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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