feet tall and green. She stared hard at the screen, trying to be interested in Mark's drunk ramblings. Paul crouched beside her. "Hey Grace. Can I talk to you for a minute?" "Oh, hey." She jumped like he had surprised her. "I wasn't sure that was you. Yeah. What's up?" "Ummm.. " He glanced at the girl across the room. "This is weird." "What's weird Paul?" She turned and looked him in the eye. He looked down first. "Well, you see that girl over there?" He motioned with his head. "Yeah." Grace was not going to make it easy. "Well, I like her. I mean I like her a LOT." He touched her knee. "You know what I mean?" The knot that had been forming in Grace's stomach moved to her throat. "Alright." "This is really scary to me. I'm gonna need your help." He took her hand. "Can you do that and be my friend?" "Your friend. Sure." She stared at the monitor. "Sure. Look, I just came in to check my E-mail, I've gotta go ... do something right now." She looked at the clock. "Actually I'm late. I've gotta go." She stood up. "Good luck." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked as fast as she could out of the building. She didn't look back. * * * Grace sat in her truck with her forehead on the steering wheel. Her shoulders shook. "GODDAMMIT!" She sat up straight and beat her fist on the horn. "Oww, shit!" She started the truck, threw it into gear and took off. The only other car at the apartments was Mark's. She walked to his front door and knocked. "Who is it?" A groggy voice from inside. "Me." She opened the door. Mark was lying on the sofa, playing video games. He looked up when she walked in. "My God Grace, what's wrong?" "Well?" She sat down on the arm of the sofa. "Remember No One?" She felt tears hiccuping in her throat. 'That's exactly what he is now." Her face crumpled. Mark got up and put his arms around her. "Calm down, baby. Now what happened, exactly?" He stroked her hair. "I was in the lab." She spoke through her fingers. "And he was in there with some girl and he came over to me and said he liked her a lot and this was different and could I be his friend? And I left." She sobbed into Mark's shoulder. "And I really liked him. I thought this was different. I thought .. . Fuck! I don't know what I thought." Shhh Shhhh Shhhh . . . take a deep breath. Now. You knew this guy a long time ago, right?" "Uh-huh." She sniffled. "And what happened then?" He handed her a kleenex. "I liked him and he asked out my friend." She blew her nose. "And now, you met him again." "Yeah. But it was different—I mean I'm different, and I thought he, you know." She looked at him with the saddest bluest eyes ever. "I guess I'm pretty stupid, huh." "No comment." Mark chuckled, then held her away from him at arm's length. "I'm sorry I said that stuff last night. I was outta line." "Yeah, you were." Grace smiled. "It's OK, though. Well, I mean, it's not OK, but it's OK." Mark stood up. "Enough of this self-pity crap!" He started moving around his apartment banging dishes, and slamming cupboards. "Let's get high and go get some coffee!" "I don't know. . ." Grace felt like her eyes were swollen shut. "Oh, come on." He stood in front of her with a bowl in his hand. "What else do you have to do today? Sit around and mourn the loss of some fucker who got you not once, but twice?!? If I were you, I think I'd be very anxious to forget the whole thing." He offered her the bowl. "Yeah, maybe you're right." She took it, then stopped. "Maybe you're not, though." She stared at the pipe in her hand. "Ah, fuck it—it don't matter." She shrugged and took a hit. "You know, he didn't smoke. Anything. I should have known." She exhaled. "And he doesn't drink coffee. What was I thinkin'?" "I don't know, Grace." Mark smiled and shook his head. "I don't know." Crystal Altman: 2 Poems Mother This is my mother. My mother who adorned herself in the airy colors of Spring to celebrate her joy at my birth. This is my mother. My mother who cloaked herself with the bold colors of Summer to shelter me as I grew to manhood. This is my mother. My mother who clothed herself in the bright, vivid colors of Autumn to rejoice in my maturity. This is my mother. My mother who shrouded herself in the cold, white, Winter colors of mourning when I returned to her bosom at the time of my death. She is Mother of us all, my mother. Love her. Slavery Blood flows in crimson rivulets down the back of the slave; Who endures this pain with hands chained and feet shackled. His head falls forward in despair as he screams out "FREEDOM" from the depths of his eyes. Does my blood flow less red because my wounds are inflicted inside? Do I endure any less pain though my chains and shackles are of my own forging? Do I feel any less despair though my opportunities seem endless? Do I not scream "FREEDOM" just as loudly though my slavery is wrought by my own choice? Are we all not slaves in one matter or another? Do we all not seek endings to chapters written by another? Do we all not scream "FREEDOM" from somewhere inside our eyes?
Object
Object’s are ‘parent’ level descriptions to ‘children’ items, (e.g. a book with pages).
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The Western Carolinian is Western Carolina University's student-run newspaper. The paper was published as the Cullowhee Yodel from 1924 to 1931 before changing its name to The Western Carolinian in 1933.
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