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When the old man came up to the bathroom to shave, I crept down to the kitchen for some breakfast. I listened hard for him as I poured those Shreddies, spilling the sugar and quickly tidying up to hide the evidence.
By Jennifer WorthamMarch 1999A spelling bee, a lesson about survival, a couples-only swingers’ club
By Our ReadersMarch 1999One night when I was sixteen, my father got out of bed, went into the living room, and fell to the floor. He was a big man, and from my own bed I heard the noise and felt the house shake and heard my mother call out, “Roy! Roy! My word!”
By Lee MartinNovember 1998A maple leaf, a two-inch brook trout, an execution
By Our ReadersNovember 1998He had tried to take my mother away from me, to leave me all alone. How different everything would have been without her. Suddenly it seemed as if she had always been with me, even when I was by myself, like that long cord that keeps astronauts from floating off into oblivion when they leave the spaceship.
By Pat MacEnultySeptember 1998You can’t find Mr. Right. You won’t meet a guy with enough criminal swagger in him to make your skin dance, and enough farmer in him to let you sleep through the night. You have to pick one and learn to ignore your ache for the other.
By Jean HarfenistMarch 1998The problem is I don’t talk at a seventh-grade level. I mumble and swallow words, sucking them in instead of spitting them out. Mrs. Handy wants me to work on my breathing. She says I gulp air like I’m afraid the world’s running out of oxygen.
By Paul NastuMarch 1998I stopped going to church the night Diane Pearson announced God filled her cavities. That same night, in the spring of 1973, the police arrested my sister, Sheila.
By Janis BultmanJanuary 1998An Easter-bonnet contest, a bright green baker’s hat, a naughty hat
By Our ReadersJanuary 1998My mother thinks her boyfriend is a father figure for me. I think he’s a derelict. His name is David. I call him the Big D — D for Derelict. He’s always trying to help me with things.
By Lolly WinstonJanuary 1998Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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