American Lives Daily

At sixty-nine, I finally took the solo trip I'd been putting off for six years, ever since my husband

I sat on the bench outside my apartment building for a good fifteen minutes after it happened, trying

A Line on the Account "Grandma Loretta said you need to help your sister, because she'

The monsoon broke over the Santa Catalina Mountains just as the waiter set down a second basket of tortilla

It started with the keys I never gave back. My name is Marta Wieczorek, I'm thirty-four, and I work

Claire hit the gas a little harder than she meant to on I-5 north of Salem. The speedometer jumped to

On the last Saturday of August, the swamp cooler rattled like a coffee can full of screws. Megan was

The photo stayed on the hallway bulletin board all spring. Twenty kids in dusty sneakers, red rock behind

I almost kept walking. The afternoon had turned raw and brown, the kind of December day when Denver’s

The number 51 bus was running late that Thursday, and the air inside smelled like wet wool and somebody'