For a Hoosier prone to homesickness, September is the hardest month to live in Texas. You crave yellowing leaves and orchard apples and nights smelling of bonfires. Instead you get singed grass and sweaty clothes and swimming pools that feel like stagnant bathwater. Mums wilt in grocery store entrances. People sip pumpkin spiced lattes while sweat beads on their brows. Families go to football games in tank tops. Your Midwestern mind is troubled.
Which is why this weekend felt (oddly enough) like Christmas. Continue reading
The first time I met her, I thought she looked like a gypsy. She wore a neon orange peasant skirt that skimmed the floor when she walked, the objects inside her overstuffed sequined purse rearranging themselves with every step. Large silver hoops dangled from her ears. She flashed a wide smile, revealing a tiny and endearing gap between her two front teeth.
“I’m Tia!” She exclaimed, extending her arm for an anemic handshake our friend Bethany would someday lecture her about improving. It was probably the only weak thing about her. In the nine years that have passed since than moment in our college dorm, I have become well-acquainted with the ironclad opinions and unshakable resolve of Therissa (to me, forever “Tia”) Johnson. Continue reading