There are those who think, and there are those who think too much. Clearly, Gabe has to be classified in the latter category. Forever lost in the deep space of endless philosophical discussion, reality seems to only be the occasional planet into which his train of thought runs. But the stars are about to come out for another soul-searching evening, and Gabe has clearly marked his place of observance. Seated firmly in the middle of his driveway, he stares out into the breaking horizon as the creaky garage door behind him provides little distraction. 

A dark figure emerges from behind the parked cars. 

“I knew I’d find you here,” exhales Chris. “Still thinking about her?”

Slightly nodding his head, Gabe finally works out something physical – the muscles in his tense neck. It’s been nine months since his breakup with Evelyn; nine months that have allowed him to further immerse himself in his tiding sea of confusion. Trying to find a way to crack into the enigma of his vulnerable friend, Chris slowly alights to the ground and sits right next to Gabe. 

“Explain to me why you’re sitting here again,” Chris says.

“I’m going to be a civil engineer,” Gabe blandly states. “What do you think I’m tired of?”

“Parallels.”

“You’ve been listening well.”

“But I’m still unclear why.”

“Parallels represent a state of inertia. You might be moving along, but you’re not getting any closer to anything. I seem to have all of these friends, but not a best friend. I seem to know everybody, but nobody really knows me. All I want, really, is an intersection.”

“And how does sitting here solve this?”

“In my own metaphor-obsessed mind, I feel like I’m beginning to fix the problem, like I’m trying to change the flow of the river by standing in the middle of it. I’m not really doing anything to change it, but it feels like I might be doing something right for a minute.”

“I got a better idea,” Chris jumps, “and a safer one, too.” 

“What? Go on a date?” Gabe anticipates. 

“Why is that such a difficult thing to grasp?”  

“Because I can feel it in my bones that it’s not going to work; I don’t work like that, Chris. I can’t just meet somebody and expect some sparks. I need time. I need that parallel before the intersection.”

“You know what?”

 Gabe drops his head, fearing another cliché coming on. 

“Love is inexplicable,” Chris begins. “You can’t predict when it’s going to come or when it’s going to go. And you certainly can’t make a big metaphor about all of it. Love just doesn’t work that way. The minute you try and define it, that minute you’re lost. You’ve just got to carry yourself until it comes beneath you and carries you further. You’re still going to sit in the street?”

Gabe smiles and dares Chris to fill in the blanks. 

“You’re crazy,” Chris concedes. “You obviously forgot that Anna is coming to meet with you tonight.”

Gabe quickly closes his eyes and whines. “Tonight?”

“She’s coming, so you better be ready. I’ll call you and remind you. Just at least give her a chance, Gabe. You never know, she might actually find you remotely interesting.”

“You’re on shaky ground, buddy.”

“Explain this to me, then.” Chris gestures. “What’s wrong with a bridge?”

“It’s just a temporary lift over your underlying reality. It’s the deception of alleviation.”

“And a railroad intersection?”

“It’s temporary. You go from being on one parallel track right to another.”

“You’re impossible. I’ve known Anna long enough to know how she thinks. You know what she would do?” 

Unable to think of any self-deprecating comment, Gabe raises his head and gives his friend a look of anticipation and respect. 

“She’d turn your view upside down. She’d bring some light into this little dark and confined room you’re creating. You do realize there is more to civil engineering than just parallels, right?”

Gabe nods his head, eyebrows arching in realization of the truth. 

“She’d ask you, ‘Well, what about building power plants?’ And in your ‘metaphor-obsessed mind,’ how would you respond?”

“I guess... I’d say these power plants could bring new energy to everyone. They could literally light up a whole city.”

“And what if she asked you to consider ports?”

“I’d be giving somebody who’s lost at sea a chance to find a home.”

“And dams?”

“I build them so people realize they can control how much something affects them. That they can somehow control the force they’re up against.”

 “And, for good measure,” Chris smiles, “What would she say about sewers?”

Gabe smirks back. “They allow you to keep all the crap below the surface.”

“You see what she’d do to you?” Steve says, hitting his arm. “She’d make you realize all the good news you’re missing because you’re simply reading the wrong newspaper everyday.”

“I don’t know, Chris.”

