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Scene of Memory - Andrew Rodebaugh

Posted by Andrew Rodebaugh in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · B Band on
I was in my bedroom in middle school if I remember correctly. That’s when it came for the first time. I was really falling behind in school. It likes that.

Crawling around in my room. A monster... I guess you could call it that. It’s a quiet creature. It’s large but yet hard to see. And makes a statement without making much noise.

I guess that’s why I was the only one who noticed it. The fear it caused me was not the fear that makes you scream or fear for something or someone. But just the fear that shuts you down and makes you cry. That’s all I could think of doing.

I told my parents and they were upset. Not at it but at me for being silly.

My father yelled at me “Excuses and lies. Ever since you got that C. But out of all your lies this one takes the cake.”

“There's a lot going-” I was interrupted.

“Bull crap. Absolute bull crap.”

I look over and creeping around was it again. Knocking around objects and making a ruckus. No one noticed but I was scared. I remember running to my room and slamming it. Of course, my parents thought it was because of them but I was hiding from my fears. The door gave me protection from it. Whenever it came I went to my room to hide from my fears. Until I was banned from my room causing it to follow me around my everyday life. I had no safe space in my room to wait till it left.

People started to notice that I was not the same. The ruckus caused by it was blamed on me and caused me to slip. Doing worse and I had no support.

I wanted to get rid of it. Get it out of my life once and for all. There were solutions to getting rid of it but I was blocked access from them. They didn’t see the reason why I needed them because the problems caused by it was me.

Now because of that time I am stuck where I am now. It grew bigger and started to hurt me. There is no way I can stop it now. Because of me.


Authors Note:


This piece is something I put a lot of time thinking about how to convey my memories of the lack of support and the pain caused by my “monsters.” It is a depiction of my depression and anxiety that has followed me around. My first draft was a conversation between a therapist and the main character but, it was suggested that I make it more of a monologue. The image is one I found online that I think represented the "controlling nature" of depression.



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KGK Memory Reconstruction

Posted by Kimberly Gucciardi-Kriegh in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · B Band on
IMG-5556
IMG-5556
​Kimberly Gucciardi-Kriegh
Ms. Pahomov
College English
12/16/18

December 17th, 2018. Colorful birthday candles sit on top of my favorite double chocolate cake. I look up from the smoke that sings the remembrance of the flame and see all the smiling faces. How did I make this much progress?
December 17th, 2017. I had a vanilla cake from Shoprite. Only one candle for my 16th birthday. We watched a movie I remember hating, so insignificant I don’t remember which one. My little cousins screamed from all the sugar. Went to bed that night and tried to recover from the disappointment by watching Netflix. I didn’t feel better. 
Last March I was failing junior year. That May, my only escape from stress was laying in my pajamas. Every day I ate Rice Krispies for breakfast and soup for lunch. My birthday came and no friends were at my party because I didn’t have any worth inviting. I wasn’t sure I was worth being friends with. 
December 17th, 2016. There were “friends” staring at their phone and making fun of my old furniture. My parents tried to build up my self-esteem by inviting family members I never met, to make me feel I had a crowd cheering for me. In the end, I put up a facade, holding up applause signs to fake happiness and please strangers. 
April 2016, I constantly felt awkward, ugly, and uncomfortable. September, my family got a dog, that was the only highlight of the year. 

This year was celestial. I saw something I had never seen before. The look of genuine love on guests’ faces was shocking to me. I thought this look didn’t exist, something I made up. The guest list included my mom’s side of the family I actually like and some new kids at my school that are now my best friends. 
This year I found joy in the small things; repainting my room, watering plants, coupons at my favorite store, watching the sunrise on train rides, and meeting new people. 
Tonight, I will end my night in a bubble bath, a big bowl of ice cream, and listening to my favorite songs. The perfect day needs a perfect ending. It took me so much energy to get where I am. Something that couldn’t be measured in miles, inches, or pounds. 

