Patrick Nevins

Champ Evan Johns Youth Baseball Camps ran for one week at each Little League they visited. Evan gave no more instruction than any of the other half-dozen ex-ballplayers on staff—career minor leaguers who’d never been called up to the Big Show long enough to have a baseball card printed—but he’d played a few seasons in…

Lori D’Angelo

Down to the Skin That summer, more creamer was the solution to everything. When they first cut my hours at work, I sat down and poured myself some coffee. But the coffee was cheap, and it didn’t taste right. So I added in some creamer. The creamer was Matt’s, but he didn’t mind if we…

Shana Raphaeli

Philomena The cool wind pricks James’s face and his eyes tear up as he stands by the side of the road. He uses his free hand to dry his cheek, grazing the sharp stubble on his jaw. The diner restroom where he has been grooming himself was occupied that morning and James had no patience…

J Dan Francis

Charlie Dixon’s Last Ride It was the long, distant whistle announcing the Adirondack Flier as it approached High Rock Crossing that startled Charlie Dixon like he had woken from a bad dream. He was shaking and sweating, but strangely, as the train drew closer, he smiled and settled back. Nick Rodgers reached over with a…

L. L. Babb

Living a Little Julia had just been laid off by her tax preparation firm. Sugar—Julia’s mother preferred to be called Sugar by everyone, including Julia—was between husbands. “What better time,” Sugar cooed into the telephone, “for some mother-daughter bonding?” “How?” Julia said. Cautiously. Spending time with Sugar usually ended up making Julia feel less like…

Tim Jones-Yelvington

Divine Decree Because he is the fairest, wisest child in his fifth-grade class, Maxwell knows the seashell was destined for his fist. From along the shore, it beckoned, iridescent and ridged. Now, it pulses in his palm, which rests on the wide arm of the Adirondack chair where he lounges, watching his classmates play. Behind…

David Franklin

STRINGBEAN, ROOK AND HITLER His name was Ed, but nobody called him that, except maybe his wife, Trudell. To all who knew him his name was “Stringbean” although he was mostly called “Strang,” the southern Middle Tennessee derivative of “String.” He was a sharecropper and worked the fields and milked the cows of Billy O’Neal,…

Lexi Covalsen

Notes from the Free Clinic In Kentucky, I was blue and selfish like a child. We had lost our gloves on the river bank; along with the money and the meth, the memory: a brick house and a basement, must and lights and crying, cars and chairs and very nice ladies. I know we were…

Mickey Dubrow

Cult of Nancy “Nolan Smiles. We make it precious,” read the words painted on the glass front door. “Maybe if they weren’t so busy making it precious, they wouldn’t have screwed up,” Nancy said under her breath as she propelled herself through the door and into the lobby of the photo studio. On the walls…