Going to Moonville

In the car it was steamy, smoky. The heat on and off, the indows rolled up, then cracked, the smoke from Roger’s cigarette flowing out in a thin stream. The stuffiness was the kind that made Evie carsick, the warm queasy air pressing on her. She could remember riding the bus to school and feeling just as she did now, that stale feeling in your stomach. The roads wound round and round, up and down hill, the fields beside them rising and falling until she had no idea where they were or what direction they were going. Moonville. I’ve been up there many times, Roger was saying. Used to go in high school, scare the girls, you know how it is.

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Mary Grimm has a short story collection, Stealing Time, and a novel, Left to Themselves, published by Random House. Her stories have appeared in a number of magazines and journals, including The New Yorker, The Journal, The Bellingham Review, and Hunger Mountain. She teaches fiction writing and the graphic novel at Case Western Reserve University.

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