Tagged high school

Morning glories

A percolating coffee pot sounds a lot like a person dying of lung cancer trying to breathe. I made this analogy at age 8, sitting in my aunt Sally’s apartment in Springfield, Missouri, surrounded by depressed relatives. “What’s that bubbling sound? It sounds like Granny Anne.” I was just being honest. She died that night…

Lofty

Beads of mist clung to the two columns of light that guided the car around each twist and turn of the graveled road. Her hands clutched the steering wheel as her eyes darted from side to side, trained from years of trying to spot deer out of her periphery while she cruised down Four-Mile Road…

Fired Up on the Turnip Truck

I slammed the sliding glass door of my dad’s apartment and hurled myself onto his hunter-green futon in a cluster of sobs. Concerned, my dad ran out of the kitchen, dish and drying towel still in hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Senior awards are coming out soon and for the first time they are going…

My own muchness

I was early on my first day of high school. My parents couldn’t drive me and the school district decided buses didn’t make sense when most of the students could drive themselves, so I took public transit. The city bus timetable got me to school forty minutes early. It was either that or twenty minutes late.…