Four Winds Came Blowin' In

by William Snead

Poem


Metamorphosis of the Mind

by Shon Pernice

Prose


A Place Where Soldiers Go

by Paul Gonzales

Poem


The Light Bulb Man

by Sean Parrish

Prose


A 1984 Exception

by Katherine Iwatiw

Prose


Empty

by Michelle Pond

Photograph


A 1984 Exception

By Katherine Iwatiw, Army

Writing Type: Prose

By Katherine Iwatiw


I
was a fresh-faced American soldier with a pocketful of Deutsche Marks out for a night in Nuremburg, Germany. When the city center’s bar and dance hall announced ‘last call,’ the trains and buses had shut down. I hadn’t kept enough marks for a taxi back to my post, but I had danced with a cute American soldier who mentioned a hotel down the street for U.S. military personnel.


Outside the closed bar and dance hall, I spotted my friend.


“Hello, soldier,” I said. “Walk with me to the government hotel.”


He held my hand as we drifted down the empty cobblestoned street. He joked; I laughed, and there we stood in front of the hotel. Flood lamps illuminated the U.S. and West German flags mounted above the hotel’s first floor. The facade looked pre-World War II and war-spared with no visible bullet holes.


My friend held open the large wooden door inlaid with antique glass while I sashayed through, allowing myself a Mae West moment.


He asked for a room from the clerk, a middle-aged German man who spoke impeccable English. After my friend handed over his ID card, I asked for a room. The clerk pointed to a sign in German and English: “Keine Frauen erlaubt. No women allowed.”


Holding up my green American military ID card, I said, “I am not a woman. I am an American soldier.”


The man turned the signboard around, “Keine Ausnahmen. No Exceptions.”


Looking around the lobby, I spotted a couch in a far corner.


“I’m going to lie down on the couch over there. I don’t give a f..k what you boys decide to do.”


It was a two-cushion couch about five feet long, enough for all of me. I wrapped my black Army trench coat around me and allowed my body to sink into a respectful coexistence with every lump, bump and bug living in the couch. I closed my eyes and focused on a mechanical hum coming from a distant room. I listened until I heard nothing more.  


“Wake up. The clerk wants to see your ID.”


I pushed myself to a seated position and coordinated my eye-blinking and breathing patterns until I was awake.  


“Hurry or he’ll change his mind.”


I stood up and adjusted my clothes. I pulled my card from my pants pocket and hastened to the counter.


“Thank you, Fräulein,” he said as I handed my card to him, “Please sign here.”


With squinting eyes, he inspected both sides of my card and then made copies front and back using a noisy 1970s copier.


My friend and I rented one room with two twin beds. I intercepted the key as it was being handed over.


"I'll take this," I announced.


Walking away, I allowed myself a smile. No exceptions some other night. 

 

 

 

 

Four Winds Came Blowin' In

by William Snead

Poem


Dance Little Children

by Dennis O’Brien

Poem


A Knock on the Door

by Diane Wasden

Prose


The Light Bulb Man

by Sean Parrish

Prose


Empty

by Michelle Pond

Photograph


The Promise

by Nila Bartley

Poem