Art by Matt Bollinger

by Katie McDonough

The day before the motel sells I’m on a train headed upstate, trying—and failing—to focus on work. This is an ill-timed trip: It’s mid-week during the busy season at my job, and I have a young son at home. But as dutiful as I am, I am equally sentimental, and I don’t want to miss my chance to see the place one more time.

When I arrive at the train station my mom is waiting in the parking lot. “Is it really going to happen?” she whispers goofily,

Art by Andy Mister

by Steven Karl

It was evening. I was depressed. I was in bed, my secret Sony Walkman tucked under the covers. The lights were off. My parents were in bed. My sister had already been kicked out. Another hushed-up and closed-in night. Outside bats began to rise and fall while cats hunted voles. The moon a static smirk.

I clicked play and the opening notes of Slayer’s “South of Heaven” bombarded my ears—a steady death march. In secrecy, I had spent the entire week trying to learn the song on my BC Rich bass.

photo by Joyce Ellis

by Brian Ellis

No childhood is complete without facing this one question one thousand times at least. It may come from a friendly aunt at Thanksgiving dinner, a well-meaning neighbor from behind the wooden fence or an adult you’ve never seen before and never will see again, but ultimately the person asking you the question is inconsequential. The important part is to have an answer for when the inevitable time comes. 

“So…what would you like to be when you grow up?”

Since you are a small child,