The Third ‘Fourth’ Is the Charm
While I was dancing, another graduate student remarked, “I know someone who dances just like you.” In response, I confidently stated, “No one dances quite like me.” After all, my focus at the time was on pursuing romantic relationships. However, my perspective shifted dramatically when I encountered Steve, a male student wearing a turtleneck, in the following semester. The sight of him caused my entire body to tremble with intense interest. Curiously, when I witnessed his dance moves, I felt a sense of offense, thinking, “I don’t dance like that!” Nevertheless, it was intriguing that my dancing that night captivated his attention. Within a span of four months, our relationship blossomed, leading me to propose marriage during the Fourth of July weekend. As fate would have it, he said yes four months later. Now, after many years of marriage, we still find ourselves dancing together, sharing some similarities. — Michelle Mood
Don’t Cry for Me
“I hate when people cry at funerals,” my mother expressed. Intrigued, I asked, “When do you believe they should cry?” She glanced at me as if I were insane. I already knew her response: never. However, when she believed nobody was watching, she shed tears for my deceased father, the love of her life, and for my brother, who was lost on the streets. To honor her memory, I organized a celebration after her passing. I was certain she would have appreciated it. Despite my instructions of “Don’t Cry!” written on the cake and a stern photograph of her in the blue icing, some mourners couldn’t help but shed tears. — Susan Parker
An Envelope of Photos
I vividly recall the moment when Mom brought you home to our modest Moscow apartment, wrapped in a pristine white blanket. For years, we shared a bunk bed, navigating the ups and downs of life together. I can’t forget the time you threw yourself to the floor in a temper tantrum because Grandma insisted on taking your summer reading seriously. Both of us longed for our absent fathers, but you, with your fearless nature, expressed your emotions openly, leaving me envious of your courage. As a contrast, I played the role of the obedient, wounded, and inhibited good girl. Eventually, I distanced myself from our shared past and moved far away. However, the distance couldn’t erase the bond we once had. It was rekindled when you sent me a package of old photographs for my birthday. Looking at those pictures, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. There we were, with my hand gently resting on your shoulder, a symbol of unwavering support. — Gloriia Novikova
See the Light?
Every night, my young toddler offers a heartfelt prayer for my father, asking for his recovery from the reliance on oxygen. Prior to my father’s hospitalization due to Covid-19, my son himself had been admitted for pneumonia. At just 2 years old, he had experienced the pain of needles, the presence of tubes, and the sensation of plastic in his nostrils. Expressing sympathy, he said to my father, “I understand how itchy your nose can be.” On the Fourth of July, we chose to avoid crowded firework displays and opted to watch amateur shows from the comfort of my parents’ rural West Virginia home’s porch. As we watched the sun set, witnessed bats swooping through the sky, and marveled at the colorful explosions, an endearing moment unfolded between my son and father. They held each other tightly, captivated by the beauty of light amidst the darkness. — Anna Rollins
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