The Ticket by Alice Ruvane ’86

Alice Ruvane ’86 makes her way in the world as a promotional writer. She served on the Editorial Board of The Lyon Review during its inception and her first published personal essay, Creating a Life appeared in The Lyon Review in May 2011. Alice’s other works can be found online and in a yellowing copy of the New York Times Magazine (letter to the Editor and www.poetsagainstthewar.org, Truth & Justice.) Alice lives in Maine where she delights in spoiling her dog and her husband rotten (in that order). When she’s not spending time outdoors, on her yoga mat, on stage or with friends, she can be found at her desk writing. It’s no wonder she’s still at work on her first novel.

I didn’t tell my boy where we were headed the morning I threw his duffle bag in the way back and drove him to rehab. I lied. I waved the plane ticket I’d bought to Canada in front of his dazed eyes, “Maybe your father can straighten you out.” I’d had enough. Even if my boy hadn’t reached his “bottom,” I’d sure reached mine.

I packed his things the night before. Four pairs of tube socks, two pairs of jeans, an assortment of T-shirts and a sweatshirt. It wasn’t much, but it was clean. I picked the clothes off his floor and did the washing, drying and folding. He wasn’t home, but that wasn’t news. For the last two years he only came home to sleep, or really, to sleep it off.

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Windigo by Leslie Le Mon ’90


Leslie Le Mon is an author and consultant.  A graduate of Mount Holyoke College, Leslie lives in Los Angeles where she is a member of the Book Publicists of Southern California. Her books include Cold Dark Harbor and Other Tales of Ghosts and Monsters, the collection from which “Windigo” appears, the YA fantasy series Sircus of Impossible Magicks, and the unauthorized Disneyland Book of Secrets 2013. Visit www.leslielemonauthor.com for more.

Yarick, Maine

Ten years ago, in 1955, my husband and I lived in a cold water walk-up in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  It was at the top of an old house on the waterfront, circa 1700, which sounds picturesque, but it just means the building was falling down around our ears, that we froze in the winter, and broiled in the summer, and that the smell of salt and fish and tar marinated our three small rooms year-round.

Ernest had graduated from Bowdoin with a degree in literature.  He didn’t want to teach; he didn’t want to pursue a graduate degree, and he didn’t want to work in advertising.  He wanted to write the great American novel–not a great American novel, but The Great American Novel. That meant he pounded on an old Corona typewriter all day and night, and sent queries to the big literary houses in Boston, New York, London, and Paris.

Ernest was very earnest, and so was his novel, but no one on either side of the Atlantic was interested. Polite rejection after polite rejection landed in our mailbox. Worse, they were boiler plate rejections–absolutely impersonal.

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Short Story: That American Thing

Sandi Sonnenfeld ’85 is a fiction writer and essayist and Managing Editor of The Lyon Review. Her stories and creative nonfiction pieces have appeared in more than 30 literary magazines and anthologies, including Hayden’s Ferry Review, Sojourner, Voices West, ACM: Another Chicago Magazine, Raven Chronicles and others.  In 2002, she was named a Celebration Author by the Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association for her memoir, This is How I Speak (Impassio Press), which recounts Sandi’s first year enrolled at the MFA program in fiction writing at the University of Washington.  “That American Thing,” republished here, won The David Dornstein Memorial Creative Writing Award for Young Writers (1998) sponsored by the Coalition for the Advancement of Jewish Education.

Miklos Sandor first saw his future wife Elissia when she was a contestant in the Miss Liberty beauty pageant held at the Hungarian Jewish Social Club of Detroit.  Miklos had forgotten about the beauty contest when he stopped in at the Club after work.  It was Thursday and he was thinking about the car.

Miklos Sandor didn’t want just any car; he wanted one that he had helped build at Mr. Ford’s Motor Car Company.  Miklos Sandor wanted a 2.9 liter, monoble sv, four‑cylinder Tin Lizzie with a capacity cruising speed of forty‑five miles per hour and a detachable hood.  The list price for the new 1925 edition was eight hundred and sixty dollars.  Miklos had sat down with a pencil and paper and figured out that if he saved five dollars weekly, one quarter of his salary, he could own the car in eight years, seven months, and twenty‑one days.  So every Thursday when he got paid, Miklos stuffed five dollars into his right sock and played chess with Morty Feldman at the Club.

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