100 word memoir

25MentorTexts FromThe New York Times Tiny LoveStories Series

Hey Not Heyy

Heyy, his message read My heart fluttered. One “y” may have left me upset, but the second y that was promising. a simple yet ambiguous greeting. Did he want to hangout? Was he going to confess his love? Oh! He was typing. A double text! It Was my lucky day. broke a sweat waiting for his response. How Should I respond? Hi! ? am I in love with you ? My message had to show the same amount of interest as his. He responded! Sorry didn't mean the extra y Oh. JuliaDiGeronimo

FenderBender

While looking the other way, I rammed into the back of her car. Are you all right? asked. Yes , but I don't know about my car, she said without anger. Are you OK? Still in shock and worried about being liable, noticed the slight damage to both of our cars, then the sunflower on her dress. She's the type of person I could be friends with, though. I replied, I'm alright. With mutual relief, we hugged spontaneously, then drove off our separate ways . My bumper was bruised, but my faith in humanity was restored. Carrie Klein

A Kind Of CinderellaStory

In Second grade, I was cast as Cinderella's wicked stepmother in my school's medley of fairy-tale skits. Tall, with dark hair pulled back, forced Cinderellato scrub the stage floor. With a body thought to be too big for fairy wings, ached to be fragile. Backstage, playfully shoved my crush Vito (dressed as one of the three little bears). He fell back, squashing Tinkerbell's wings. Everyone hurriedly helped her. I felt shame. Had Sister Rosemary sensed my inner wickedness and cast me accordingly? She found me hiding and whispered in my ear, You were magic out there Lisa Fogarty

Music in the Woods

Jenny plays music from her MP3 player. Christmas carols in July. Operatic voices fill the woods as robins flutter down and surround her. Jenny stops moving and stares. The robins sing. No words are spoken . Complete contentment in nature. She turns to me and plants an awkward , resolute kiss on my lips. It is only now in her teenage years that she can tolerate touch. pull my autistic daughter to my breast and feel her love. Grainne Armstrong

SavingMyLife, andSavoringIt

nervously decided to study abroad the summer after my junior year in college. Fouryears recovered from my struggle with anorexia . My body had healed but my mind was still at war. Italy charmed me like a lover hadn't expected to meet. Rome courted me on cobblestone streets. Capri caressed me with its sea. Florence spoon-fed me gelato. In a country far away, my body finally began to feel like home. I had saved my life, but Italy taught me how to savor it. Stephanie Kennedy

TheNewYorkTimes

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Inseparable Twins

Sick of being the twins, we made rules for freshman year. Keep my hair short and red, Anushka's brown and long. Live in different dorms. Sit on opposite sides of lectures (nature and nurture against us, we're both biology majors). No eating in the same dining hall or going to the same parties. Meet once a week, max. That didn't last. I couldn't live apart from someone who's a part of me.After a year of enduring impossible problem sets, roommate drama, assorted heartbreaks and our parents divorce, we laugh at how we once thought we'd do it alone. AnjaliWalia

Netflix, CakeandSNL

For a decade, I'vewatched my former classmates settle into the conventional domestic pattern: husband, wife, baby, house. They look grown up now. They look like their parents. , however, remain single at 34, pulling all-nighters and eating cake for dinner. I drive an hour for good ramen. skip town for the weekend. I watch Netflix with impunity. No one is angry about the dishes. Marriage sent my classmates down a steadier path, one that rarely crosses my itinerant course. I do miss them. For me, saying, Congratulations on your engagement, is too often another way of saying, Goodbye. Adam Chandler

CallingAnyway

When my friends ask me over FaceTime how I'm doing, tell them that I spend a lot of time crying. It's easier than admitting that I can't seem to get out of bed before 2 p.m. Or wash the dishes that are stinking up my sink. Or get done any work that I normally love doing. But it's more honest than good. Sometimes they laugh and say the same, and sometimes they look down and don't know what to say. The rest of the conversation limps along. I apologize for being a stranger. They call me every week anyway. Jemma Dooreleyers

