First-person narratives based on real human experiences. The moments that change us. The relationships that define us. The lessons we carry forward.
The first letter came on a Tuesday, wedged between a grocery flyer and the gas bill, and I almost threw it out with the junk... Read more
I was nineteen the last time I heard my grandmother say my name. She said it the way she always had, with the second syllable... Read more
There was a hand-painted sign face-down in the ditch at the end of my driveway for the third time that week, the paint I’d let... Read more
The first thing I noticed was the empty rectangle of dry pavement where my truck had been sitting all night. It had rained hard the... Read more
The photographer had us stand on the front porch of Coralee’s house, the big white one on Sycamore with the wraparound rail and the flag... Read more
My husband Alden has been gone for two years now, and I want to tell you about the morning our homeowners association president stood at... Read more
My brother Ransome stood in our mother’s kitchen three days after her funeral, slid Thorne a check for thirty four thousand dollars, slid me nothing,... Read more
My daughter Everly had not heard me say no to her in nine years of Friday nights and holiday weekends, not once, not until the... Read more
For twenty years I went to war every October with a woman named Grenwood, and the weapon was a nine by thirteen pan of tater... Read more
My daughter Zinnia put a six hundred and forty dollar smart lock on the front door of my own house while I was still lying... Read more