Red Gentry pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant at 5:00 a.m. on the dot, smiling to note that he was, as always, the first one there. He parked in front of the building and revved the engine of his 1950 Indian Chief Black Hawk motorcycle. The sound vibrated the windows of the café, and the glass display case on the counter.
Tingles of anticipation coursed through nine-year-old Jen’s body as she unlocked her front door the day before Halloween. Upstairs on her bed was a shiny black box, and under rustling sheets of black tissue was a Halloween costume. Jen shrieked with disappointment.
The toy crow I bought at the Halloween jumble sale at my middle school quickly became my favorite stuffed animal. Having just read Poe’s "Raven' poem, I almost named him “Nevermore.” But after I got an A on the essay I wrote on the poem, I thought of my crow, as a lucky charm that would both inspire my writing and lead me to success. So, his name became “Cawse,” a pun on the cry of a crow and on the stuffed animals as the Cause of my success.
Boots firmly planted, Lucy Pitts gazes east from the summit and declares to the newly risen sun, “There is no better place than this.” Below the hilltop of dry grass, her two-point-five acres abound with California natives: manzanita, thimbleberry, madrone, bay laurel, and live oak. Rooted like another wild native, the century-old redwood structure unashamedly shows off its mossy shingled roof.
My first impression of Phillip was that he was blessed with ignorance. He knew nothing of world events, nothing of religion. And probably nothing much about sex. It was sort of refreshing—no angry tirades about the current goings on in the White House and Congress, and no heated discussions about religion. I figured he must be happy—ignorance is bliss, right? I wasn't so sure about being ignorant about sex, but he could learn, couldn't he?
The constant “pock-pocka-pock” of the muskets wasn’t so bad. The boom of the cannons—from this distance at least—was endurable, especially for someone who had listened to rock drummers turned up loud. But the wind was sending black powder smoke straight toward them and, in this heat, that was awful. The whole idea was stupid. She was hot, sweaty, and she’d had enough.
Lizzie climbed out of her van and called to Claire. “I’ve got a load of special Easter eggs.” Daylight was fading in the park. Clumps of vivid yellow daffodils dotted the wildflower meadow, paired with blooming forsythia.
Ross Clark took care to park near Alice Morton’s front door, out of sight of the bedroom window through which he had entered earlier.
Clark’s fiancée, Brittany, pressed the doorbell, but of course, no one came.
Time has an interesting way of blending the present with a bit of lingering tastes from the past. Some days when I look back and remember falling in love with my husband, it doesn’t feel like it was all that long ago. But over four decades later my feelings for him are still strong, and though it would be hard to have realized back then, my love for him has only grown stronger.
Megan stopped on the trail, set her backpack on a stump, and untied her poncho. It wasn’t raining yet, but the sound of thunder and the smell of rain were in the air.
