Friday July 21, 2017
5:43pm
5 minutes
From the sign at the 401 on ramp
Got my first job when I was fourteen, but I lied and said I was seventeen. I was an early bloomer, might as well get something for that shit. Trucker’s Haven, off the 2? You know it? The food’s nothing to write home about, just your basics like burgers and fish fingers, okay milkshakes. I could actually go for one of those milkshakes right about now… The thing that it’s really known for is the jukebox, at the front of the restaurant. Only Dolly Parton. I kid you not. I know every Dolly Parton song because of it. Made for some great nights of karaoke.
“blackberry bushes” by Sasha at her kitchen table
Thursday July 20, 2017
12:13am
5 minutes
From an email
My sister and I pick blackberries on the land she just bought. I don’t know how many acres because I’m not good with that kind of thing. There’s forest, and river, and fields. It’s a farm, but I always think of animals when I think of a farm and there’s only a cat here. It’s so beautiful it makes my stomach ache. I instantly feel at home, walking the land and making fritattas in the oven. We pick jewel after jewel. One in our mouthes and one in an old goat yogurt container that we’ll bring back to the house for the others.
“A year ago, even six months ago, it would have been, but not now.” By Sasha on her couch
Wednesday July 19, 2017
11:49pm
5 minutes
Why I Write
George Orwell
A year ago, even six months ago, I wouldn’t have gotten involved in anything like that… but I rewound the tape of the answering machine about seventeen times. Jennie came into my room saying, “What is happening in here? Why do you keep rewinding – …” And then she heard what it said and she asked to hear it again, too.
I had a pretty decent life with Mom and Daddy. I did. I really did. But this little voice inside of me, that liked to dance between my heart and my throat, this little voice always wondered about my birth parents. When I’d ask Mom, she’d say, “We just don’t know, peanut,” and look disappointed.
“I abandoned their plan” by Julia in her old room
Saturday July 22, 2017
6:32pm
5 minutes
The Chang Girls
Lan Samantha Chang
K and D start laughing uncontrollably. They don’t even try to hush their loud the way young girls seem to know better than adult ones. I keep my face focussed on the blue-lined paper, the margins, the blank space. I steal a glance at them from the corner of my eye and remind myself we aren’t friends anymore and I don’t need to care. They can be talking or laughing about whatever they want and I don’t have to buckle into myself. D snorts her signature sign of enjoyment and K wipes the tears pooling under her cheap mascara. I ignore them. I don’t need them. Suddenly K comes over to me and snatches my notebook right from under my pretending. I scramble for it. I miss.
K throws my book to D and D snorts again. K blows me a kiss.
“Trucker’s Haven” by Julia in the car
Friday July 21, 2017
7:03pm
5 minutes
from the sign at the 401 on ramp
Wendy and Adele try and stuff their pot into the glove compartment before the state trooper gets to their car.
“Stay cool,” says Adele. “Stay so fucking cool, Wen.”
The dark sunglasses slide down his nose, aided by the tiny pools of sweat collecting on the bridge of it.
“License and registration.” he says, his want poking uncomfortable holes through Adele’s ribbed tank top.
She hands him the paper and pretends there’s a wad of gum in her mouth. She bites her tongue not to address how he is addressing her.
“blackberry bushes” by Julia in her old room
Thursday July 20, 2017
2:23am
5 minutes
from an email
People have been taking care of me my whole life. I was lucky. I got a good sister. One who sees me, needs me, shows up brings her friends, laughs at my jokes, heart beat frees me. And I got lucky still. With a good brother who calls me and carries me and picks me up at the airport and takes me to and from the beginning and to and from the end. And then I didn’t have to worry. Because my mother’s skin sings olive oil and resilience. And my father fries me up an egg with a zucchini flower and tops the plate with garden tomatoes and hugs me long and tight.
“A year ago, even six months ago, it would have been, but not now.” by Julia on Amanda’s tub
Wednesday July 19, 2017
11:31pm
5 minutes
Why I Write
George Orwell
I told a bunch of people I didn’t know that if someone asked me what the best thing about life is, I’d say getting older. I mean it. What else is there in this existence aside from growth and love and mistakes and love?
I know a lot of people agreed with me. If that same someone asked me a year ago I would not have said this. I wouldn’t have said a lot of things. In the time between figuring some shit out and sitting where I’m sitting, I have out grown so many beliefs. So many stories. So many past versions of myself. If someone asked me even six months ago I would say, I’m sorry, but I do not recognize my own reflection. I wouldn’t have been able to point out what’s true over what’s not.
I keep thanking my bones for speaking up. I keep asking if anyone who lives in my skin is tired or hungry. I keep listening to the answer when it changes and changes.
