The window above our bed is open, and there is a hot and salty breeze. Or is it his breath? I open my eyes, brushing the wet ends of my hair out of my face. He is beside me, on top of the covers, and I am underneath the covers and underneath his arms and one of his legs. The top half of his face is warmed by the peeking red glow of the Everglades sun. He looks for all the world like a child— save for the stubble around his gaping, snoring mouth. We were married yesterday evening, an autumn chapel wedding in Florida with family and a few close friends. I am now a wife.

I am 18 years old. I slap a mosquito bite on my arm, then one on my thigh, then one on my chin, then I sit up in bed and shut the window. I feel both matronly and very young, kneeling in my long pink gingham nightgown. He wears just his gray cotton boxers and looks naked and smells like sweat. He is also 18. I want to sit and look at him for a while because he is now my husband, and this is my first morning having a husband ever in my life. And he still is so handsome to me, even today, even drooling on my hair and on our pillow. But he smells like sweat, I smell like his sweat, the room smells like his sweat, and I decide that I will watch him sleep some other time. I want to bathe. I need to make breakfast. And as soon as he wakes I still need to air out the sheets, which will never air out in the sultry Florida air. A fresh new mosquito bite stings on my lip and then on the soft back of my hand.

We are staying for our honeymoon in my great aunt’s farmhouse, and I have only been here once before. The master bathroom has a great big window with no curtains or blinds. I won’t change in here. I will change my clothes in the closet after I make breakfast and then bathe. I splash water on my face and brush my teeth with the toothbrush we share as of last night, since he forgot to pack his. It is the pink toothbrush I brought from the pack in my bathroom at home, my parents’ home. My brother has the purple toothbrush and my sister got the green one. I can taste my husband’s breath. I spit the sparkly blue toothpaste and rinse it down the sink.

The sound of the running water wakes him up, and he calls, “Good morning, sunshine!” My heart flutters like a bird. Through the doorway, he is sitting up and grinning. The sunlight is changing from red to yellow. Hopping back to the bed, I hug my arms to my chest. He wraps me up in his strong arms, kisses my forehead and I laugh. My voice sounds like a little girl. We say nothing else and just sit on the bed. I am so very hungry and have not eaten since before the ceremony because of the butterflies in my stomach. On cue, I hear his stomach growl. My ear is on his chest and I don’t know if I should make a joke or not, and the moment passes, so I don’t. Through the window I see the grapefruit tree and the chickens. I will have to collect the eggs and squeeze the bitter juice for his breakfast. But for now, I close my eyes, listen, and wonder how many of his heartbeats I will have the privilege to hear in this lifetime.

Apprehensively he shuffled into the dimly lit Human Resources office. “Have a seat Mark” The harsh fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum in tune with the HR lady's monotone voice. Over the next 30 minutes, she spoke of severance packages, the company's unwavering commitment to aiding his job hunt, and a slew of hollow niceties. Her words merged into a senseless, corporate symphony that played in the background of Mark's thoughts.

As Mark listened to her carry-on, he began to tune her out. The years he'd invested in the company bore down on him like an anvil, the weight palpable. It was as if an invisible vise had clamped around his heart, squeezing tighter with each cliche. The HR lady's practiced speech had a purpose – to smoothen the transition. But for Mark, it only underscored the feeling of being a replaceable gear in the intricate machine of the corporate world, destined to be forgotten.

Sitting there, enduring the absurdity of it all, Mark, couldn't help but reflect on the past. The years he had spent pouring his soul into a job that had never truly fulfilled him. The countless moments he had sacrificed, missing family gatherings, birthdays, and vacations, all in the name of climbing the corporate ladder. He had become a stranger to his own reflection, chasing an elusive dream that never seemed to get closer. He had allowed his life to be consumed by a monotonous routine, and now, it was all slipping away.

It was at this moment, that Mark realized that he had spent so much time dwelling on what he had lost that he had neglected to consider what he could gain. The realization was like a lightning bolt, jolting him out of his resignation. A smile began to form at the corners of his mouth as he felt a shift in his perspective.

This wasn't his last day; it was his first day of a new adventure. The security of his old job had been an anchor, and now, the universe had forcefully cut the rope, setting him adrift in the sea of possibilities. Mark thought about all the dreams and aspirations he had pushed to the back of his mind for years. Traveling to far-off lands, writing a novel, learning to play the guitar, volunteering for a cause he believed in, and spending more time with his family. All of these dreams suddenly seemed within reach.

The HR lady's voice continued to buzz in the background, but Mark had stopped listening. He was too busy visualizing his future. The smile on his face grew wider as he realized that this abrupt change wasn't a tragedy, but an opportunity. An opportunity to reinvent himself, to chase his passions, to find true fulfillment.

He stood up abruptly, startling the HR lady mid-sentence. Mark extended his hand and shook hers, thanking her for her time and consideration. But the real surprise came next. Mark turned, still wearing that confident smile, and with a polite nod, he extended a single finger—the universal sign of defiance—before turning and leaving the office. He collected his belongings from his desk, and for the first time in years, they felt light and unburdened.

