First-person narratives based on real human experiences. The moments that change us. The relationships that define us. The lessons we carry forward.
Brance had his hand on the back of the chair to my right, the good chair, the one with the little needlepoint cushion Dovey had... Read more
I went out to Ropell’s garage on a Tuesday afternoon in the first week of June for nothing more than a three-quarter-inch wrench, to fix... Read more
Ferrell sat at my mother’s kitchen table on a Thursday afternoon in March, in the same chair he had eaten breakfast in for twenty-one years,... Read more
My sister Delcie was loading our mother’s wedding china into her husband’s truck at six in the morning, four days before the funeral, and she... Read more
Rickert walked into my living room on a Tuesday afternoon, lifted my shadow box straight off its two nails on the wall, tucked it under... Read more
I was standing at my own kitchen counter on a Tuesday evening, checking the parts delivery schedule on the tablet we keep by the coffee... Read more
My key would not turn in my own mother’s front door, and before both my feet were even up on that porch, my brother Dewitt’s... Read more
My brother Renard stood in the doorway of our father’s ICU room in Bolivar, Missouri, and told the charge nurse to cut the plastic bracelet... Read more
My daughter Kimber unplugged the space heater in my bedroom on the coldest night of January, wound the cord around her hand the way you... Read more
Brender set his coffee down before he told me, which is how I knew he had practiced it in the truck on the way home.... Read more