Ctrl + B

by Ctrl B (retail) (epub)

  MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: Linda and I over the past three years have developed a very close relationship, one based on our love for books and indie movies, our constant chatting over politics, and quirky observations of the world around us. We are always learning new things about each other that bring us one step closer. One of the most touching memories I have of us is when I had the pleasure of reading Linda’s college essay and I was able to enjoy who teenage Linda was as well!

  LINDA CORMAN

  YEARS AS MENTOR: 9

  OCCUPATION: Freelance Editor and Writer

  BORN: Newton, MA

  LIVES: New York, NY

  PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Edited works for Natural Resources Defense Council and Community Preservation Corporation

  MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: When I first met Sole three years ago, I was struck by what a voracious and sophisticated reader she was. I thought, What good can I be to her? She has taught me, even though I thought I already knew it, that the mentor-mentee relationship is entirely reciprocal, and not about one person knowing more than the other so she can transfer it to the other. Both of us have amazing and fascinating experiences, perspectives, and abilities that we have uncovered over our years together and that have enriched both of our lives.

  In School Brown Boys Wear Green

  SOLEDAD AGUILAR-COLÓN

  I was inspired to write this piece because I wanted to explore how society limits opportunities for low-income minorities at such a young age. This is a reality that hits close to home.

  I don’t want to go to college. My cousin’s words sinking to the bottom of my stomach. I want to go to war. Standing next to him in the cramped kitchen of our grandparents’ apartment as we sipped chicha morada in small wineglasses, I calculated how many years left until he turned eighteen. Two. Two years and one month. In two years, where would I be? College, most likely. Both my parents had master’s degrees and had sent me to a prestigious liberalarts public high school in New York City so that I could go on the same track. My cousin, however, like many men in our family, will be joining the military. His high school offers a Junior Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (JROTC) program.

  There are already two factors in my cousin Jose Alexander’s life, besides his genuine, or seemingly genuine, desire to join the military, that have set him on that path. The first has to do with his economic background: As a low-income student attending a poorly resourced public school, he receives little to no support to aid his academic success. As a result, he has had a difficult time enjoying school and learning. This is one example of a systemic issue that many low-income students face because the American school system does not have enough resources and funds. This only discourages students.

  The second factor is his racial background; he is Afro-Latino. Although there is nothing about his being a person of color that turned him toward the military and away from college, it is the policing and criminalization of young black and brown boys that steers them toward the military track. The JROTC program was originally created to promote discipline, leadership, and responsibility, which, off the bat, may not sound like it’s targeting minority youth. However, the stated objective to have a positive impact on “at-risk youth,” I contend, is code for its being aimed at minority students.

  My cousin, as a young, working-class man of color, is an example of the “at-risk youth” that the JROTC program targets. When I asked Jose over our dinner of home-cooked ceviche and papa a la huancaína, two classic Peruvian dishes, why he chose to participate in the JROTC program, he responded: “I used to get into trouble a lot and skip classes and stuff like that, but JROTC helped me get out of that habit and got me on the right track to achieving my goal.” Jose later on in the evening commented that students not in the program “look at us differently, as does society, when we wear the uniform… We get a lot more respect.” I understand that the appeal for students being criminalized by schools and the authorities is that the process of being “disciplined” will earn them respect from these same institutions. However, as someone who has witnessed and written about the criminalization of young black and Latino men, I remain critical of the promotion of discipline as a supposed remedy for students that the JROTC program deems to be at-risk, and I suspect that it is merely another form of criminalization of minority youth.

  The first thought that popped into my head after I read the mission statement was why target minority students? When I looked at which schools host a JROTC program, there was a clear pattern to who they were targeting: schools with largely low-income students of color. I began to wonder about the difference of opportunities that were given to students in my school versus my cousin’s. My school did not have a JROTC program. The difference is that my school, although a public school, had attracted many affluent families that provide funding through the PTA. The reason this matters is that if a school decides not to offer the JROTC program, the government reduces the school’s funding. My school, because of the PTA funding, does not need to rely as much on government funding, and as a result has the luxury to reject the JROTC program. In other words, the threat of reducing funding is a cunning way to railroad young men, mainly young men of color, into these “disciplinary” programs.

