Table of Contents Views and Mechanics Publisher's Note Review of Down to a Sunless Sea Review of Words of a Feather Creative Nonfiction Burning Men By Gerard Sarnat Integration By David Caplan Hands Across the Sea By Jennifer Mazik Poetry I Can't Wait Until the Resurrection By David Halliday Dashing With You By Mick Joyce Island of Hong By Mick Joyce Fiction The Price of Shoes By Sandra M. McDow Jeux d'Esprit By Julio Peralta-Paulino Feed Me, Pet Me By Stephen Dorneman The Lovely Peasant By G. David Schwartz About the Contributors © 2008, River Walk Journal and respective authors and artists. All rights reserved. Do not use or reproduce without permission. River Walk Journal, Inc. Board of Directors Chairman - Elizabeth Ross Vice Chairman - Joseph Koch Secretary/Treasurer - Geri Stock-Ross Editorial Director - Patti Kurtz, DA Literacy Director - Kenneth Weiss, Ed.D Policy Director - PA State Rep. Jess Stairs Advisory Board Chairman - Patti Kurtz, DA Asst. Chairman - Dan Lachenman, PhD Samuel Hazo Christopher Leland Edwin Yoder Joseph Bathanti Journal Staff Publisher - Elizabeth Ross Editor-In-Chief - Joseph Koch Senior Editor - Patti Kurtz Editor - Elizabeth Murray Copyeditor - Kathy Skaggs Publicity Director (PA) - Geri Stock-Ross For information about submissions, visit http://www.riverwalkjournal.org/subs.html. Questions about promotions, subscribers' services, and advertising should be sent to publisher@riverwalkjournal.org. River Walk Journal, Inc. is a non-profit corporation run entirely by volunteers. For information about volunteer opportunities and internships, visit VolunteerMatch.

Jeux d'Esprit By Julio Peralta-Paulino It had been a long, eventful day and the night dawned easy as rain clouds before precipitation. Jake had remarked to himself the previous day how the sky had brightened just after he had performed his exercise rituals in preparation for expediting Evelina’s art to an upcoming exhibition. It had been a few years since he had been seduced by the concept of synchronicity. Often in search of the negative, it would be not be wrong to place the positive event as a possible turning point. Jake had often wondered and worried over signs and signals from the mysterious realm that is life itself. Of course, as it was with many things in the post modern world, wondering and worrying did not always offer resolution. Someone had mentioned to him that communism and terrorism were both nine letter words. It was about nine in the evening when he sat back to write a letter and the coincidence was on his mind. Of course, terror had been around for ages. It was just recently that the media machine had brought it with a packaged bounce into the homes of the world. Genghis Khan would have been an illustrious terrorist in the age of television. The moon lay full in the northern corner of the sky and thickening clouds floated under the stars. He did not want to think about terror or the once infamous Khan. Obviously, there are subjects and situations that a person cannot avoid. Like soft core sex on cable. As for communism, it seemed that some ideas cannot get past greed. Jake -if anything– was a utopian, but he understood beyond doubt that humanity was as far from Eden as rappers were from pronouncing homosexuality as an option to bling. He collected the paper and pen he would employ to write a letter to Shayna. Sat down at the dining table and started to transcribe his thoughts into words. “Dear Shayna,” he scribbled. “I was thinking of you today.” Jake paused for a moment to gather momentum and brainchild the first paragraph. He’d been standing in line to catch the new Woody Allen film, when he first encountered her. She was just ahead of him, with a few friends, in a sensual blue short jean skirt. Her legs stood out from the crownless crowd limbs at the Beekman. Some eastside boys in baggy clothing were jouncing the avenue in search of something or someone. Jake heard one of them ask Shayna her name. She smiled bright as a sunburst, “Clafin. Shayna Clafin.” The fact that she responded to his question must have shocked him and before he could accumulate a verbal response and lift his gaze from her wide-cut bosom one of the other boyos presented his sentiments with enthusiasm, “I’d Clafinate that!” It was as funny as it was rude. Parts of the line and the itinerant young men tittered. Jake giggled too, but was careful not to let his usual cackle corrupt the observance that he hoped would near him to the fairness of her beauty by attracting the wrong kind of attention upon himself. As the crowd thinned into the sanctuary of the movie house, he delayed