A NewTwistto a FamilyTradition

In myAppalachian family, love tastes like apples. Each teenage woman goes through a family tradition: mastering a signature apple-based recipe to feed her future husband. (There are a lot of apples inAshe County, N.C.) My great-grandmother made tarts; my grandmother, pies, my sister, cakes and strudel. My cooking fails were not so laudable. burned dozens of desserts before coming out as gay. Fortunately, my family accepted me, and we still cook together. Being

queer inAppalachia can be sour, but also sweet. My family saves their apple cores and peels, and ferments apple cider vinegar. Laken Brooks

My King in the UniroyalJacket

Dad, do you remember when you came home late from work (as you did in those days) and scooped me up out of bed, wrapped me in my blanket and set me on the back of your borrowed motorcycle? We rode to the A&W and sat on a bench under the egg-yolk-yellow lights with root beer floats: the orange awning flapping, the moonlit sky, the future , childhood that would last a lifetime, the smell of work in your shirt, me, the prince of your moment, and you, the king in your Uniroyal jacket. Theodore Groves

TheNewYorkTimes

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Addie's LifeAdvice

Addie's face was a sun-bronzed book cover, every line a different story. Grandma said, tell me the secret to life. I was 8. We were shelling peas under a large Alabama cottonwood tree. She slipped her hand into the pocket of the flour sack dress she had sewn and deftly searched

with her fingers . Then, as if by teleportation or magic, an unfiltered Camel cigarette appeared in her mouth. She scratched a match, lit up, took a long drag , and with smoke whirling around her head like a lazy tornado, she winked mischievously and whispered, Try it all. DavidPowell

Fleeing The Flames

Got your passports? Underwear? Flashlight radios? My family of five split into two cars, figuring a car saved was a car gained. Mid-dinner, Evacuation Order pinged on our phones. The inferno scorched the foothills, threatening our San Jose, Calif., home. We sped to a beachside inn, the waves our protector.Amid the hazy Pacific air, Dad bereft of utensils who held a watermelon open. My sister, Arianna, humored spotty video classes. My mom and my brother, Aidan, dug a sand tunnel. Whether our house would survive was anyone's guess, but in this salty seaside suite, we found hearth and home. Melody Cao

Said, Love You. He Said, Thanks .

We were in my hammock when I looked at the socks I was wearing , the ones he had lent me, and told him the words I was so scared to say: love you . The hammock swayed , crickets chirped . Thanks , he said, but not yet. He pointed at my feet. Those don't fit me. Do you want them? thought the hammock had tipped , thrown me violently out; he didn't love me, this was it. But years later, we still lie in my hammock and still wear those socks . He was right; they are too small for his feet. Madeleine Fawcett

A SimpleFriendship

Blah-blah? she would say, knocking . Only 2, Isabelle would venture through the building's halls to my apartment. Together, we'd water my plants or scribble a story. At 3, she told me all about Peppa Pig.At 4, Isabelle came to my door, saying, Bra-bra , taste Mommy's kheer. We savored its delicate sweetness . On East 84th Street in Manhattan, we watched tulips bloom, leaves fall and snow arrive. Hi, Barbara , Isabelle said at 5. Sitting on my window ledge, she'd count taxis and doggies . Unlike the complicated men dated , if I offered Isabelle a tangerine, she'd simply relish it. Barbara Field

Gram LovesYou. PleaseCall

My grandmother Ruth was like a secret agent. Before cell phones or the internet, she would covertly track her grandchildren. At 23, moved to Mexico to work for a resort. I was , at last, on my own. One night, while I was drinking with my co-workers at a beach bar, a man from a nearby village walked in and shouted my full name. When I responded, he marched up to me and said, Your abuela has called each house in our village . I was chosen to find you with this message: Gram loves you. Please call. Amy Gotliffe

TheNewYorkTimes

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ReplyAll

Your child doesn't have to bring valentines, but if they do, they'll need one for each student, the fourth-grade teacher emailed. Do you really need to waste class time on this? a parent replied all, beginning a long, email-chain argument among the adults. No interest in engaging, conserved my energy for work and my three children. Yet for two weeks , my daughter Shiloh spent her evenings handwriting messages to her classmates : Words of encouragement, appreciation and friendship language that the parents forgot to use. I imagine replying all Time is well spent when sharing words of kindness. Jessica Keith