  We need to do better, as a society, to pressure the government to give more funding to public schools so they can remain independent of the JROTC program and provide a wider range of opportunities for our students. The military often only reproduces poverty, depression, and trauma. There needs to be an end to this cycle, and more lower-income students of color need to be given the support and opportunity to pursue careers other than in the military.

  As the night drew on, our dinner plates wiped clean and the traditional dessert of café with panettone served, my cousin showed off his brand-new uniform with his name tag on the front: “Jose Aguilar.” His name, yet another reminder of the many Latino names that I’ve seen on the front of military uniforms, the face of an optimistic young brown boy ready to fight for his country.

  Ode to My Mittens

  LINDA CORMAN

  I began working on this piece during the Girls Write Now Poetry workshop, Economy of Words. Both Sole and I were inspired to write odes. Hers became her CHAPTERS piece. Both are bold for their intimacy.

  Oh mittens!

  Mottled, subtle, intricate,

  Of warm, soft but hardy wool, closely, impeccably knit

  Of sky-blue, gray, and a shade somewhere in between, pastels

  Saturated with the faintest essence of sheep

  Providing a snug home for my hands,

  Elegant enough for the opera

  Natural enough for the co-op,

  Good to five below.

  Dear sister-in-law,

  Goddess of the mittens

  How tactfully you knit an undemanding bridge across the cool distance between us,

  With yarn weaving the complexities of my marriage

  To your brother.

  The intricate craftsmanship bespeaks your quiet brooding over the nature of marriage,

  The dissatisfactions, the putting up, the lowering of expectations,

  Which I imagine you too have felt.

  I trace our coolness to the moment I felt you gently refuse to empathize,

  “No, I will not indulge your grievances about my brother,” you said, without speaking.

  And maybe even, “Do you really fancy yourself to be the only one?”

  Even so, or just so,

  You formed a nest with these flawless treasures.

  A counterforce to our unraveling.

  When I put them on, I feel protected, and finely decorated, as in my marriage.

  ANNEMARIE ALMS

  YEARS AS MENTEE: 1

  GRADE: Junior

  HIGH SCHOOL: NYC iSchool

  BORN: New York, NY

  LIVES: New York, NY

  MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: In the limelight of a Greenwich café, this red, fluffy blurb would eventually, but always, walk up to me. Usually late,
with headphones leaking punk, punk rock, and an enthusiastic smile. Kate, distinguished by her fabulous coat, had arrived! Our meetings were perched on the wavering cusps of caffeine and stress (Me: AP Calculus, Kate: six books to edit—Whoa), and thus became a brilliant breathing space. An exploration. Whether that be about Sylvia Plath, cats, poetry on the whole, astronaut cats, or free-writing within the restraints of our classic thirteen-minutes-and-one-second timer.

  KATE NAPOLITANO

  YEARS AS MENTOR: 1

  OCCUPATION: Senior Editor, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  BORN: Seaside Park, NJ

  LIVES:Queens, NY

  PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Publishers Weekly Rising Star Award (2016)

  MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: I’ve told Annemarie this before, but now I’m putting her on blast: I brag about her *all the time.* Since we’ve met, I’ve continually been impressed by her intellectual acuity, her curiosity, her kindness, her sneaky sense of humor, and her ability to resist caffeine despite the fact that we meet up at a coffee shop. Whenever we do our free-write exercises—always timed to thirteen minutes and one second—she presents insights that blow me away. Having her as a mentee has been a gift, and I couldn’t be prouder of the piece she put together for this anthology.