Authors Note-
These events are not based on my life, only some small things I like to do or typical “teenager” things. Since the next step is coming close to all my friends, classmates, and I, I have been very inspired regarding how far we have come and how much we have grown. I chose to use shorter sentence structure and more poetic descriptions to mimic the way Margaret Atwood creates scenes in The Handmaid’s Tale. I incorporated lots of different events from the main characters life to mimic when Bromden was being electrically shocked and had lots of memories flood back from different points in his life. The image I made is based off the story I wrote and te events that occured between the years. I did the first two in black and white and finally introduced color once the character's life became better.

Reconstruction of a Memory- Cat Long

Posted by Catherine Long in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · C Band on

Here I am, all dressed in an uncomfortable black outfit. The weather is fitting for the day. It’s raining, really heavily might I add. My father with a slightly stone cold face. Trying to pretend like he isn’t hurting right now. The surrounding people dressed in black, holding umbrellas and tissues. The man standing next to Dimitri is giving a speech, his words, along with the sobs of others began to grow fuzzy. He’s a cruel, cruel man. My cruel brother. Leaving me all alone.


Outside, I was forced outside. His shouts could be heard by the neighbors. Tears rolling down my face, as I crouched to the ground, hands covering my ears. My eyes were tightly shut. A curdling scream released. In the distance I could see my father frantically trying to call someone. Help.

“Bastard! This is your fault!” His voice was filled with hatred. It wasn’t… It wasn’t my fault! I had nothing to do with this! I need to help him… I was like trying to reach out, yet he wouldn’t grab my hand. I can’t hold onto him any longer. The window now shattered out of rage. My heart was beating fast, my breathing was labored. My eyes forced open, taking one good look at Dimitri. My eyes locked with his, never leaving the brown eyes that once shined. Dimitri wouldn’t listen, he kept screaming. Placing all blame on us. Guilt… It was eating at my stomach. I knew, I knew I shouldn’t be guilty. Yet, with him screaming at me. Taunting me. I couldn’t help it. Time went slower than normal. The screams stopped. My body shot up. Dimitri could no longer be seen from the window and I didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs. Dimitri… The only person I cared about. Feet running as fast as possible to the door. Not caring if I stepped on glass and bleed.

“Dimitri! Dimitri! Open the door! Please! Please, let me know you’re okay!” I dryly shouted, pounding on the door. Fresh tears running down my face once more. No answer.


Audio (I had 3 different ones)

I Dreamed a Dance- Next to Normal:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8rRl2xxXK4&index=14&list=PL2DC20458721C6798


Light in the Dark- Next to Normal: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLqz-k6hJZ4&index=18&list=PL2DC20458721C6798


She Used to Be Mine- Waitress:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2-aUNmYNLM


Author's Note

So I chose to do a mix of both Kesey and Atwood. Atwood used actions to convey the emotions and hopelessness of Offred. Kesey’s way of writing memories for Chief Bromden was very vague or super detailed. Confusing and needed to be put together by little parts. I took a bit of information from one of the papers read during class during one of the workshops. It was mentioned that the writing should flow and words should have some form of meaning, even the beautiful ones. The hopeless feeling made known by actions and not so much by saying it up front.


Turmoil in Orlando

Posted by Afi Koffi in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · B Band on

No I don’t believe it. What would Ramone be doing in front of my job in Orlando? Oh shoot, he looked at me. What do I do? Smile? Wave? Stupid. What if he doesn’t remember you? Or worse, what is he does?



“What the heck, Bash?” Ramone was yelling at me even though I was the one who just got hit with a football. I was distracted. What was I looking at? “Get your head in the game, the chip is this weekend. Prom can wait.”

That’s it. I was looking at the prom banner going up. I didn’t have a date yet and it was weighing me down. “Man shut up, ain't nobody worried about some dumb prom. Go long.”

“Sure. See the one in the pink shorts? That’s all me.”

