|Armadillo Hunting with an Old Man
||by Joby Bass|
Amos and I did lots of stuff that summer, mostly work-like stuff. We grew seven gardens, as he saw it. I saw it as one garden with some grass strips running through it. We picked fruit. We cut down a tree. We made a rock garden (that made eight). And we spent many hours puttering around on the mountain roads of Montgomery County, me staring through the bug-smeared windshield of his hell-and-back Ford pickup as he drove.
Coming to Terms with My Daughter's Father
|by Andrea Coombes|
Two months later, I pee on a stick that turns pink with a certainty that's impossible to ignore. Lee and I are now in that small percentage of people who use birth control only to have it fail. Lee and I talk about abortion—he assumes abortion—but something stops me. I don't want an abortion. I choose to abdicate my right to choose. Lee says your choice, your child, goodbye.