Harbinger: A Journal of Art & Literature | 2018-2019

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I was leaned back in my office chair, hands clenched on the arms, my eyes studyingthe water stain pattern in the ceiling tile over my desk. The most recent victim of theseemingly never-ending roof leak problem. There was the sound of steel-toed boots onthe metal stairs, and I felt the change in the air that came with someone crossing thethreshold of my office door.I looked down from the ceiling tiles. One of my students stood in my open officedoor. He scuffed his steel-toed boots on the old linoleum before he settled in one of theold-school chairs by the door. I waited. He was quiet in class and sometimes would thinkabout things before he spoke.He did not ask what happened to me. He told me his story, in plain language, withoutany pity in his voice. He told me he understood what I was going through. That it washard to get your mind to act right again. And then he left.Not long after that, another student slid into the same chair, his hands shoved in hisblue jeans’ pockets. He told me he’d had a bad accident, a lot like mine. I realized as hetold me what happened that he had a hitch in his speech pattern, a hesitation while hegathered the words he wanted to say. He told me that if I kept trying, that the words Icould not say would get easier.The next day in lecture, when I got hung up on a word, one of them filled in the gapfor me. My speechlessness was from surprise that time. I stumbled over a thank you andwent on. Over the semester it became a routine, them filling in words I could not say,and me carrying on like I had said it myself.Over the following weeks, when our department was done for the day, and I sat at mydesk studying for my own classes, one or two of them would show up in my office andtell me about something that had happened to them. I listened. They talked. We wouldsit in silence for a few minutes. And then it was business. Engines, turbos, questionsabout lab tests or tools.In the spring it will be five years since that day I don’t remember, and if you hear metalk, I still halt in the middle of my sentences and look for a way to say the words I want.Or I will spit one out, let it tumble across my confused tongue, and it will fall out allwrong and ugly. I sill limp, if I sit too long. Sometimes I’ll try to do something, and noneof my limbs will work as they should. I don’t question my memory like I did though, Ijust try to write everything down, and keep my scattered brain in order. They were right,my students from that first semester, it has gotten easier.Next time you see me, you can ask, and I will say ‘integral’ for you. The ‘t’ will bealmost silent in my Texas accent, the ‘g’ will grind in my throat before the ‘r’ rolls on mytongue, followed by the crisp ‘al’ on the end. Integral.
non-fiction 25
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Page 4 and 5: Copyright © 2019 by the authors, t
Page 7: 7SPECIAL THANKS TO OUR SPONSORSCOLL
Page 10 and 11: TABLE OF CONTENTSPeotryNative Tongu
Page 13 and 14: NATIVE TONGUEHali Salome CardenasTh
Page 15 and 16: ALBUQUERQUESarah G. HuertaYou met m
Page 17 and 18: ANOTHER POEM ABOUT HIM WITH FIVE LI
Page 19 and 20: IN SANTA CRUZSarah G. HuertaI look
Page 21 and 22: A HERMIT PRAYEDAND A GOD ANSWERED H
Page 23 and 24: non-fiction 11
Page 25 and 26: I wasn’t taught about uncondition
Page 27 and 28: SIRENI’m fourteen and this one is
Page 29 and 30: Happy’s attitude. Frisco needed m
Page 31 and 32: BREATHE IT ALL IN: A MEMOIRMadelyn
Page 33 and 34: WHY I LIVEGeorge A. Stern Jr.Suicid
Page 35: I spelled it, one struggling letter
Page 39 and 40: He had an untrimmed beard, and long
Page 41 and 42: Aaron was seated in a medical bed.
Page 43 and 44: MORGEN MACKE. Nose Cliff,This piece
Page 45 and 46: AURORAMelissa BealI sat in the Taco
Page 47 and 48: her more than I ever had or could.
Page 49 and 50: She sighed and put her half-eaten t
Page 51 and 52: and get some sleep.He placed his el
Page 53: His eyes had begun to droop involun
Page 56 and 57: I rush out of bed and to my closet
Page 58 and 59: was the morning of his crash. He al
Page 60 and 61: He tapped the side of his head with
Page 62 and 63: ANN SIKES. My Sapphire Pendant & Ea
Page 64 and 65: know you as well as I do, or you ar
Page 66 and 67: “Ed?” the man leaned forward to
Page 68 and 69: CRACKEDJenna HefeleHer turn was rap
Page 70 and 71: EMILY MASSEY. Claire Above, Claire
Page 72 and 73: remember after Mama coming home was
Page 75 and 76: ▲CREATIVE PROCESSA One Act PlayBy
Page 77 and 78: ALEX: Why?ADRIEN: Because I wanna k
Page 79 and 80: GABRIELLE WALTER. Decisions, Decisi
Page 81 and 82: exactly it! The essence of spring,
Page 83 and 84: GREENER PASTURESA One Act PlayByNic
Page 85 and 86: HECTOR: Maybe that’s a sign eh? T
Page 87 and 88:
ANN SIKES. Sister’s Peridot Neckl
Page 89 and 90:
drama 77
Page 91 and 92:
BRITTANY THURMONDBrittany is a juni
Page 93:
THEODORE LEOSTheodore Leos is a gra
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Harbinger: A Journal of Art & Literature | 2018-2019

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