Cupid Launches a Cannonball
Whereas the opposite Ph.D. college students chatted — dryly — across the pool, Noel sprang headfirst into messy dives, off-center flips and drenching stomach flops. He then dragged an 8-foot lengthy inflatable whale underneath the diving board to land astride and trip. “Who is that this man?” my classmate requested, bewildered. This man was a Florida boy, a water lover who emboldened me to ditch my cowl up and pretensions, then cannonball into the deep finish. Twenty 5 years on, we’ve synchronized strokes, typically ending one another’s jokes. Our kids and I agree: He’s the funniest fish within the sea. — Leslie Kenna
The Highway to Deeper Understanding
After my father’s near-death due to coronavirus, the highway journey we had been laying aside felt pressing. On Freeway 101, I pressed firmly on the fuel, hoping to outpace his mortality. My father’s gravelly voice hummed to the playlist I’d curated for his musician’s ear. As we walked alongside the Pacific Ocean, I used to be all too conscious of a fatigue that slowed his gait. However sightseeing, dialog and moments of mirth brightened our days. We ate and drank effectively (typically in defiance of medical doctors’ orders). On the open highway, I realized issues about my father that I had by no means recognized. — Danielle Elizabeth Hayden
Totally different Ships
Friendships require two folks often displaying up in the identical areas — whether or not a room with home windows and partitions, or the center house created by a telephone name or textual content. I’ve a buddy who has pushed me out of each house. She advised we meet for espresso “sometime.” I advised we meet Wednesday. Not potential, she mentioned. How about one other day? No response from her all summer season. My buddy desires choices however by no means intends to vest them. I do know one thing she doesn’t; we’re bankrupt. We’ll by no means meet for espresso, or something, as a result of Sometime and Wednesday can’t be mates. — Missy Snapp
Two Sides of the Moon
The tattoo machine buzzes as I bear in mind the evening I had my first baby at 17. I’d stared out the hospital window on the moon, a luminous crescent within the clear winter sky. The next day, I handed my daughter over to her adoptive mother and father. The moon comforted me throughout our years of separation. When my baby got here out as transgender at 15, his adoptive mother and father proved too inflexible of their beliefs to just accept him absolutely. My mothering arms had grown by then, and I reached out to my son. Now, we proudly evaluate our matching crescent moon tattoos. — Joanna Good
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