Joyce Campbell :: Short Stories Papers

Joyce CampbellMelissa Everett was sitting comfortably in her pivot chair staring down on the busy city of spick-and-span York. She dreamily began talking to herselfHow lucky I am, she thought. My life is so everlasting(a) right now, my family supports me and I have great friends. She calmly looks around her turgid office and thinks to herself, And look how far I have come She thinks digest to her struggles and to her climb up the companies latter. Without the help of Joyce, I and several of the other egg-producing(prenominal) executives of Tie Technologies would not be here. How did she do it? I wonder how it was natural c everywhereing then. Melissa eyes grew slightly heavy, her head filled with thoughts and she right away slipped into a light sleep. June 27th, 1957. The sun was out the sky was blue, dusted with all a few white clouds. This morning was like any other morning Typical. The sun was shining warmly onto the houses, cars and people of Apple Lane. number 203, residence to Gregory and Judy Stephenson was a bustle. This advancedly built large brick home is environ with others identical to itself. In this suburban neighborhood, the streets are cluttered with children and mothers offering goodbyes to their loved ones as the men commute to their work. Judy stands waving piano to the old Cadillac pulling out of the driveway. Her skirt blows into the air, and her wispy blonde bangs rinse to the side of her face. She holds her baby girl in her arms and touches the shoulder of the teenage boy below her. Its very early, she dresses her children for school and shovels them out of the portal an hour or so later. She crochets, bakes a few batches of cookies for her returning children, walks to the grocery to purchase the necessary items for dinner - baked potatoes, carrots and flank steaks - and decides to walk over to her friend Joyces house. She arrives unfortunately the bottom inch of her skirt has been caked with wet du st, and approaches a young woman with a big straw hat on reading quietly on her porch. It is routine. Judy sits down next to her takes out her new romantic novel and decides to go make herself cold lemonade.