When Grandpa died, he didn’t look like he was sleeping. He looked like he was dead. It was Wednesday, August 16th. I remember that because I circled it in purple Sharpie on my calendar. I don’t think Wednesdays are good days for dying. And purple was the wrong color to use. I should have used …
The barn was lit by a single lightbulb. Cement floors dusted with straw, three by three stalls packed with chickens and goats. The first one to my right held two palm-sized puppies with their mother, her ribs looking like pretzels covered in caramel. She was the old man’s breeder, had watched at least a dozen …
[This is the first of a series of holiday story-pictures, or storyographies, from our editors and staff.] Christmas Eve. 2013. My daughters, Emma and Sophia, track Santa on Google Maps. “Daddy, he’s flying over China.” And he is—an animated sleigh, the reindeer, bouncing across the screen. “He’ll be here soon, Daddy.” There’s a calm in this moment, …
The 2015 MLS Cup game is this Sunday, the final match-up of a long, grueling U.S. soccer season. To celebrate, an essay by Story co-founding editor Vito Grippi about the narratives soccer offered him as an American child of an Italian immigrant family. WHAT WE CALL SOCCER IS USUALLY CALLED FOOTBALL. That’s what the English call it. Though …