Nonfiction

To L.M.

There is a man on the corner of 87th and Amsterdam. I do not know him, and he does not know me. He wears a red tee-shirt with red sweatpants. He wears a red coat with red shoes. He wears a red ski mask on his face.

When I was a kid, I had a near perfect childhood. I had friends on the same street as me, and we rode our bikes around the neighborhood playing cops and robbers.

It’s 10 pm; the moon trickles through the big window above my bed and I feel a strong hand rub my back. A sweet, familiar voice draws me awake and out of bed.

It’s late August, and Mom packs us all up in the minivan and we set off for the beautiful, scenic drive to Alexanders Wild Blueberry Farm. For me, this is one of my favorite days of summer.

"It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters." - Epictetus

I was 11—just a little girl playing on the swing set. I saw the picnic table, a white mother and her daughter were walking toward me. They were getting closer and closer as their baritone steps bared down on the rough pavement.

When I was little, we lived in Philly. Seven hours from where we live now, eight counting the time allotted for rest stops. And a little ways down the sidewalk from our house was this tree.

I have this teacher...

This teacher is rude and sexist 

They get mad if you don't know the answer to something that they haven't explained yet...

They never get mad at certain students, they have favorites...

Have you ever met someone who truly feels like your other half? Who completes you? Not even romantically, I mean even a friend who mirrors your soul, reflecting back the sweetest parts. Well, I met one of these people last spring.

"Don't wait for permission to do something creative." - Ava DuVernay 

“Olivia!” 

“What?”

“It’s trash night, can you take it out?”

Silence, as I switched off my iPod, and listened.

“Olivia!” 

“What?”