We were in the car, going down Mississippi when she finally said it.

“I love you”

I didn’t quite know how to respond. I had thought about that word for a while. Love. What a crazy word.

“I know. I don’t quite know how to respond. I have thought about this,
and what I would say to you, but now that you actually said it, I don’t
know… it just isn’t what I thought it would be.”

” What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you confuse me. You’re are the most amazing woman I have ever met, and the way I feel when I look at you, I cant explain
it. I’m saying that I hate titles and I hate milestones. I’m saying that
I don’t need some word to express how I feel about you. If I love you
now, how is that going to change anything? How is it going to change
the way I feel about you, or the way you feel about me?”

“I… I guess I just thought… I don’t know. I know how I feel about
you and  want you to know how I feel about you. You don’t have to say it back, just know that’s how I feel.”

Wow. Now I really didn’t know what to say. At that moment in time, I
loved her. I loved her more than anything I could think of, but what
if that changed? How could I say it now if I didn’t know how long it
would last?

“What’s holding you back?”

“What makes you so strong?”

“My overwhelming love for you.”

“I’m holding myself back. I’m always changing.”

“I can change with you.”

“I cant ask you to do that.”

“I want to.”

“What if that changes? What if the way you feel about me changes and
you cant change with me anymore?”

“When I look into your eyes, when I see the way you smile when I wake up next to you in the mornings, I know that my feelings for you will never change. No matter how much you do.”

“What if I love you, but it changes?”

” Look around you. This street is always changing, but I still love it
here just as much as I did when we moved here. Even with all the
changes.”

“I love it here too.”

“I love it here, and I love you, changes and all.”

“I love it here too.”

Kotie Threlkeld, 12th grade

1. Your child loves Trillium.

2. You want to have a great night out dancing with good fare, libations, & friends.

3. You remember that the auction sold out last year.

4. You hope to be one of the lucky people to receive a commemorative sticker or magnet
for being among the first fifty ticket buyers.

5. You have not planned a Valentine-themed date night…yet!

6. Your old prom-wear misses you.

7. Your child’s artwork will be purchased by someone else if you are not present.

8. You look forward to the chance to bid on unique goods & services donated by locally-
owned businesses.

9. You want to support Trillium.

10. You love Trillium.

Other Ways You Can Be Involved:

~Bid on-line

~Sign-up for a sign-up event on-line

~Volunteer for the auction

~Donate money to the school on-line

~Offer childcare to those planning on attending

Offerings

With auction offerings valued at over $30,000, there is bound to be something in the mix
that you will want! Just a few of the businesses who have donated so far…
¿Por Que No?, Revolver Bikes, & School of Rock

Check out our auction page!

Juli Maus

Corduroy

“Corduroy reminds me of denim.” James says boredly, hands in his pockets as he glances at a huge, distasteful sign with uncomfortably-big letters in block text “CORDUROY” above our heads.

“Wh-what?!” I exclaim. “They have nothing in common!” “Well, they’re just an uglier fabric to use to make pants. So, like ugly denim.” “Ugly denim?” “Yes. If I’m ever of any power or importance in this world, I shall rename corduroy ‘Ugly Denim’ Or maybe something shorter like ‘Ugdem’.” “Ugdem? That’s even worse than corduroy!” “But corduroy is such a pleasant word…” He stares blankly at the rack of unnaturally brightly colored clothes. “The fabric cannot live up to the name.” “You’re such a freak…” I punch him lightly in the shoulder. James has always been a weird guy. He’s just…different, y’know? I dunno how ‘ta explain it other than just…”Odd”. As a kid he was fascinated with roadkill, fruit, ink, milk and anything you could pop. I remember being…what, six? And asking him why he liked those things. He replied;

“They all leave marks and have the most interesting smells.”
Sometimes I still catch him crushing a fruit in his big, bricky hands, or lazily crouching by a crushed cat, tugging lightly on some barely attached limb until the tendon snaps off, and the flesh falls back onto itself with a unsettling squish.

Ivy Sullivan, 10th grade

“Welcome Home” the tattered banner proclaimed, leftover from a long ago past. What had happened here, and who had participated? The photographer wandered from room to abandoned room, moving furniture and debris as he saw fit. A pastel blue dress left hanging, an empty broken bed frame. Evidence of recent squatters proved he wasn’t the only person to see this disgusting beauty. He stepped over the broken beer bottles, careful not to land on any rusty nails. Braving the rotting stairs, he found rooms untouched by desperate eyes. A bathroom cupboard with dried up cosmetics. What had caused the people to leave? Why was one shoe deemed more important then the other? Finished, he put away his camera, and carefully climbed out a glass-less window. The cooling breeze swept his clothing, and he realized how stale the house had smelled. He’d cut himself somewhere, and would now have to get a tetanus shot. These things people would not think of when viewing his art. They would talk about depth, contrast, composition… To him these were just byproducts. The fun was in obtaining a subject. The subtle scar he would have on his left palm, the stain on his pant leg, these lasted longer then a photo. They were his memory.

Anaïs Liston, 12th grade

Luscious

Green pineapple pineflower fruit of the green yellow orange shining smell. Some far off glade of the sharp luscious mango peach sent envelopment. Pain of joy, green tender young juice of flowing nectar. Sweet sent ambrosia of far off isle of white gold orange passion.

Diving blue gold ecstasy of the darkened soft billowing opiate dream. Little tinkles and bifocal movement synergies. Insentious incense, world of orange blue pink green gold silver red. Inside the waking lust of dream. Speech as droning harmonic pasture of the stagnate past. Deft raging spirit machines. Mechanized motion of enlighten interventionary passion of thoughtless carnage waking at the dawn of relentless waiting. The sorrow. Shamed repast, the forgotten future lies ahead, a bogus real construction of his face.

Cheese, cheese,

Cheese-Cheese-Cheese.

Wank-Wank-Wank,

Cheese-Cheese-Cheese.

wonk, wank.

Cheese-Cheese-Cheese,

Wank-wank-wank-wank,

Wank-wank-wank!

Luscious flat coat man. Walking fast the dark rain reflected off dull gray choky street of rain. Meek fright and passing glow drop to harsh glare of darkness.

Ray Kennedy, 12th grade