Friday, July 19, 2019
Joyce Campbell :: Short Stories Papers
Joyce Campbell Melissa Everett was sitting comfortably in her swivel chair staring down on the busy city of New York. She dreamily began talking to herself: ââ¬Å"How lucky I am,â⬠she thought. ââ¬Å"My life is so perfect right now, my family supports me and I have great friends.â⬠She calmly looks around her large office and thinks to herself, ââ¬Å"And look how far I have come!â⬠She thinks back to her struggles and to her climb up the companies latter. ââ¬Å"Without the help of Joyce, I and several of the other female executives of Tie Technologies would not be here. How did she do it? I wonder how it was back thenâ⬠¦.â⬠Melissa eyes grew slightly heavy, her head filled with thoughts and she quickly slipped into a light sleepâ⬠¦. June 27th, 1957. The sun was out; the sky was blue, dusted with only 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 newly built large brick home is surrounded with others identical to itself. In this suburban neighborhood, the streets are cluttered with children and motherââ¬â¢s offering goodbyes to their loved ones as the men commute to their work. Judy stands waving softly to the old Cadillac pulling out of the driveway. Her skirt blows into the air, and her wispy blonde bangs sweep to the side of her face. She holds her baby girl in her arms and touches the shoulder of the young boy below her. Itââ¬â¢s very early, she dresses her children for school and shovels them out of the door an hour or so later. She crochets, bakes a few batches of cookies for her returning children, walks to the market to purchase the necessary items for dinner - baked potatoes, carrots and flank steaks - and decides to walk over to her friend Joyce's house. She arrives; unfortunately the bottom inch of her skirt has been caked with wet dust, 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.
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