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Stories by Rosa Jurjevics

Rosa Jurjevics in Boston

It's a Wrap It is one of the first sunny days in this godforsaken town. I roll up my sleeves, glance into the empty expanse of the U-Haul, and think, Finally, I am a real ...

Rosa Jurjevics in Boston

The Producer It's 2 p.m. and I'm back in bed, computer propped on my blanket-covered knees, one hand on the keyboard and the other hand on the phone. I am wearing my customary morning costume ...

Rosa Jurjevics in Boston

Tucked In And Terrified Surprise, surprise. I can't sleep. I made a valiant effort, though. I went to bed at 11:30 to the sounds of my computer playing cheery sitcoms on loop and my ocean-waves, ...

Rosa Jurjevics in Boston

The Granddaughters Nanny is dead. It is Karen who calls to tell me this. It is Thursday, and I hear the phone and know, ducking out of class in what I hope is a discreet ...

Rosa Jurjevics in Boston

Bad with Girls One evening in Brooklyn, feeling enterprising, I wandered into the kitchen and sat down on the chaise lounge opposite my father, who was parked in his favorite reading chair. "Dad?" I said. ...

Rosa Jurjevics in Boston

Nasty Old Bird It was my aunt's truncated e-speak -- in which she disregards all conventions of grammar -- that informed me my maternal grandmother was dying, and I suppose that made it...blander, less impacting. ...

Rosa Jurjevics in Boston

Dispatch from Beantown I don't like Boston. I don't like this crummy pickle I got at the convenience store downstairs, and I don't like this town. It has taken me four years, but I have ...

Mushballs! Riding the Big Apple's little waves

Catch a wave in Queens

Contrary to popular belief, there is surf to be had off New York City. Just as one can purchase a bagel (or passable facsimile) in San Diego, one can ride a wave off Queens. It's ...

Forget-me-nots

Upon my return from Boston, where I attend college, and dizzy with the prospects of home, the customary pile of mail one expects after a long sojourn greeted me. Two thin off-white envelopes lay within ...

Soundtrack

The music that tells us we’re alive.

I'd press play on my older brother's boom box, and listen to the Beach Boys' "Surfin' USA." The volume never passed two; I was terrified of discovery by my mother who had a ban on rock music.

Love-Drunk Kid

When I was 12, most of my time was spent (a) being mad at absolutely everybody and everything, (b) writing furiously, or (c) being mad at absolutely everybody and everything and writing furiously at the ...

Mom

The woman we never forget.

"Careful, Ma; don't spill your soup," I warned. "First time you spill, that's it — you're going to the home.” Mom's reply was immediate. "I know. I've picked out what I want to take with me."

Speaking Only in Memory

My mother died suddenly and in her sleep — with a peaceful smile on her face, my father said. I was eight when it happened, and I moved around my new life as if in ...

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