“I could spend all day out here trying to pull your brain apart, but I know it’s a losing battle. So I only got two words for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Lighten up.”

............................... 

The sun has finally crawled into bed and the moon has just barely woken up. But this lazy exchange of light has been covered up by the melancholy clouds spreading out and suffocating the once-blue sky. Shortly thereafter, rain falls down hard and fast, without mercy or concern. 

Turning the corner onto a street is Anna in her modest car, her windshield wipers fighting a losing battle with the rain’s sneering menace. The only thing that’s keeping her from crashing into anything is her car lights, two pale-yellow circles working through the darkness. But the rain is disguising much more than the road ahead of her; it’s also disguising Gabe, who remains still upon his driveway, as always. His ambivalence has got the best of him, allowing him to sit peacefully in the rain. 

Unsure of where the car is going, Gabe simply stares at it as it approaches, allowing it to distract him from his moment of deep thought.  But it slows down before taking a quick turn onto his driveway – towards him. Paralyzed by the sudden turn of events, Gabe utters a wordless prayer to himself and closes his eyes out of fear. He hears the tires smack onto the driveway and the sudden screech of the brakes. 

He knows it; he’s dead. There’s a bright light before him, shining long and hard. He’s at the pearly gates, his moment of judgment near. But he can still hear himself breathing. He opens his eyes and squints as two pale-yellow circles stare at him directly in the eyes. Breathing hard, he exhales the delusional life he once lived and inhales the one he should be living. No longer can he afford to obsess over pretentious parallels or irrelevant intersections.  At this point, all he can think of are two words:

Lighten up. 

Jake kept his most prized possession in a fertilizer shed behind his house.  The little lean-to housed a dilapidated lawn mower, a row of soil-encrusted planting pots, various assorted yard tools and an eight-foot long, hand-crafted fiberglass surfboard.  For the past ten years, Jake had avoided looking at it every time he walked in the shed, keeping his eyes averted from this relic of his past as he rummaged for Miracle Grow or a rake.  But today was different.  Today was the anniversary.

When Jake opened the shed door, his eyes followed the shaft of dusty light that illuminated the board hanging on the wall and for the first time in a long time he admired the absolute beauty of it.  He grabbed a cloth from a shelf as he walked towards the board and slowly began to wipe off the accumulation of years of dirt and grime.  As he ran his hands over the surface of the board, he took note of dents and scratches, and in his head memories flickered in and out to correspond with the board’s battle scars.  

This dent, near the nose, was from being drilled into the reef at Pipeline – he had a matching gouge in his right shoulder from the same jagged rock.  

That long scratch bisecting the board was a skeg mark from some hotshot asshole who tried to cut him off as he went barreling down the side of a monster wave at Waimea Bay – the asshole had miscalculated and went head first into the frothy, swirling mess of whitewash, performing underwater summersaults as Jake finished his ride. 

Smiling from that memory, Jake’s steady hand found another scar, a chip on the side of the board he wasn’t familiar with.  The outer tan-colored fiberglass had been gouged deep, exposing the starkly white inner core, like a bone protruding from a gaping human wound.  He placed his finger against the deep scar and as he did a roaring noise filled his head.  It was the sound of a fifteen-foot monster crashing, closing its gaping mouth and merciless teeth on a boy as his board went spiraling through the air, its leash broken and fluttering behind it like some war-torn flag. Jake got his board back that day, but the wave took his boy.

The noise faded from his head and, for the first time since his boy asked to borrow it that day ten years ago, Jake’s trembling hands took the board off the rack.

.............................

The board, like Jake, was made for sunlight and seawater, so it only made sense that when Jake started paddling out to the break it felt like coming home after a long absence.  Both were older, both were weathered and beaten by the elements they loved, but they still cut through the water as smoothly as they did in their youth and prime.  Jake could feel the mottled smattering of wax build up on the surface of the board, rubbing against his skin and grabbing his chest hair, constantly reminding him of all the rides he had taken and watched taken on this board. The last ride in particular filled Jake’s mind as a wave rose behind him, as the board caught on it, as Jake pushed his creaking legs to stand up and then to hold on, as the board happily sliced through the wave’s glassy surface. And as Jake and his board slid down the face of their first ride in ten years, their one unbroken shadow preceded them.   