“They’re all in pink shorts.” See, Jada, his new fling was on the cheerleading team. Fling is a nice way of putting it. He didn’t see her the way I did, couldn’t treat her the way I did. She and I never put a label on it so it wasn’t cheating, really, it was an agreement we made. Harmless. How were we to know it could cost Ramone everything? “I said go long,” I shooed him away and  blew Jada a kiss. He wasn’t supposed to see.

“Man, what the f--” That was the last thing he said before getting by a truck. He didn’t make it to the championship game. Or to prom. Last time I checked, he was still Philly. I ghosted Jada at prom, graduated and never looked back. How do I bring myself to speak to him now? My best friend who I placed in a wheelchair. I visited him once in the hospital, didn’t even go into his room. I couldn’t see him like that. I turned to leave but I guess he could feel the deceit in the air. He yelled after me, “Bash? Bash. SEBASTIAN!”



“What man? What do you want from me? “

“Chill man. It’s me Ramone. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Oh hey.” Of course, How could I ever forget?


Author's Note:
Thanks for reading! In this piece, I attempted to take a familiar feeling of uncertainty that comes from when we see someone we haven’t seen in a while and dramatize it. This story is about two friends with a tough past who meet obscurely and is something I think people can relate to. In reference to the mentor text, I incorporated pieces of inner, self conscious dialogue as well as had external surroundings play into the memory itself. For my Audio companion, I chose Adele’s ‘Hello’ because it encompasses the feeling of regret that Sebastian has throughout the story.


Reconstruction of a Memory- Matthew Milligan

Posted by Matthew Milligan in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · C Band on

Alone in my bedroom, I find myself swallowed by darkness. I want the lack of light to numb me, to shut out the noise of the raging world outside. The bed I lay in should feel soft, but the usually delicate sheets and warm blue comforter make me feel confined. Why is it that I cannot find comfort in the simple things that used to please me before? Perhaps it is the pit of loss currently hollowing out my stomach, growing deeper with each breath I take.


Death has ripped away someone I love. It had been a lingering shadow hovering over us for many months prior, slowly collecting its tax on life. How many more hospital trips would it have to take for it to finally be over? Sometimes waiting ends up being more tortuous than what everyone dreads. At least they can finally rest, and maybe we can too.


Wrestling against muddled thoughts of grief attempting to pin me to the bed, I rose to my feet. It felt like I was underwater, my bones full of cement. Too stubborn to turn on the lamp,  I search around in the pitch black topography created by blackout curtains nested in the windows for the items I desire.


Years of use have made the room a place I can navigate flawlessly with eyes closed. I find my nightstand with ease and grasp my hands around a candle, the smooth glass the wax resides in cold to the touch. I need something other than the dull glow of artificial light.


The second provision I must hunt for takes a little bit more effort, however, after a few minutes, I find the cheap lighter I bought at the corner store in my drawer amongst underwear and scattered change. It isn’t meant to light candles, but I must make do with what I have. Fumbling absentmindedly with the switch I send sparks into the empty air as I make my way towards the window.


Moving the veil aside I lay the candle upon the window ledge and stare at it, unlit, full of potential. My fingers coax a flame from the lighter and I bring it to the wick. A steady fire presents itself before me and I watch it intently. A faint glow illuminates the room, scaring the darkness away into corners. I made my way back to bed and lay down, watching the flickering illumination dance across the ceiling with the shadows still present in the room with me.

Author's Note:


Most of the stylistic influences in my short story come from Margaret Atwood. Though boredom plays a role in Offred being overly descriptive in her narration, I feel as though another part of it is her brain trying to distract itself from her current terrible situation. My main character is similarly suffering in the moment (Offred struggles with grief a lot) and I wanted them to cope in the same way. I also appreciated Offred's tendencies to interrupt her narration with questions to herself/the reader. I think doing so adds more to the description by showing how the character is reacting to the memory as the are remembering it, which is why I had my character do the same thing.