  The Therapist

  ANNEMARIE ALMS

  This poem considers aspects of humanity that are less than ideal, unapologetically exploring the grotesque.

  Hello Miss. I guarantee, it’s

  guaranteed, there is no shame in

  what you say.

  You—little thing. Tramp stump.

  Obsessed—Imagining the cusps ’n’

  whirls of a last breath,

  of a breathless mound, that

  you’ve made

  scream, screaming

  ’cause you’ve taken a

  knife to its wet

  heart,

  forced it up, up through places and

  seen your

  cargo cry Hosanna, Amen.

  I’ve heard how you

  want to cut, cut

  people up. And I wonder—

  Have you pictured

  them as little babies?

  Even so? I see.

  Still, I guarantee you, little

  monster, li’l darling,

  munchkin demon, I’ll cure—

  heal, cure, ’n’ cleanse

  you. Answer then please,

  are

  your eyes liquid fillings?

  Behind, then, is there a void

  or is there something?

  Nothing? Understood.

  Please—May I open at

  the hinge of your skull, your white cap,

  and see?

  Ah. Your brain, a molded shadow—in

  my light, some dusted

  candle wax.

  Your heart is

  a dot, a pebble, shattered and

  dry, and

  your lungs

  plastic bags. Thank you! Have

  a nice day.

  You’re welcome, yes,

  I know exactly what to do. Here’s

  a pretty face,

  a smile, and some clothes.

  Take this pill and

  see how it goes.

  Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Woman Who Listens to Music

  KATE NAPOLITANO

  This is a modern-day riff on Wallace Stevens’s classic poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” considering women’s place in the male-dominated sphere of music. Girls to the front!

  I.

  I’m the lone female music reviewer on staff at my college radio station. It’s fair to say that the music director is a dick to everyone, though. Did you know that the band!!! is pronounced Chik Chik Chik? Yeah, dude—we all do.

  II.

  Winter bleakness settles in and I cannot stop listening to the new Open Mike Eagle. I buy noise-canceling headphones to block out my internal monologue and spin circles through Prospect Park, ice crunching beneath my feet.

  III.

  “You know a lot about music—for a girl.”

  IV.

  The women’s bathroom at a hardcore show is a sanctuary. The floor smells like a locker room and I’ve had one too many dudes push themselves up against me and pretend that it was an accident. When I finally retreat, my bangs are sweat-glued to my forehead. I stick my head under the hand dryer, inspiring two other women to do the same. We high-five on the way out.

  V.

  Working in the music section of the Princeton Barnes & Noble: think Empire Records, but with more Pavarotti.

  VI.

  My girlfriends love karaoke and I’ve become a reluctant adherent. I watch them holler and sway and belt out tunes and I don’t join but I’m in love with their joy & their lack of posturing & how they can be so free.

  VII.

  “Do you know what the L’s in LL Cool J stand for?” If only my eyes could roll further, sir.

  VIII.

  I’m tapped to work an event for a famous rapper whose book I’m editing. When I introduce myself to his manager, he cocks his head in recognition. “Oh. You’re the girl from all the emails.”

  IX.

  Yes I’ve heard that EP & yes I watched that doc & no I haven’t seen them live yet & yeah I bet it was great & wow this constant justification loop has me t-i-r-e-d.

  X.

  It was released in ’99, I knew it, the weight of the error thick on my tongue.

  XI.

  The Julie Ruin performed the day after Trump’s election & when Kathleen sang “Rebel Girl,” I unabashedly wept & y’all know I hate to cry but honestly it was the perfect catharsis & for that two minutes and thirty seconds, it felt like the world wasn’t imploding & my life wasn’t ripping apart at the seams & if that isn’t beautiful, then damn, what is.

  XII.

  I don’t pray but if I did I’d send it up to Missy and Cyndi and Cardi and Joni and Belinda and Aretha and and and.

  XIII.

  The crowd surges forward. I take out my hoops and plant my stance, ready for the push.

