Claiming Humanity in Stranger Things by Autumn Meyer

Stranger things have happened than authentic women existing on the TV screen, but I might have struggled to realize this until I watched, well, Stranger Things. And I’m not totally living under a rock. I watch a lot of TV – some of it provides moments where I’m proud to be female and some of it makes me cringe at how poorly my fellow women are portrayed. I grew up on TV and movies that didn’t try too hard to fight the system of masculine stereotypes of women. Shows like I Love Lucy or Green Acres – they were funny, had their good moments, but mostly they reminded me that women were irrational, overly emotional, and incapable of basic things like handling a budget or knowing that a pound cake doesn’t weigh just one pound.

Today, in contrast, I’ve watched a fair amount of shows that attempt to be progressive about their representation of women, with varying degrees of success. In high school, I devoured One Tree Hill (I’m team Peyton, in case you’re curious), and I remember things like Brooke starting her own business in high school, Karen Roe rocking her role as a single mother, and Peyton opening her own record label. It’s clear the show was trying and somewhat succeeding at empowering women to be their own agents. But in the moments of tragedy (the school shooting, when Peyton was drugged at a college party), the guys almost always came to the rescue of the helpless women. Now, I’m currently in the midst of the CW’s Riverdale, which can be commended for making women active, not damsels in distress. But I really struggle to take any progressive storylines seriously in theory, when in practice the women are perfectly made up, clad in skin tight clothing, and wearing high heels while doing the dirty work – which can be both objectifying and unrealistic.

Stranger Things is different, and I want to talk about why it inspires me to be a woman. Instead of being caricatures or one-dimensional objects that exist to be looked at or to embellish the plot, each woman is alive. Each woman is her own agent, not a mockery of typical female traits or some idealistic depiction of what men want, but a real, living portrayal of humanity. I’m not saying that the Stranger Things women aren’t cooler than your average Jane, but they aren’t so inhumanely awesome (maybe except Eleven) that a female audience can’t relate to them. They are flawed, natural, beautiful, and powerful. Continue reading “Claiming Humanity in Stranger Things by Autumn Meyer”

It’s Not Me, It’s You: A Series of Unfortunate Douchebags by Anna Walters

College is funny because you can watch friends go in and out of serious, committed relationships while somehow managing to never make it past the “What are we?” stage with countless douchebags for four years straight. At least I like to think it’s funny when alone in my room meant for four people on date night. Well, date night for all my friends but what is so accurately described as “me time” for yours truly.

Yeah, that’s right, ME time.

Time for ME to do things, alone.

Oh wait, I already have plenty of that because I am alone.

Ha.

Crap, I’m lonely.

I don’t mean I’m alone in the sense that I have no friends or family that care about me and love me unconditionally, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. I have plenty of people that care about me and love me and support me endlessly. But, because I’m selfish and jealous and honestly always a little bit salty I still want more people to love me. Well, person. One person (I’d like to think I’d be a monogamist if I were ever presented with the option). Continue reading “It’s Not Me, It’s You: A Series of Unfortunate Douchebags by Anna Walters”

Simple Moments That Make Life Memorable by Rachel Wermager

This collection of stories comes from three generations of women. The stories show the strength of a marriage and family, and how often these things are built on the simple moments that make life memorable.  

For Grandma and Papa: you showed me what love and happiness looks like.  

Grandma: I arrived with my family in Brady, Nebraska when I was a junior in high school. Naturally the first thing I did was look around to see what the boy situation was. When I first laid eyes on him I noticed his quirky smile and blue eyes. But, unfortunately at that time, those blue eyes were looking to someone else.

It wasn’t until after he graduated high school and went off to college that we went out ice-skating together. He was a perfect gentleman while we skated out at the river.

I guess we just clicked because we went together thereafter.

Continue reading “Simple Moments That Make Life Memorable by Rachel Wermager”

Women and Love by Olive Riley

 Author’s Note:

These are fictional stories with themes form real people’s stories. Almost everything is made up, but the emotions are as real as I could make them. My goal is to make people feel less alone in their experiences, or at least somewhat understood.

Elizabeth

She sat at her desk Thursday after school working on an assignment due the next day. Her spindly fingers urgently typing trying to get her assignment done so she could go to bed. It is 8:08 p.m. She has to wait two more hours until bed is a socially acceptable thing to commit to. Outside she hears laughter from people who are celebrating the end of their Thursdays a bit differently than she.

This happens most Thursdays through Saturdays, so she purposefully keeps her assignments unfinished until the last minute. This gives her a reason to tell herself why she is staying in. The door slams below her window and she hears laughter from the group of girls who had uncomfortably invited her to their “non-solidified” plans that evening in the dining hall. From the sounds of their laughter diminishing with the growing distance between them and her spot at the desk she concludes that their solidified plans did not include her as a detail.

Another hour passes and she is almost done with the homework that is due on Friday. Elizabeth decides she needs to procrastinate. Procrastination now meant less lonely feelings later.

