Personal Essays

Friendship, Music, Personal Essays


By Mel Johnston “What’s that?” she asks, pointing her small finger to the red, crusty mark extending from my thumb to my index finger. It’s a burn; sustained from a silly mishap a few days prior, caused by a knucklehead who’s often in a rush and seldom wears oven mitts. Since she’s a four-year-old, I don’t tell her that it’s a burn, and I don’t tell her about my unsafe cooking methods either. I just tell her it’s a booboo, and that I’ll be just fine. And very soon, too. Promise.

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