December 1989

Readers Write

Escapes

From suicide; to prison; into the boards

By Our Readers
Quotations

Sunbeams

As for conforming outwardly, and living your own life inwardly, I don’t think much of that.

Henry David Thoreau
Excursions

Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

The Man In The Mirror

On the best of days, it’s a little like falling in love; like opening a stuck window inside yourself; like taking a drug — one that’s perfectly legal, dispensed by your own apothecary, your strange and marvelous brain.

By Sy Safransky
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Three Friends

This is what faith looks like when it is acted upon: the good and right way is followed no matter what happens, because those who follow it believe it is good and right; indeed, they follow it even when life is too hard to think much about the good and the right.

By Michael Nesset
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Plain And Simple: A Journey To The Amish

I had always devalued Hestia, the peaceful goddess of the hearth. I thought poor, dull Hestia, the ugly duckling goddess, was stuck by the hearth, while my favorites, Athena and Artemis, were out there in the world, slaying dragons. But when I learned that the Latin word for hearth is focus, something clicked.

By Sue Bender
Fiction

Harper Screamed Again

Harper lost the Wheeler account. He felt it slip through his fingers like something warm and sticky, making a mess of everything. He spent the rest of the morning in Johnstone’s office, staring at the burgundy carpet as his boss leaned a finger into Harper’s face and raged.

By T.L. Toma
Fiction

Elmer Slow Bear

In a man of his size and complexion, however, many found the reserve unnerving. Mr. Cody, the history teacher, referred to him in private — with more than slightly nervous humor — as “My Bad Conscience.” Also, as “Doom.” Most people called him Elmer, and stayed out of his way.

By Tim Farrington
Fiction

Letting The Cat Out

Peter sprawls across the floor of my living room, which is also my kitchen and dining room, and talks to me about my life. He smells like alcohol swallowed too fast. The cat is under the coffee table, eyeing him with distaste.

By A. Manette Ansay