Tallahassee, Florida – 1956


By: Maggie Clancy

“Record time,” my father says. Saliva drips from his still-gloved hands and threaten to drop in the mint bowl. I slide it away.

“He looks pretty good for just having a root canal, huh?” My father was talking about Ronald Huber, the ruddy man with a mouthful of gauze sitting in the reception area.

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By: Colleen Bersano

     It was February 7, 1964. I had just won tickets to the taping of the Ed Sullivan Show. But not just any show, it was the height of Beatlemania and it would be their first performance in America. And I had two tickets. I was sure to be the envy of all of my peers. My friend Billy, who helped me answer the trivia questions on the radio, and I ran into the kitchen to tell my mother. I must have shouted the news to her though because she jumped higher than I’ve ever seen the moment we rushed in from the living room.

     “Janet, what in Heaven’s name has gotten you so excited?”

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By: Becca Smith


Sarah sat at her desk and tapped the eraser of her pencil against her notepad at a rapid, yet steady, pace. Her second month on the job she found out the noise drove Bruce in Accounting mental, and since he decided to introduce her to everyone as Susan, and not Sarah, she decided the light drumming was her new favorite sound. It’s not like Bruce could get her fired – she had her boss, Jerry, wrapped around her finger. She was the best assistant he’d ever had and quickly became invaluable. It was a security she didn’t take for granted, but knew how to capitalize on.

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By: Theresa Ward


Agatha hated the word “homeless.” She had a home. It had a 4-speed automatic transmission, did 19 miles per gallon in the city (if one were to think of Capitola as a city; Agatha preferred the more romantic designation of village), a V-6 engine and 4 tires with some considerable tread left on them. She had named it ‘Amazon’ – not for the monster online retailer of which she adamantly believed had its sights set on world domination but for the 5,500,000 square kilometer stretch of rainforest that blanketed South America. Her bronze 2002 Toyota Sienna minivan was as simpatico as any home she’d ever known, namely for the fact that it was all hers, every last cubic inch. When she’d decided to overhaul its interior with plastic jungle plants, green shag carpeting, stuffed toy macaws and a set of plush velvet blankets adorned in yellow-eyed jaguars that she’d bought off a roadside stand just outside Lake Tahoe, there was no one around to stop her. She had a home, all right – and it was all, gloriously, hers.

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