his customary scurry to the front seats to see in which direction she was headed. Shayna, it turned out, was the type to get candy at the popcorn stand. Jake followed and soon found himself near enough to pioneer a prologue to a possible friendship. “You know, he should have said, I’d like to get Clafinated.” “Well, maybe he’s the type to marry and change his last name for his wife’s surname.” “That’s an interesting point. My name’s Jake, by the way, Jake Woodhull.” “So, if I married you, I’d be Shayna Woodhull?” She asked with a smile that was both gracious and sly as her turn neared at the counter. “Or, I might be Jake Clafin. I just don’t know if I could get used to another name.” He said, trying his best to be entertaining. She ordered Goobers and a Coke. Jake was trying to think of something to say to attract her attention for more than just the passing moment. A few thoughts raced through his head, but none of them felt right. As the change was handed back to her, he added, “I usually don’t try to continue conversations with a lot of people, but I hope somewhere down the line we might get to talking again.” The words wandered away from him without much thought. Shayna replied casually, “As long as I don’t have to get Woodhulled.” They both laughed at her sudden and somewhat sarcastic reply. She continued into the screening room and Jake was left to explain to the young lady attending the milk bar with a name tag that read Sniz that he really didn’t want anything. The young lady sulked in a slender way and Jake sauntered into his usual position at the front of the projection room. The film was called Scoop, he’d been expecting a somewhat less casual affair after Match Point and was pleased to find himself cloaked with giggles and smiles during much of the film. Of course, he would have enjoyed it more had he not been thinking of Shayna Clafin who was tucked away somewhere in the almost plush seats behind him. He had, without much reluctance, turned his head a couple of times to see if he could spy her sandy mane in the near dark of the Beekman. No luck and when the Woody Allen character Splendini took to the road, there was no looking back. The end credits, which he enjoyed waiting through, suffered for his wanting to weave a way into Shayna’s world. It wasn’t his night. She was long gone or he had missed her exit. He stood out on the hard city walkway and watched the traffic flow in its typical hurry. Walking up and west to the other side of town, he thought about Shayna despite the fact that Scarlett Johansson was shown in a sharp bathing suit during one scene and while it wasn’t the rainy copulation from Match Point, it was still Scarlett Johansson. He walked into his tiny apartment on the west side. A few water bugs fled from the light. He looked into his fridge, a fading metallic contraption, albeit he knew that there was nothing there he wanted. The hunk of Swiss cheese and the hueless bottle of carbonated water stared back at him with the coolness of items that have gotten used to their place inside the ice box. He phoned the local deli and requested his usual fare for delivery. It wasn’t a Caribbean place, but they made a mean Cuban sandwich. Just moments after his meal, the telephone rang and he was tempted to let the machine pick it up as he was on his way to bed and the fantasy of being Clafinated. “Yellow.” Jake’s voice played into the wireless receiver. “Hey, Jake, it’s me Evelina.” “Hey, man.” “It really irritates me when you use that expression. Anyways, what are you doing? It sounds like you’re busy.” “No, I just got back from checking out Scoop. You know it’s funny, it bugs me when people say ‘anyways’.” “Well, whatever, was the movie good?” “Yeah, it was good, you should see it.” “I don’t know, you know me, I’ll probably wait for the DVD. Well, what else is up?” “Nothing much. Oh, Yeah, I ran into this girl, Shayna.” “Do you mean someone that you are actually attracted to?” “Yeah, she’s hot.” “Let me guess, blonde and blue eyed – ” “Well, dirty Blonde.” “I know this person, I know Shayna.” “No way!” “Way, way. She lives on the east side.” “Listen, Evelina, man, you got to hook me up.” “If you promise to stop calling me ‘man’, I’d be glad to put in a good word for you.” Evelina paused for a moment to consider what she might say about Jake that would create interest within the dirty blonde mind of her acquaintance that lived on the other side of Central Park. Within her non-verbal intermission her thoughts wheeled first to make certain that Jake wasn’t simply interested in playing it for the poon. “And you do have serious