Tampa, Florida
Congratulations Amy!
Amy's Bio:
Amy Smith Linton grew up poor in a story-telling family. A lucky streak with standardized testing sent her to Cornell University, where she studied with Lorrie Moore, Allison Lurie, and Dan McCall. She's worked as an editorial assistant (in New York! with famous writers at Farrar, Straus & Giroux! For just pennies per hour!), technical editor, wallpaper hanger, newspaper reporter, marine varnish tech, office manager, and half-a-dozen other unlikely occupations.
When not writing, she races sailboats, recently finishing first at this year's Flying Scot North American Championships in Deltaville, Virginia. She lives in Tampa, FL.
Something Old, Something New
In all truth, I joined the Peace Corps to make a difference in the world. But I also wanted to get as far away from home as possible, and while Grandma's legacy paid for my college, it didn't stretch to backpacking in Nepal. Which was the only place I figured I could mend my broken heart.
A broken heart can heal anywhere, I know now, as long as you are busy helping make the world better. For two years, I worked on a fresh-water supply project in Uganda and lived in an actual mud hut with some of the most wonderful people I'd ever known. And I kept very busy. Oh, I had e-mail once a week -- it wasn't that I couldn't stay in touch, I simply didn't. I sent breezy updates, but I didn't find time to complain or confide.
So when my mother mentioned in passing that Eliza was getting married, I was surprised.
Maybe not that surprised. After all, Eliza had been my best friend since we were little, and when she and my then-boyfriend Damon got together, it seemed inevitable that the heart-break would be complete only once they married and started a family. Hence the Peace Corps. And now, two years later, I was flying home just in time to check the welds on my repaired heart.
The funny thing about being away for a long time is how little changes, and yet how important the changes seem: the maple tree out front had fallen during a storm, and the neighbors had painted their house an ugly dark green, both of which made me want to cry. My parents looked older and smaller, though they hadn't altered at all. After exclaiming over my tan, my tattered clothes, and the little things I brought them, my mother brewed me a cup of tea and tucked me to bed.
They threw a Welcome Home party for me the next day, complete with a tent and the Pigs-R-Us mobile barbecue guys. I wondered if my parents wished instead for a wedding reception on the back lawn. All the neighbors and relatives showed up, as did one of my grade-school teachers, and a surprising number of people from school. It seemed to me that everyone was extra-careful not to mention Eliza or the wedding. It was just like the village -- only a small community, I thought, could be so gentle.
I didn't notice the sound of a motorcycle, but when two people wearing black leather jackets and matching black helmets walked across the lawn, I looked. When Eliza took off her helmet, it was the same Eliza: pretty and smiling, with a tumble of red hair falling down her back. But when Damon took off his helmet -- it wasn't Damon. It was a tall girl nearly as pretty as Eliza. They linked arms and I heard someone mutter, “I hope someone told her about Eliza and her 'life partner.'”
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