by Claudia Wysocky I beheld a stranger in the cracked mirror that once doubled as my best friend and worst enemy. Thin, sunken cheeks stared back at me, hollowed out by anorexia’s relentless grip. My ribs jutted out like a macabre xylophone, each bone a discordant note in the song of my life. I hated
by Diana Raab As a memoir writer, I do a great deal of reminiscing both on the page and in conversations with friends and family. Last year I entered my seventh decade and realized that I’ve created enough memories for a number of lifetimes. At this point in my history and the history of the
by Daniel Acosta, Jr. It was during my zero-period class in my senior year (that started at 7:30, rather than the usual 8:30 time for most of the students) with my English teacher, Mrs. Briggs, that I truly accepted my Mexican identity. My zero-period class had several exceptional students; I guess I was one of