Laura Collins is the kind of person who uses the word “brambles” in a poem. She likes the poetry of Jon Corrigan, written and otherwise.

Amanda Opitz is a Gonzaga alumna who recently transferred to the University of Montana, in her home state, to pursue a degree in photojournalism. Her photography is inspired by good music, good coffee, and good people. She is so thankful for her years at GU and the amazing people she met there. Go Zags!

Anne Pauw is an international studies major and the editor of Charter. She is secretly trying to take over both publications.

Anthony DeLorenzo is a senior Italian studies major.

Sam Brooks is is a junior English major. She’s going to grad school, law school, and eventually wants to move to Iraq.

Katherine Eulensen is a sophomore at Gonzaga.

Katie Bates is a sociology major. She hopes to delve into the world of compulsive lying. When she was a kid she had a dream to empty out the Pacific Ocean solely with her plastic bucket. She’s still working on both.

Emily Smith is a senior exercise science major. She’s a fan of breathing, beatitude, minimalism, and a good cup of coffee.

Mary Elder is a senior majoring in English and Classics. She wants to give a shout out to her main man, Sir Winston Churchill.

Sierra Golden is a junior English and Spanish major. She’s a self-named lemonade connoisseur who loves being outside rain, shine, snow or sleet.

Marcy A. Ray just added the ‘A’ to her pen name to make herself sound official.

Spencer Allison can often be found in a state of semi-hibernation, huddled in a cluster of plaid flannel, with nothing but the warmth of his video games to get him through the winter. 

Julie Depner is that person you hear whistling all over campus. She takes requests.

Greg Hudson is a sophomore who enjoys soothing lettuce wraps from P.F. Changs, making fun of the Transformers movie, and is exceedingly fond of acorns. He wishes to thank James for ditching his family at dinner and taking pictures of a piano at the corner of State and Linder.

Anna-Sophia Zingarelli is a senior, majoring in history and classical civilizations, and minoring in Italian studies. She wants to be a flaneur when she grows up. She misses the Piazza della Repubblica quite a great deal. She doesn’t mind being a little insane.

Emily McCracken is a senior English major who likes her job at Pete’s Pizza and squanders her tip money on cheesy bites and iTunes.

Oscar Oswald is born in the night of a storm, on the edge of a rime-crusted forest.  He is a good king. 

Adam Membrey is a junior special education major. He does his best to spread the love each day while withholding a burning hatred towards the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for not awarding ‘Dumb and Dumber’ a 1995 Best Original Screenplay nomination.

Rebecca Olsen’s information eludes us.

Rod Aminian is a depraved dadaist and colossal curmudgeon. He is not Armenian.

Gina Prindle is an assistant professor of Nursing at Gonzaga.

Hanne Zak is studying French, public relations and journalism. 

Clayton Hemmingson is at work and needs to go now.

Ann Foreyt is a naughty hottie with a body that’s kickin’. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Your Mom and a PhD in Killing Snitches. Take heed: back off this crazy chick cuz she’ll kill you twice before you hit the ground... thrice if you’s a snitch.

Elizabeth Stauder is a sophomore sociology and Spanish major who would like to do all kinds of traveling. She’s slightly wacky, enjoys a good conversation, and prefers to go barefoot whenever she gets the chance. 

Tim Parker is a Gonzaga alumnus on the slow road between brighter days and better things.

Joel Switzer enjoys skiing, mountain biking, rock climbing, and depressing the shutter release on his EOS. He can ride anything. The teaching and learning processes intrigue him, yet so do women. He will probably be happy to see you because you are probably awesome.

Hiro, or Jaron by his birth name, Schneider is a nationally recognized photographer from Corral de Tierra, California. A business major with a minor in history, his photography has been featured in numerous magazines and award winning periodicals.

Sarah Sheffield is a senior English and international studies major. She spends her time coming up with elaborate and untrue answers to the question, “What are you doing after you graduate?” Next year you can find her in Thailand giving elephant taxi rides to tourists.

Ann Kilzer is a senior computer science, math, and art major. She enjoys riding her bike, playing board games, and printmaking.