Forty-Two Years

The year of 1976, May. Young, naive, impressionable, eighteen years of age, ears glistening with dew.   She prepares, cinching the fabric belt of a washed-out, blue shirtdress with vertical white buttons.   Her hair dark, it glistens purple in the sun as she hesitates toward the door that leads to a career.   The resume is thin… field work, picking strawberries, factory work, packing cheese, one year with an attorney.   The one sits behind a desk. He feelsRead more

Memory: June 1, 1976

In reading the title of this post, you may have one of the following thoughts in your head: I don’t remember this date, but it must hold some importance to the writer. I remember exactly where I was on this date and can tell you the color of socks I wore. I don’t remember this date because I was probably lost in a purple haze. I wasn’t born yet. Gosh, the writer is old. After a meeting in our officeRead more