EVERY HOOFPRINT

Photo Credit to Ana Karolina Pereira on Pexels The front seat of his car was dangerous and yet she found herself there more times than she could count. It was always reserved for her, not asked or offered, just expected. Someone trusted to drive her from school events and on grocery runs. That someone made sure the front seat was empty and available for her. Made sure she sat up front, the back seat was too cramped, too uncomfortable. Someone who needed her there within reach

Photo credit to Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels On Christmas Eve, my mother printed page after page of cartoon movie tickets to go along with one of the gifts she got for my grandmother. More effort was put into this gift because of its sentimental value. She was trying so hard with the presentation because the actual gift was a promise of something that would happen later.  The plan was to take my grandmother to the movies to see “Song Sung Blue.”  It was a thoughtful gift bec

Photo Credit: Bob Dylan Center in Tulsa, OK I’m not quite sure when I became interested in Bob Dylan, but it’s been nearly half my life. In the past two or three years, a simple heavy interest has blossomed into a spiritually-tuned obsession.  People who listen to older music are often looked down upon by some, and the further back in time that you go for music preference, the more your demographic of listeners inevitably collide with the baby boomers. That never bothered me

The holidays are supposed to be a time of joy. Yet according to the American Psychological Association , nearly nine in 10 U.S. adults describe some level of stress this time of year. 43% say that the stress of the holidays interferes with their ability to enjoy them. Whether it's anticipation of family conflict or financial concerns, there is enough evidence to suggest that the holidays are often overwhelming. As a kid, I loved Christmas. On Christmas Eve, I would track Sant

Photo by Emily Ranquist: By: Lynelle Fernandez When I was in high school, I took five Advanced Placement (AP) courses that transferred as credit when I enrolled in college. Having 15 credits before my first semester meant I was able to graduate in three and a half years instead of the usual four. Although I’ll finish classes this December, I will attend Commencement with the rest of my senior peers next May. This should be great news. Why am I not excited? There are plenty of

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels If there’s one thing this Thanksgiving taught me, it’s that some family members have a time limit for how long they’ll show they love you. There’s a sweet spot. Family members will love you no matter what if you’re part of two specific age ranges: young children or the elderly. When you’re young, people adore you because you’re so cute, naive and full of energy. It’s okay to act out because you still have time to grow. When you’re a senio

I vividly remember my mom telling me to flip my head over and applying Aussie Sprunch Spray in my hair when I was a kid. I had brown ringlets with blonde highlights because my mom would also spray Sun-In all over my curls. Everyone called me Shirley Temple and people with naturally straight hair would tell me that they wish they had mine. I felt the same exact way. All I ever wanted was their hair. You can only brush curly hair when it’s wet, or else you’d look like a circus

As the world recovered from the Covid pandemic, the West Haven Veterans Hospital allowed 25 youth volunteers back into the building in the summer of 2022. I was one of them, three years ago. All masked up at the tail end of the pandemic, I initially got the gig to get community service hours for my high school. I eventually racked up about 130 hours that summer. Most of the patient escort job involved waiting for elevators, sitting at the front desk and taking phone calls, pu

I wandered through a world of noise,  Where silence used to scream.  Each echo told a tale undone,  Each shadow held a painful wound. My heart longs for belonging and safety. The faces I pass blur into one endless crowd. Everyone seemed to know who they were and where they were supposed to be. Here I stood still, unable to move a muscle. Letting the world rush past me, wondering whether I will learn to move like them. In the end, the noise never became familiar. I remained a

SATIRE No one ever in the wildest dreams ever expects to be viewed as THAT person. The person who ends up experiencing such a tragic event that they are forever known by it. They are marked by the thing that happened to them, the thing that is so unspeakable, so… traumatic.  This is my story.  My daily walks are part of my special routine and it is something that I pride myself in; they're my way to decompress after a hard day crossing the road. My path is always the same fro

I let my anger get the best of me. Just like him. There are no words to describe being compared to someone your memories villainize. Though I knew my father beyond the anger, having one of your first memories of someone be something so traumatic doesn’t set a great tone, especially when you see them once a yNineteen. The last year of one's teens. The last chance to be a kid before the impending doom of your twenties begins to sink in. The age I am now and the age my father wa

My weight enters the room before I do. It doesn’t matter if I’m having a good hair day. It doesn’t matter if I walk in with a smile on my face. It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing makeup. My body is the first thing people always notice. The first time I noticed I was different was when I was five. I was going on the bus to school and made friends with two twin sisters. The seat I sat in that day became my assigned seat on the bus. I didn’t know the choice I made would turn out t