Reconstruction of a Memory- Brendan Hall

Posted by Brendan Hall in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · C Band on
Screenshot 2018-12-13 at 7.56.24 PM
Screenshot 2018-12-13 at 7.56.24 PM

I tried to escape from a house to find a home. I kept looking over my shoulder the paranoia was getting to me, suddenly I heard a voice.

“Did you think you could hide forever?” I didn’t but it was worth was a shot.

“I’m your dad and you have to listen to what I tell ya. That’s the way it is. I don’t want you to be a loser like you loser mom’s side of the family. You’re a Jones not a Williams,” The same speech I heard dozens of times before. Of all the places he could be, he was here and found me, just my luck. I do the other thing I’ve ever done my whole life, run. I run because I refuse to be controlled. I refuse to allow someone to be antagonized their whole and put up with it, only to have their abuser wear the victim’s mask. I refuse to allow someone to lie about their former spouse having affair in order to manipulate their family. I refuse to be a Jones.

“Get back here!” he yelled when about ten feet back when I initially bursted into sprint. There’s no turning back. I ran until I didn’t see him anymore, and I kept running after that. I could never be sure I wasn’t just running away from family mistreatment anymore. I was running from the slight part of me that resembles him. I’m running from the man I’m afraid I’ll become. I’m running from the future I fear more than anything. I’m running from a man that’s been running from himself.

“You thought you could outrun me?” He came out of nowhere The anger in his face was enough to start a war itself. He cocked his arm all the way back and right before I’m hit that’s when I awake.

This reoccurring nightmare happened again. Even when he can’t control me I allowed myself to be scarred by him. Although this moment happened years ago I’m only able to remember it on a good day and on a bad day I relive it.


My reconstruction of a memory came from the style of Atwood and the content of Kesey. Atwood’s usage of figurative language influenced me to write phrases such as “I’m running from a man who’s running from himself”. While Chief’s flashback to his family life influenced me to write about the topic I chose. The hallucinations throughout One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest also made me want to have a nightmare to show subscious thoughts.

Reconstruction of Memory- Justin Stewart

Posted by Justin Stewart in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · C Band on
Image result for flattened bike tire

I remember the time we tried riding down Rat Road. It was a hot summer day in 2017. I was with my two friend’s Billy Bob and Jake. We were riding our bikes throughout the neighborhood. Billy rode his aunt’s bike since his bike’s tires were flattened by a sharp nail a few months before. We were doing tricks and daring each other to do stunts. But one dare proved to have been to extreme for us.

“Come on Billy we’re going to Rat road.” Jake said.

“Rat road? Doesn’t that street have a bunch of shattered glass on the ground?” I asked

“Yeah, the reason why there is a bunch of glass on the ground is because there was a car accident there like last week.” Jake responded

I remember saying, “I don’t think that we should go there, if cars can’t go down that street, bikes shouldn’t either.”

“We’ll be fine, I’ll go down the street first” I said.


          Rat Road was a really steep hill, cars were banned from going down because it was a safety hazard. Still, I  went down first, he was moving fast but he got to the bottom safely. Jake went next. He wasn’t going as fast as I was but he was still going fast enough for it to be dangerous falling off your bike here would be very bad. But he also got to the end in one piece. Next, Billy Bob went down the hill. I remember seeing him shaking in fear. He said that he wasn’t really afraid of falling because he had on a helmet, elbow guards, and knee guards. But he was more afraid of breaking my aunt’s bike. He stood at the top of the hill for what seemed like five minutes and thought over if he should do this. If he backed out, then we would’ve thought that he wasn’t “man enough.” But if he did go down the hill, He’d have the high risk of destroying his aunt’s bike. He finally decided to go down the hill. He sped down even faster than I did. While he rode down the hill, I heard and seen his tire pop. I looked down and saw there were many shards of glass inside the tire, and he lost control.  The bike and flew off but luckily for him he didn’t have any severe injuries.