My Mini Me

Are you going to have a baby? asked my mother over a game of mancala. was 8. Though she had told me to be careful asking women about pregnancy, I was curious . She cocked her head then answered yes. would like a little brother, replied. Twelve years later, the moment is still on my mind. Hey, Big Head, my little sister says whenever I return from college. can't help but grin in response. My parents gave me an annoyingly charming Mini-Me. Not a brother but someone with a similarly big head. Eghosa Eguakun

New Announcement , New Name, StillOurs

When you were born, we sent announcements name, weight, date engraved on thick white cards with pale pink stripes and polka dots. It's a girl, we said. We were thrilled . Now, 16 years later, so much is new. The pink was wrong . The name was too . This time, we know. It's a boy. There will be no pastel stationery . This time, we are telling everyone, face to face. He's ours. Maria Blackburn

MoreChess? Yes.

We met at a chess tournament when we were 17. He asked me if I wanted to play more chess. said yes. The next morning, we met in a nearby Montreal park and played a few games .We continued playing through lunch, on the bus ride to an amusement park, on a picnic table, under the picnic table, during dinner at KFC. We even played blind chess, visualizing the game while in line for ice cream. When the day ended, he leaned over and kissed me. Quickly, we realized that we loved chess much more than this kissing stuff. Olya Kaye

TheLastBiscuit

Before the city pool in Johnson City, Tenn ., got drained at summer's end, dogs could take a swim for five bucks . Sporting his green life jacket , Barney leaped in as if he weren't tired , deaf, toothless . We stayed until no one else was left. It's a small thing in life, a dog, but small is relative. packed biscuits for our last trip to the vet. I sat on the floor in the lobby, feeding Barney biscuits one by one, and for a moment it seemed possible that we might never run out. Shuly Cawood

TheNewYorkTimes

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Between the Sunflower Stalks

August in a West Virginia sunflower field , early morning but already hot. Charlie's blue helmet bobs through brilliant yellow flowers . He smiles as eye other infants between the sunflower stalks. envy their round heads, symmetrical faces, bare scalps . Suddenly, miss Charlie's smell, so duck beneath his helmet to peck his cheek. Why can't I have a helmet like Charlie? my older son moans, tugging at my shorts.A seed of jealousy planted in him, the root of my own problems, too : To believe our gifts are burdens, the inability to recognize our own bloom. Anna Rollins

Still Cooking Side by Side

fry cutlets for chicken parmigiana, doing math: In my 53 years , I have fried thousands . My mother taught me. When I was 7 , we would fry chicken side by side, her hip touching mine. Cover yourself she would say. You'll get hurt and dirty that shirt. As a teenager, snap,

Ma, hate when you use 'dirty' as a verb. But, no matter the age, I would listen and grab an apron. More math: It's been over two decades without her. But still , like magic, she reminds me to separate the cutlets and back away from the flame. Kathy Curto

A Rapfor Rebecca

Was surrounded by my pals, but my mind was on a gale. Her car pulled up and that was it should've put cuffs around my wrists. My heart beat red then flashes blue (felt sad that the party was through). Only time she had my spirits low wasn't her fault; she simply had to go. wanted her to come back , kept messaging like a maniac. Four years later, she's still here, slapping at my hand that nervously tugs at my ear. Grabbing my waist during concerts as if she protects me from monsters. Joshua Corona, California State University of Northridge

No MoreWe. Just

He asked me to marry him on our first date. Over The next 25 years : We (mostly ) raised four daughters while moving between two continents , three countries and seven states . We (mostly he) gained career success, rising through the corporate ranks. We ( mostly ) mourned then transitioned to life with a handicapped child.And then we (both) fell apart, just when we should have been enjoying the fruits of our labor. He left me on April Fools Day last year, six days after we opened our (now my) dream restaurant. There is no more we. Just Jennifer Brulé

WithoutHim

After dinner this March, my 28-year-old son decided to leave this world . He left me his cat. didn't want his cat; wanted him. His cat didn't want me; she wanted him. She cries all night . cry all day She sneaks into his bedroom to look for him; so do She smells his sheets; so do She waits by the front door; so do We've learned to find comfort in each other. We snuggle,

sleep and mourn together . I had a beautiful boy named Elias. Now I have a beautiful cat named Damie. Deirdre Stein

TheNewYorkTimes

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