“Samantha is going to change your site this weekend—whether you like it or not—because mommy and I will be on vacation. Wouldn’t you rather she practiced while we’re still here?”
I babysit for a little girl named Bella* with brown, curly hair and an adorably raspy voice two sizes too big for her. She’s four-years-old, stubborn, impetuous, and an absolutely brilliant liar.
I managed to get through security quickly, board the plane without any problems, and take off precisely on time. Everything was going exactly as planned; until, of course, I actually arrived in Turkey.
You let the pain in your chest reach a crescendo until you’re wailing; pillow soaked, eyes swollen, lungs heaving. Your pain is poison coursing through your veins and extraction is the only antidote.
Four days ago, my 90-year-old grandfather passed away. He was a gentleman, war hero, father of two, and grandparent to eight. He’s in a better place now. At least that’s what I’m told.
On the eve of the eve of my 24th birthday, I found myself walking down King Street in Charleston, South Carolina, sporting a lobster-red sunburn and a yellow jessamine in my hair.
It started snowing about an hour outside of South Station. It wasn’t a soft, pretty snow like in the movies. Rather, heaping buckets of thick, sloppy slush spilled from the sky…