Author's Note:


This story is based off of a true story that I experienced. Billy Bob represents me as I was afraid to ride down the hill with my aunt’s that wasn’t called Rat road but that was the nickname we gave it. In reality, it was a steep hill but cars weren’t banned from going up and down the hill they just chose not to. For this story, I chose to use the style of Margaret Atwood as she uses repetition to make the story more believable. I also used some of Ken Kesey’s method by making the story very descriptive so the reader can feel what the Protagonist is feeling.


Reconstruction of Memory

Posted by Julia Furman in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · B Band on

“When I lose something, I always try to think back to the last time I saw it. When I go back to that place, I usually find what I lost.”

The last time I saw my father…

It was clear from the start that this advice wouldn’t be very helpful. The most recent memory Julia had of her father was years ago - only a few days before he went missing. This memory had returned to her only just last night - the first of her personal memories. Perhaps the others would return to her when something happened in the present to trigger it. There was only one way to find out.

She thought back to the day when she was young… five or six. She had walked into her father’s… study? Yeah, study, he was a scholar. Is a scholar. Why? She had a nightmare, and was in need of his company. Did she go to her mother first? No, she had no memories of her mother. She never knew her. He held her in his arms with a loving embrace for a long time. She remembered snuggling closer to his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his sweater on her cheek, hearing the beat of his heart, and feeling a wave of comfort wash over her.

Julia started to cry. As she stood there in the field, her own father was being held prisoner somewhere on this land. A prisoner of beings that would not hesitate to kill him if it would benefit them in some way. She had no clue where they were keeping him, or if he was still alive. But even if she would never see him again, at least she had something to remember him by.

Julia’s mind came back to the present. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and she and her companions moved on, even more, determined to find the one who could just be her only surviving parent. She had to save him. He had to see him again. And she will risk it all to do so. Even her own life.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2kTtW5f56I

Thank you for taking the time to read my piece. This is actually supposed to be a small part of a larger story, so that’s why it doesn’t feel quite complete or why some details aren’t quite as explained. If you are interested in learning more about the story, feel free to come talk to me. For my audio companion, I decide to use the song Hymn for the Missing by Red. Since the main character has a missing person in her life, it was kind of fitting. I can imagine one of them singing the song to the other.

Shamus Keough Reconstruction of Memory

Posted by Shamus Keough in College English · Pahomov/Rhymer · B Band on

I remember when the doctor told me I wasn’t going to live. I was an overweight man living in Detroit, living in an average house with my wife and child. While I was overweight, I still tried to get to the gym on weekends, and when ever I had freetime. I wasn’t the best with working out, but I always made sure I ran a few miles on the treadmill. I thought it would be interesting to try out running and see if I could lose some weight as well. The next summer after I started training I had already set up the idea to run a half marathon by some point in my life.

By the second month of training, I was starting to be really proud of myself. I had been doing some long runs, and at that point my farthest run had been nine miles. I was happy, and so was my wife, everything was going great. Until the doctor visit the next week.

I had gone to the doctor after work one day because I felt a little bit like I was starting to get the flu. I got to the doctor’s office and described how I was feeling to the doctor. The doctor said “Well… it might be a cold, but I just want to check if it could be something else. Would you mind taking an mri really quick?” I said sure, and got into the machine. The mri ended a few minutes later, and the doctor came into the room with a sad look on his face.

“I’m so sorry… it’s what I thought it might be. You have blood cancer.”

I later found out that I had only a few more months to live. I didn’t know how exactly to react, all I knew was that I was going to finish that half marathon I promised to my wife. I kept on practicing, every weekend, and any other free time I had. I had been practicing so much, I knew I was going to do his best, and even if I had to, make it the last thing I did in my life.

Author’s Note

The plot of the story is partially based off of my first experience running a half marathon. My first time running a half marathon was pretty difficult, so I tried to have my main character also have a hard time training at first. I had Terry start out training and have some trouble at first, which I can admit I also had some trouble when I first started running. After Terry starts running, I added him being diagnosed with cancer because I wanted to make Terry have some extra struggle with his training. I had the idea of him being diagnosed with cancer because I also had cancer when I was younger.