The exit from the office was like crossing a threshold into a new world. The crisp air of freedom filled his lungs, and the possibilities seemed endless. The mundane office building, which had been his second home for so long, was now a distant memory. It was a farewell to the prison of routine and an embrace of the wide-open horizon.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, the morning sun warmed his face, and the weight that had been pressing on him for years had lifted. For the first time in a very long time, Mark felt alive. He couldn't predict what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain: it was a future of his own making.

The first day of the rest of his life had arrived. And Mark, with a heart full of hope and a smile that refused to fade, was ready to embrace it. It was time to turn his long-held dreams into reality, to seize the day and make it his own. This wasn't the end; it was just the beginning of a remarkable new chapter in his life.

I was on the airplane, seated near the window, next to two other strangers. It was a very long journey, a 16-hour flight. My legs felt numb. I became impatient and nervous. I shook my legs, wondering, "When will all this be over?" I thought, letting out a big sigh. Then, I saw streetlights from the window. I checked the time on the small TV screen in front of me. It was 5:30 in the morning. I couldn't believe I was finally here. I heard the pilot make an announcement, followed by the flight attendant announcing the local time and reminding us about the seatbelt. I felt overwhelmed with happiness. My eyes became wet. I tried my best to hold back my tears.

A land that I had never stepped foot in before. A strange land that I could finally see from above, and for no reason, it felt so familiar. A feeling of longing suddenly emerged; it was so weird. For no reason, I called this place 'Home'. And now, I've been here, making a living in my home.

Everyday is like the first with you

You cling tight to my arm, our feet marching over the pavement in time, and my heart leaps, accelerating into a thumping, faltering rhythm.

You rush forward, an idea on your lips, your eyes glowing with life and joy, and my heart skips, never to be still again when you're not with me.

You hold me tight, tight, tighter, and everything just dissolves away, your warmth joining with mine.

I wish these first days were my days, for always

Holding your hand for the first time, your fingers weave between mine, that time in the cold on the bench lasting forever, your warmth in my hand, a pledge of something, a tiny shell of warmth in a desert of cold

Gazing up into the stars, your head on my shoulder. Seeing the sky above, the way the lights of years ago carve slices through the darkness, seeking each other's light. Your head slides onto my shoulder. For the first time.

That first kiss, your world blending into mine, a roiling tidal wave of sensations and emotions and adrenaline and something else deeper pumping through my veins, through my whole being, pulling me closer to you, closer, closer. How much closer can I become?

I often wish a moment would last forever

Then I remember these are but the first days

Not the last days

And the smile sneaks back onto my face, and I am full of joy once more,

Like the first day

The first day, exciting yet scary. It's a new beginning, a blank slate. About those I feel the same way. I have nothing to work off of. No foundation to start on. I'm like a wire that isn't grounded. What if I spark? Everything could blow up. I know it won't happen but I worry anyway. Anxiety eats me, hungry. What if... is my enemy. I cannot shake this feeling no matter how hard I try, how much I know it will be fine. This is how these always start. It was so even on the first day of my senior year of high school. I went into it thinking of all the worst case scenarios, it being my first day in person since before the covid lockdown and all. I knew my teachers would be good, of five I had already had three, and I knew the other two were good teachers. I had a free period; six classes was a full schedule. Time came for lunch. I had sat outside of the choir room for lunch previously, but most of the people I would hang with had graduated. I went there and sat in my old place thinking nothing of the open door and my choir teacher inside. She had started at the beginning of the previous school year and up to then I had physically been in the same room as her twice. The choir teacher before her was never there during lunch, so we ate outside of the room because by the time we had access it would have been a waste to move. I expected nothing sitting on the cold floor, the choir room was the basement after all. Someone came to talk to the teacher. I watched, but still thought nothing of the situation. When they were leaving, she noticed be and asked if it was, in fact, me sitting there. I said it was. She told me to come in and sit on the stage (the room is also called the little theater). I was told the floor was far too cold, and I have to agree. This was a good beginning. One I remember quite fondly now. This is what I try to remember when there are firsts. They can turn out just as well as that one did. Sure there's the possibility of a nightmare, but it could always be the kind of first you cherish forever.

The moon danced overhead, the wind kissing our cheeks and noses with nips of winter’s bite at our toes. She twisted every which way- just as to not look at me. I bit back a smile and poked at her ribs, taking in the shades of tender fear- a chameleon to the red pleated jacket wrapped tightly around her- on her face. I waited for her to let go of the breath she had been holding the second we reached the rooftop and took in the delightful scent of damp air and sounds of our friend crunching around awkwardly trying to give us our space on the other side of the roof. There was no traffic- no dogs barking or birds flying overhead. Just us and, our friend- texting me asking if she could come over to our side of the roof yet. I took her hand, unsure if she was trembling from the cold or the fact she knew I was about to ask her to be my girlfriend, but either way her hands gave way to the befuddlement in her head. I puffed a laugh, drawing her wide eyes and puckered brows to finally look at me, and suddenly she relaxed, so I squeezed our clasped hands and pulled her to stand, to spin around the moon and become elusive to the clouds.