intentions, right? It’s not that you’re just tired of sharing your room with the water bugs and want to get in her pants?” “No, it’s not like that, she’s like unusual.” “Seriously?” “I promise. I mean, I wouldn’t mind getting into her pants, but it’s more than that.” “I just hope it’s not like the time you offered to help me move the sculptures back from the gallery.” “Evelina, I can’t believe you’re going to bring that up now.” “A promise is a promise, Jake.” “I know, I know, look, man – I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say it again, it just – look, Evelina, do this for me and I will be there for the next exhibition.” “Well, I will give her a call tomorrow and see what I can do.” “Coolness. I gotta go, the deli guy’s downstairs.” “We’ll talk tomorrow.” In the weeks that followed, Shayna and Jake became friendly through a couple of casual getting-to-know-you dates at Ernie’s. The friendliness floated into light romance, with several revealing telephone conversations and an unexpected kiss-hug while swaying to a surprisingly tender ballad from the punk group that was jamming the semi-crowded small hall of CBGBs. The light romance was about to flourish, but she found herself overwhelmed by a move out of the city. “I think it’s better to remain on platonic terms, Jake. I think you – we get along. I don’t know any relationship that can handle the distance. I have to take this job, I can hardly believe that I’m turning it into a dilemma because of you – of us.” Inside, he wanted scream for her to stay; to get in her pants; to hold on to her right next to his worries and wishes… Just as he was about to complain, her sky colored eyes glanced down as if searching for the courage not to weep. In that instant, Jake realized it was his obligation to not scream, to not plead, to allow her to be as she wanted even if it was on the far side of his worries and wishes, of his longing heart. Vancouver. He’d always thought it was in Canada and hadn’t imagined a town in the states with the same name. She said it was near Seattle. She said she might make it back for holidays. Had he counted the letters, he would have found nine within the town’s name. Had he made the connection, it might have brought him an ironic smile. Beyond the unavoidable situations and subjects, he had a promise to keep. Jake had pledged to write her letters in longhand and as he proceeded to set pen to paper, thunder bellowed across the turquoise Manhattan skyline and the mizzle wavered slowly down into the city. “I know I promised to write sooner, but you know how fast the days can slide away. Man, it’s a shame that you had to move away from the city. I really do miss being Clafinated. I think of it every time I get asked if I want my coffee regular or decaf. I suppose it has taken me longer to write just because I’ve gotten so used to e-mails, comments on MySpace, and Messenger that the physical act of writing a letter seems like an ancient ritual. Still, I’m glad you asked me to do it. It has made me contemplate and consider what I’m saying a lot more than I do online, not that you could tell from these trembling words. I know that people grow apart when they move away from each other, but I hope that’s not the case with us. I hope it’s like that time we met and I searched for you after the movie only to have you find me in the weirdest way. Jeez, no one would believe a story like that, both of us knowing Evelina. By the way, she’s got a show this weekend and I’m going to go help her carry the creations.” The mizzle moved into drizzle and the drizzle marched for a while before the downpour rocked with lightning. Jake paused from his jotting and wondered if it was raining where Shayna was. Wondered how many boys were beaming to be Clafinated. Wondered about world peace. Wondered what the next nine letter media scare might be. Wondered what the next Woody Allen film might be about. Wondered when he’d see Shayna again and continued writing his letter with a considerable lessening of worry and a significant amount of dedication. Even in the post modern world, a woman’s beauty is more powerful than any signs or signals from the inexplicable and glorious reality that is life itself. The morning arrived. Jake was still singing along to the music of his forty plus winks. Manhattan hummed with that magical big city hurry as the sunlight drowned away with cherry declarations all evidence of the downpour. In his dream, Jake roamed an imaginary Vancouver while carrying a scaled down version of The End Of The Orgy sculpture as he searched (in need of stamps and an envelope) for the post office.