My name is RoseMarie LeBlanc, and if you think I’d planned to be taking orders, taking up dirty dishes, or taking complaints all of my life, you’d be wrong. I’d wanted to be a beautician. Not a stylist. Not a salon operator. Not a barber. A beautician. I wanted to have the kind of shop […]
“Oh my God… what am I doing here?” I blurt. “Finding a man,” Amanda reminds me with a cheeky grin. “I have cats,” I deadpan. Is my skirt too short? Is the zit on my forehead bulging through my concealer? Amanda takes my hand in hers because I keep fidgeting. “You look fantastic, and your
“The New Deal will bring reform and relief to citizens riddled by the Depression!” The spray of Franklin Roosevelt’s words on my face might have been alarming, if I hadn’t already experienced five horrifying minutes of the French Revolution, thirty equally terrifying seconds of a hanging in Salem, and an unforgettable fifteen minutes at Woodstock.
Olivia Anderson had recently returned to Bridgeport, Illinois after a year of living in Budapest, and she needed a place to live. She was tired of tugging at the end of her parents’ leash and wanted to choose her own path in life. This meant paying for her own apartment. Her best friend Emma Chase had been earning her own
When she walked into the restaurant a few months ago, she looked like she had just stepped out of a Rolling Stone ad. She was wearing skinny jeans, jump boots laced only half way up, a loose white T-shirt with some vague black logo, and dark-rimmed glasses. She wore a gray fedora tilted on her
Lorna woke up at noon, took a Lamictal for the first time in several days, and dragged herself into the bathroom, nervously wondering what she was about to see. She stared into the mirror and slowly ran her hand over her bald head. She had shaved it the night before in a manic fit because
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