By Paula Ramirez

The Two Fs of Self-Discovery

She came out of nowhere. Bursting from the swirling crowd of monochrome, the short, characteristically middle aged woman entered as though already mid conversation. As though I’d rung her up in the morning and told her to meet me here, at the beginning of the Puente de Isabel II on the sunniest day of winter. Inserting herself into our duo naturally--me and my roommate of two months--she introduced herself with imploring eyes and a firm handshake as Susan Martin-Cobble. She wasted no time in getting the usual pleasantries out of us.

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By Andrew Cox

1. In 5th grade, a smart, beautiful girl wrote me a love letter and asked me to the dance. I crumpled up the letter and threw it in the trash. I intended to apologize to her in 12th grade Calculus on the last day of school, but I didn’t.

2. In 4th grade, my mom told me that the NASCAR driver Bobby Hamilton had cancer. I said “So?” and looked over at my friend to laugh.

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By Laura Durr

I remember when I was small – my feet dangling off the front of the piano bench, too short to reach the pedals, but I don’t remember what it sounded like the first time my small fingers stretched wide enough to give birth to a chord. I remember standing on a dining chair in front of the kitchen sink as my mom scrubbed vigorously at my fingernails with a washcloth,

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