Continue reading “Women and Love by Olive Riley”

Reflections from a College Senior by Cali Tonnesen

As I enter the last few weeks of college, I can’t help to reflect on my experiences. I’ll be completely honest and say that this was not the best four years of my life, I mean moments of it were great but if this is as good as it’s going to get, that’s a bit terrifying. Did I go about college the wrong way? Should I have done things differently? Sure, I have regrets, I probably should have come to college without a high school boyfriend because in hindsight that distanced myself from my friends. I should have spent more time out of my dorm room. I probably should have lived in my sorority house and became closer with my pledge class. I should have gone out more. I should’ve explored Des Moines every weekend. I should have just said “yes” more. But who really knows the right way to do college. Does anyone else feel like these four years are hyped up more than they should be?

Did I fail at college? Continue reading “Reflections from a College Senior by Cali Tonnesen”

My Graduation Speech by Abi Grimminger

hablo lo inglés matao

hablo lo español matao

no sé leer ninguno bien

so it is, spanglish to matao

what i digo

¡ay, virgen, yo no sé hablar!

–Tato Laviera, “my graduation speech”

When I applied for a job at Breakthrough Collaborative in Santa Fe, I thought teaching writing for a nonprofit would be a chance to do what I love and also do some good. After three years of majoring in English at Drake University, I had only completed work in my field of interest during the school year—tutoring college students in my university’s writing workshop and helping elementary and middle school students practice their English while I was in Spain. Perhaps as a consequence, I still had no idea what I wanted to do with an English degree. As I grew closer and closer to graduating, I became increasingly nervous about finding a purpose. It didn’t help that my major seemed to be the butt of every joke. In Spain, when I told a cab driver I was studying English, he said, “Ah,” as if he now understood that I was suffering from a grave predicament. He turned to me confidentially and said, “Estás estudiando tu propia lengua.” Listening to John Mulaney on Netflix, I heard something similar, as he cracked a series of jokes about obtaining a four-year degree “in a language I already spoke.” In the words of Princeton, a singing puppet down on his luck in Avenue Q, “What do you do with a B.A. in English?” I hoped teaching would be my answer, so I could finally have a sense of direction. Continue reading “My Graduation Speech by Abi Grimminger”

Untainted Memories by Kenzie Busekist

Gingerbread Wind Chimes

When we walked into the unfamiliar building I was confused. I was told we were going to see Mom but I didn’t understand why she was in this unfamiliar place when she could be in her bed at home. My stomach grumbled. I wished Mom was making fried chicken for dinner. Instead, we are in this dreary building going to visit her. It doesn’t help that it’s Christmas Eve. All these cheery decorations don’t belong here. There’s an odd stench that fills the halls. It smells like stinky feet and sadness. We turn the corner and I see her in a bed across the hall. The covers outline the silhouettes of her bony arms. She lies there perfectly still. The only sign of life is her bloated stomach moving up and down. Continue reading “Untainted Memories by Kenzie Busekist”

Two Bad Things by Nora Balboa

When my childhood dog died, I cried for three days.  During those three days, I probably slept a total of six hours.  I was nineteen years old at the time and had gotten that dog—Princess—when I was three years old.  I was devasted.  I could tell you exactly what I was doing the day that she died.  I could tell you that I had on my high school English honor society shirt.  I could tell you that it was roughly 9:40 pm when I let her outside and her legs stopped working.  I could tell you that when the vet told us it was time he was wearing green scrubs and that when she tried to look up at me for the last time as she went to sleep there was one brown spot in the white of her left eye.

When my grandpa died two months later, all I remember is that when my mom called me from the hospital and told me in a tear-choked voice that Grandpa was gone, I said, “Oh.” Continue reading “Two Bad Things by Nora Balboa”

Oya by Rai Ahmed-Green

Once there was an island that lay in the middle of a clamorous sea. She had beautiful flowers adorning her like jewels and large trees draping over one another, their leaves blowing on a lazy breeze. The birds gave music and the bugs crawled over her land chomping soil between their mandibles, taking in death to make their living. She sighed into herself and planted further into the ocean. The tide would attempt to overtake her but the sweetness of her soil coaxed it to caress her borders rather than ravage her shores. Continue reading “Oya by Rai Ahmed-Green”

Elegy for Full Caskets by Matthew Musacchio

when i am to die, because there is no if in the matter,

whether it be two days or two hundred years,

may it be on this ground or out in technicolor stars

like bars on the rhythm of this mortal coil

where i am to return to the earth or the sky

or to whatever god has hold of the chain

around my neck giving me such

terrible mercies as to break it

snap it.

when i am to die, do not bury me in this sweet mother

the soft dark soil that is the bosom of Gaia proper,

improper to profane such beauty, such grace,

think of each and every lover we leave behind,

dont make them fall on our caskets

reaching once more tugging at our necks;

think of the pain a eulogy would bring

no, i wont do it i wont knowingly do it

so if you read in newsprint memoria

“they were loved and remembered, service at-“

fuck that, know that i wouldn’t want to lie

sallow in dark suit pinned by carnation and

why couldn’t they at least be roses

rising and falling on wailing chests

please, i beg,

If one person sees me in that suit

surrounded by pine, opining that i

left too young

it wasn’t my design

know that i wanted my heart strings plucked

placed in an urn

and wrapped in the velvet of this poem