Nikki Donadio t was a girl who collapsed on the soccer field. Girl, I kept calling her, with her pink headband and red soccer uniform. Dead at thirty-seven, and wheeled into my emergency room with green grass stuck to her cleats. Thirty-seven, the same age as me. Me and Dr. Yip found her...
Nick Comilla his is what it’s like: I never know what day of the week it is. I get so down I drift through and feel up. We get so high we forget it wears off. The clothes are tight to our skin like tattoos, but they slip off effortlessly. Our wrists have been stamped so many times...
Carly Rosalie Vandergriendt The Gardener Below, leaves rustle and swish. The sound reminds me of an ocean, makes me crave a body of water that’s not a city pool packed with bobbing children. It takes looking at a map to realize Montréal is an island. Pinning my phone to my shoulder, I...
Penelope Evans ome kid thinks he saw poison hemlock up the trail, a good twenty-minute hike from the cabins. So I’m up there looking, even though I know there’s no poison hemlock around here, hasn’t been any in years, everyone who works at the camp knows this and I worked here...
Reece Cochrane ad hauled the family from Chandler to Baie Comeau the day after Duplessis finally died. Good riddance, Dad had said, reading the morning’s paper. He wasn’t good for anyone, the bastard. And that was September 8. I won’t ever forget, because even though, at age nine, I...
Andréa Raymond ith studied slowness, Danny pulls our beat-up white van into the parking lot of Cullards’s Diner, another dubious stop on the Folk Music festival circuit taking us through California. Poor Danny. He’s a gay man, a kick-ass bassist, and the only member of our band, Nebula...
