Fiction | December 01, 2001
First Person
Judy Troy
This story is not available online.
“The first step he took was his first step toward the penitentiary,” Pam liked to joke about her son, Avery, during the year that she and Avery lived next door to me in Sea Coast Villiage, which sounds like a prettier place than it was. It was a strip of poverty down in the Florida Panhandle near the ocean, shortly before that part of the coastline was developed.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?
Subscribe TodaySEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Editors' Prize Winner
Apr 23 2019
Salt Land
Many things lay buried beneath the fields of the Gillie farm: splintered seed dibblers tangled in sorrel root, Ute arrowheads, their edges chipped by plows, snapped cattle bones, and the… read more
Fiction
Apr 23 2019
Spinoza’s Landlady
For so gentle and cautious a man, he provoked strong responses from the beginning. At twenty-three he was kicked out of Amsterdam’s Jewish community with impressive ceremony. An incensed Most… read more
Fiction
Apr 23 2019
Providence
In the mornings she liked to go jogging. That was the word for it, a leisurely loping across the tracks and up the hill to Highland. She couldn’t quite call… read more