Jeannie abandoned me for Catholic school. Our twin sweats hung isolated, their Jersey softness worn thin. I shopped fifth grade supplies, adjusted my backpack and climbed the orange bus like one sliced in two. No giggling seat mate anticipated my arrival. Tears dribbled down freckled checks, dropping onto library books weighting my lap. I became Pippi Longstocking, Anne of Green Gables. A quirky orphan. My new identity, fresh as loneliness, fake as fiction spurred a reading frenzy. I read so many books, I became Westview Elementary School’s reading champion. Still, I poured chocolate malted milk powder on ice cream, alone.
About the Creator
Barbara Steinhauser
Thank you for taking time to read my stuff. I love writing almost as much as I love my people. I went back to college and earned an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults and often run on that storytelling track. Enjoy!
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Expansion
I am not a fan of what is delivered inside grocery store paperbacks: mysteries, thrillers, romance. I don’t mean to be a literary snob. I am from the suburbs of Minneapolis and educated strictly Midwest. Still, I lean toward literary novels, Pulitzers, Bookers or foreign novels that expand my perspective. A habit fostered in elementary school, when books took me on far off adventures, far away from the tyranny of fifth grade drama. Warren Smith, chalking the answer to the most complicated math problem I had ever seen. Grinning his sweet, shy smile, white teeth contrasting his face, so black.
By Barbara Steinhauser 6 months ago in Fiction
The Ugliest Building
Mark Twain called the building I work in, “The ugliest building in America.” I agree. The Dwight D. Eisenhower Executive Office Building isn’t the largest in Washington, D.C., but its imposing façade makes it feel like it is. I work for the Office of E-Government and Information Technology. I have a satellite office in the bowels of this monstrosity. Working in this building gives us quick access to both the President and Vice-President because they also have offices here. This access may be why I’m in this situation, or maybe it’s the project I’m assigned to, or both.
By Mark Gagnon6 days ago in Fiction
The Fragments Eternity Story.
In a little town settled between moving slopes and lavish timberland, there carried on with an old narrator named Elias. He was known all through the land for his spellbinding stories that appeared to move audience members to domains past creative minds. Each night, the residents would assemble around the popping fire in the town square, anxiously anticipating Elias' popular narratives.
By Kazi Munni6 days ago in Fiction
$#*£ Resilience
I was going to relax this evening. Tune out, hunker down, look after myself. I need it. I am exhausted. Thoroughly used up. And it's only Wednesday. Not even half way through the week. A week that in the UK, is Mental Health Awareness week. I don't know who decides these things, who gets to co-opt a day, a week, a month, and declare it a thing about a thing. But I do know a lot about mental health. I know a lot about mental health AND I know a lot about working for the UK's National Health Service. And so it was with interest that I clicked play on the below video, earlier today. By the time I finished, I was in tears.
By Hannah Moore3 days ago in Psyche
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