Mariette Storr

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Over the Threshold

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Writer Mariette Storr recalls coming of age in the Bahamas, where “the remnants of colonialism lingered like a dense mist.” This essay is part of her MFA thesis at the University of Baltimore.

Through the corner, around the bend and I was home. I pushed open the mesh screen door of our store to access the shortest route to the tiny hallway that led to the room I shared with three sisters. My breathing labored, I peeled out of my school uniform, grabbed a pair of white short pants and a blue blouse, my school’s track club ensemble, and escaped to the back yard. I stared up at the mango tree laden with plump, golden-reddish fruit. I propped my left foot against the lowest limb of this tree, the opposite hand gripped the closest branch, my right foot hoisted upward, and with repeat motion I finally perched myself comfortably on a top limb.  I seized a fat one and plucked it with both hands. One bite after another, the sweet chunks oozed streams of juice that ran down my arms, leaving a trail for my tongue to follow.