  ALEXUS ANDERSON

  YEARS AS MENTEE: 1

  GRADE: Junior

  HIGH SCHOOL: Bronx Lighthouse Charter School

  BORN: Bronx, NY

  LIVES: Bronx, NY

  MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: Veronica and I haven’t been paired for long. We were paired toward the middle of the year and we instantly hit it off. Iemi, our cohort lead, had us sit together on the first day, and we acted as if we were good friends. I remember one of the questions was “What would the title of your book be?” and we both said “PERIODTT!” It was so crazy because she asked me if I liked this group called City Girls. It was just great to be paired with a mentor who likes the same things I do.

  VERONICA HILBRING

  YEARS AS MENTOR: 1

  OCCUPATION: Marketing Writer

  BORN: Chicago, IL

  LIVES: New York, NY

  PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Essence, Ebony, Bitch Media

  MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: Alexus is such a joy! She is a young lady with a lot of character. One of the things I love most about her is her ability to know what she wants. My favorite moment with Alexus was after we went to a movie screening, and she was asked to write something about the film. Alexus said no because she had a lot of homework and wasn’t interested in writing about it. I admired her dedication to her schoolwork. I love that, like me, she marches to the beat of her own drum and already knows how to set boundaries.

  Moribundo con un Corazón Roto

  ALEXUS ANDERSON

  This piece is about my great-grandparents’ love story and dying of a broken heart. I was inspired to write this piece when President George H. W. Bush passed away seven months after his wife.

  At 111 miles long and 36 miles wide, the island of Puerto Rico brought together young love. A small island full of natural beauty, with its immense rainforest, palm trees, and beautiful beaches, the island of Puerto Rico has created won
derful music, culture, and food.

  A girl with a talent for sewing from the west coast and a boy with dreams of being a soldier from the south coast found each other. Puerto Rico pulled Simona Hidalgo and Ramón Rivera together into a passionate relationship. Just as the ocean surrounding Puerto Rico is divided into three shades of blue, Simon; her best friend, Norrys; and Ramón began a three-way love triangle. With the love Ramón had for Simona, nothing would stop them from being together. Norrys and Simona were best friends. They were inseparable; so close, they shared everything.

  Norrys desperately wanted to leave home. But she didn’t know a way out. What would be the best way to get out of her parents’ house? Norrys knew of Ramón’s loyalty to Simona, and she envied their relationship. Why not lie about getting pregnant by your best friend’s true love?

  After a drunken night out, things got out of hand between Norrys and her best friend’s boyfriend, Ramón. Norrys told Ramón she was pregnant with his child. This didn’t stop Ramón’s love for Simona. He told Simona of his betrayal and it was the most heart-wrenching thing anyone has ever done to her. But Simona stepped back. Ramón married Norrys to be a good father to his child, no matter how much he loved Simona. Simona was heartbroken to see her best friend marry and have a baby with the man she loved.

  The honeymoon phase for Norrys ended quickly. Ramón discovered Norrys lied. There was no baby. Ramón returned Norrys to her parents to confess her ultimate lie and get a divorce. The hardest part for Ramón was explaining what happened to his true love, Simona. By the time he told Simona, she had already buried the pain deep down in her heart. But the love she had for him never died.

  LIFE IN NEW YORK

  After a few years together, Simona and Ramón decided it was time to move to New York. By that time, most of Simona’s family had left Puerto Rico for the Bronx. When they moved, they welcomed the first of their six children. Ramón enlisted in the Army and the family moved to Manhattan. He was injured after only six months and received a metal plate in his wrist. To provide for their kids, Simona became a seamstress while Ramón was a cabdriver. One day, while Ramón was getting off a shift, he came across a knife in the backseat of the cab he was driving. That was when he knew it was time to find a new career and became a bodega man. Simona and Ramón were married after the birth of their fourth child. Six years later, they returned to the Bronx.