I placed my mug down on the coffee table I had purchased at a local flea market some months ago. It was already marked with stains and scratches from past spills and the thin coating of gloss that it once glowed with had almost faded completely. Unwashed dishes and stacks of old newspapers and magazines lived on the surface of the wooden stand. I reached for the most recent New York Times and flipped through the pages, uninterested. On the back of the last page hung a wrinkled check with smudged ink and unidentifiable streaks. I pulled it off and straightened it out against the arm of my chair until it was somewhat legible. The date read August 21, 2000, just a couple of days ago. I must have forgotten to send it in. It was written out to
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It was last week’s edition, but I never had the chance to look at it. On the bottom of the third page was a bolded heading with a black and white photo of a young man standing in front of a familiar barn. I studied his face a little longer until moving on the article. “22 Year Old Man Inherits Family Farm” read the title. “After growing up in Pocantico Hills, New York, local townsman, Matthew Schreve, inherits his family’s farm and plans to get it back up and running before this winter.” Matthew Shreve, the name rang through my head, pounding from the inside out. It knotted up in my stomach and the words became a shaky blur. My eyes focused in on the picture of Matthew Schreve, a 22 year old man from Pocantico Hills. What I saw was not a 22 year old though, but a 5 year old boy standing in blue jean overalls and holding a stuffed bunny in his left …show more content…
She was the oldest and clearly the most mature. She was a spitting image of Mother, with her tight golden curls and beady green eyes. She straightened her back and crossed her hands in her lap, looking as if she were about to announce something important. She spoke in a very poised and sophisticated voice, “Well, I went to town today to pick up the bread you asked for, Mother, and I guess who I saw? It was Sam, Sam Winslow. Remember him, the scrawny little boy who use to try and steal from the apple tree? Well, I don’t think he recognized me, but I knew it was him the second I saw him. He sure looks different.” She finished the last sentence with a shake of her head. “I wonder what ever happened with his parents. Last time I heard, they ran off to Canada,” Mother chimed in, looking up solely at Gretchen.
Jacob, stuck as one of the middle children like me, hit his head against his table, expressing his boredom with the current topic. “Me and Owen found frogs today.” “Yeah, they were huge and slimy and one of them even jumped into a pile of mud,” Owen added.
“Owen and I,” corrected Maddie. She was easily the most fragile and shrunk into her seat as she
It was last week’s edition, but I never had the chance to look at it. On the bottom of the third page was a bolded heading with a black and white photo of a young man standing in front of a familiar barn. I studied his face a little longer until moving on the article. “22 Year Old Man Inherits Family Farm” read the title. “After growing up in Pocantico Hills, New York, local townsman, Matthew Schreve, inherits his family’s farm and plans to get it back up and running before this winter.” Matthew Shreve, the name rang through my head, pounding from the inside out. It knotted up in my stomach and the words became a shaky blur. My eyes focused in on the picture of Matthew Schreve, a 22 year old man from Pocantico Hills. What I saw was not a 22 year old though, but a 5 year old boy standing in blue jean overalls and holding a stuffed bunny in his left …show more content…
She was the oldest and clearly the most mature. She was a spitting image of Mother, with her tight golden curls and beady green eyes. She straightened her back and crossed her hands in her lap, looking as if she were about to announce something important. She spoke in a very poised and sophisticated voice, “Well, I went to town today to pick up the bread you asked for, Mother, and I guess who I saw? It was Sam, Sam Winslow. Remember him, the scrawny little boy who use to try and steal from the apple tree? Well, I don’t think he recognized me, but I knew it was him the second I saw him. He sure looks different.” She finished the last sentence with a shake of her head. “I wonder what ever happened with his parents. Last time I heard, they ran off to Canada,” Mother chimed in, looking up solely at Gretchen.
Jacob, stuck as one of the middle children like me, hit his head against his table, expressing his boredom with the current topic. “Me and Owen found frogs today.” “Yeah, they were huge and slimy and one of them even jumped into a pile of mud,” Owen added.
“Owen and I,” corrected Maddie. She was easily the most fragile and shrunk into her seat as she