I met Donny* for a drink at 6 p.m. on a Sunday. When I walked into the deserted restaurant, soaked from the downpour outside, I didn’t know he was destined to become the pettiest, stingiest and most pitiable man I’ve ever gone out with. Keep reading »
Profile for Christiana Yiallourides
There exists a school of thought that dictates if you think something catastrophic, then it won’t happen. What would happen if my family died in a car accident? What would happen if my house caught on fire? Two summers ago, I asked myself: Wouldn’t it suck if my first love met someone unexpectedly and got over me before I could begin to move on? Thankfully, my family and my house are safe, but my feelings, my love life, and my ego still need mending. Keep reading »
It began with my high school English teacher. I was 15 and shy; he was 30 and moonlighted as a poet. He also cursed in class, horsed around with his students, and (despite his age) still had jet black hair. I got nervous and sweaty whenever we interacted, and my childish crush raged until high school ended. I visited him while I was home for winter break, but when he mispronounced my name and forgot which university I attended, my puppy love subsided. Keep reading »
It was the end of February when my friend , Mary*, finally consummated her months-long flirtation with Ken*, a former co-worker of hers. It was her first time, though her loss of virginity didn’t seem to faze her. She said it was “alright”, and she assured everyone, Ken included, that it was just physical. Desiring something “just physical” was usually the norm for Mary—I sometimes envied her seeming lack of emotion. I was often hurt by men, while she hurt them. Whether it was Charley or Rory or now Ken, they wanted something she wouldn’t give them.
There was a banging at the door as Brian* flushed the toilet. I was sitting on the couch of his mother’s townhouse, where he lived with her and his half-brother. Brian emerged from the bathroom and opened the front door to reveal a mangy-looking man walking away from the stoop. “I’m calling the police!” Brian’s mother yelled from upstairs. Keep reading »