It is much the same now, as I spin her beneath my arm that is stronger than it once was. My face is warm from a liquor flush and the heat of the venue, the lines in my face defined from a lifetime of laughing and worrying beneath the makeup I wear. I pull her close, finding myself anchored to the glow of fairy lights in cobalt eyes. Tiny stars, reflected from my heaven.

On the first day of school, everything felt brand new, from the sharp scent of freshly sharpened pencils to the crispness of the unblemished notebooks. It was a day filled with jitters and excitement, where unknown adventures awaited beyond the threshold of the classroom door.

For Emily, a freckled-faced 7-year-old with wild, curly hair, the first day of second grade was particularly nerve-wracking. She had grown taller over the summer and had a shiny set of braces now. Would her classmates recognize her? What would her new teacher be like? These thoughts raced through her mind as she stood by the school gate.

As she walked into the classroom, Emily's wide eyes settled on her best friend, Lily, sitting at a desk near the window. Her heart soared. They giggled and waved at each other from across the room. The first day was off to a great start, and Emily's jitters began to melt away.

Their teacher, Mrs. Anderson, was a woman with a twinkle in her eye and an infectious enthusiasm for learning. She made math fun with colorful manipulatives, taught science through fascinating experiments, and even led the class in a sing-along about the solar system. It was a day filled with wonder and curiosity, as if the classroom had transformed into a spaceship ready to explore the universe.

Lunchtime was an adventure of its own. Emily had brought her favorite peanut butter and jelly sandwich, while Lily had a lunchbox packed with surprises. They swapped snacks, giggled over their secret stash of candies, and even dared each other to trade sandwiches with the boy who sat behind them. It was a culinary exploration that expanded their taste buds and their friendships.

Recess brought its own share of excitement. Emily had brought her shiny new jump rope, and Lily had a hula hoop. They soon gathered a group of friends to join in, and under the golden sun, they jumped and twirled with wild abandon. Laughter echoed through the playground, and the first day was turning into an unforgettable adventure.

After school, the two best friends walked home, their backpacks heavy with new textbooks and homework assignments. They chatted about everything they'd learned, the friends they'd made, and their plans for tomorrow. There was something magical about sharing the first day of school with a best friend.

That evening, Emily's mom made her favorite mac and cheese for dinner. She listened intently as Emily shared her day, mimicking Mrs. Anderson's animated storytelling style. The first day felt like an epic journey, and Emily couldn't wait to see what the rest of the school year had in store.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the classroom became a second home. Emily's freckles seemed to multiply as she spent her days exploring math problems, conducting science experiments, and reading books that transported her to far-off lands. Lily, her constant partner-in-crime, was there to share every adventure.

And so, the first day of second grade became the foundation for a year filled with laughter, learning, and lifelong friendships. Each day was a new chapter, and Emily and Lily were the fearless explorers, ready to dive headfirst into the joys and challenges of growing up. The first day had set the tone for a year of fun and experiences that would shape their young lives and leave them with memories to treasure for years to come.

Nothing but the clothes on my back. No home to go back to. Hours away from what I knew. Everyone who was there was in a similar position. We wanted to help ourselves. We needed to heal and we were making the decision to find the help we desperately needed. Eyes were always on me. Every fifteen minutes, someone would look in on me. Taking control of your life and then relinquishing that control to those who want to help you is a specific kind of vulnerability. It can calm the brain and put it in fight or flight mode. Your safety and healing were the first priority. The healing had to start with you. People could tell you how to help yourself, but you have to take that first big step to start on healing yourself. It does give back your control and lets you find yourself in safety. You learn how to live with yourself and how to live with the rest of the world. They tell you how it is, but it is up to you to understand when to let go of who or what hurts you. You can forgive people but it doesn't mean they have earned a place in your life. This is the hard part about being human, living. With yourself, with others. But always remember to put yourself first when it comes to your boundaries. Nobody has the right to mess with your protections and still have the right to being a part of your life.

I began my first day in the world as a nervous wreck. For eighteen and a half years I had no real choices. I was told where to work and when to go there. I was given a certain attire to wear and there was no alternative than the white, but slightly dingy, clothes I was handed.

Now I was in what we referred to as "the free world". I was handed a cell phone and my son called I didn't even know how to answer it. I walked around talking on speaker phone while holding the phone to my ear because I didn't know any better.

I didn't know what I wanted to eat. Really wasn't even sure if I could eat. The world seemed as if it would swallow me whole any minute now.I didn't even know what size clothes I wore. COVID had closed down dressing rooms but the lady sympathized with me and led me to a bathroom wear I could try on some jeans.

The choices were overwhelming. Deodorant, toothpaste, tampons, socks and shoes. I asked my mom what had happened to all the cheap stuff. Apparently nothing was cheap anymore. For years there was very little choice. There was no chaos. But now I was facing my first day of irrational and overwhelming fear because I had no idea what to choose.

My first day of freedom had also been my last day of incarceration. I left the world I knew so well and walked out into a place that didn't move in straight lines. A place where I had to make all of my own decisions. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it. The first day came and went as did my first year and then my second. I can still feel the overwhelming weight of my first day but I am glad I had it.