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Beneath stained glass windows depicting martyrs and saints, Lucinda sat with her mother and grandparents. Waiting for midnight mass to begin, she studied a sculpture of Mary holding Jesus, her son and sacrifice. A bundle of candles made its way down the aisle, and she took a taper. When the priest passed, with altar...
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Lucinda finished a seven mile run in front of a small, blue bungalow. Entering the yard through a white picket fence, she stopped to admire her mother’s flower garden. Bursting with a hodgepodge of colors, the garden was like a jeweled necklace wrapping around the house. Having sold their larger home during the divorce,...
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Lucinda felt like an elfin beauty walking out of the girls’ locker room at Hudson High School. Having achieved the height of 5’8” the summer before her freshman year, she was mighty. Her hair was cut short and dyed the color of strawberries. Her large brown eyes were made up with mascara and eye-liner,...
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Delivered to a sprawling, redbrick building by a big, yellow bus, Lucinda put her head down, and pushed through the crowd. Wearing knock-off designer jeans and carrying a sack-like bag, she felt like an imposter, a wanna-be Normal Teenager. Touching her spiral-permed hair and poofy bangs, she knew she looked ridiculous. Middle school had...
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Driving through high desert in a Toyota Tercel with no air conditioning, Lucinda, her younger sister Sarah, and their father were red-faced and sweating. Staring at sagebrush and train tracks through dirty car windows, they made no conversation. They listened to a tape of Cyndi Lauper. Lucinda quietly sang along to “True Colors,” feeling...
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Lucinda sat with her bony bottom pressed onto a hard, wooden pew. On her right sat her grandparents; to her left, her younger sister Sarah. Her grandmother was beautiful, with large brown eyes and a smart haircut. Her grandfather was an old Swede, with thinning hair and age spots. Lucinda and Sarah looked just...
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What we see, smell, taste, hear and feel originates in our brain; our planet and the universe around us would be a blank canvas in need of a painter if we lacked the ability to process even the tiniest part of it all (which is all most of us are capable of processing). That’s pretty breathtaking all by itself. But what makes us connect to some people and not others? What makes us fall in love, or even lifelong friendship with someone? Does it go back to the amoeba that split, and then thought oh, shit, I miss my other half, can we still be friends? Or did the urge to connect lie dormant until we learned to run in packs and build nations?
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