Christie works as a legal aid lawyer and dance fitness instructor in Richmond, Virginia. While she loves both her social justice and fitness jobs, her true passion has always been writing and as soon as her youngest left for college she started writing fiction again. Christie’s short stories have appeared in online journals including “Panoplyzine” and “The Write Launch” and in print in “Castabout” and “The Fredericksburg Literary and Art Review.” When she isn’t writing, dancing or fighting for social justice, Christie is on a pole somewhere practicing for her next Pole Sport competition.
Electric Cars
September 1933
“Ollie, have you seen what their car spits out into the air?” Gertie asked, hands on her hips. “The smoke, Ollie! Every time that damn Model T cranks up it sends columns of smoke up just like Fourth of July fireworks. Every day, Ollie, every day. How can that possibly not be dangerous?”
Ollie sighed and took Gertie’s hands. “It’s not good for us, Gertie, I know it’s not. And you know it’s not. But nobody else sees it.”
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Returning
When the cold, white morning of her fiftieth birthday arrived, Beatrice couldn’t lift her head. The chimes of her good morning, programmed into the phone she kept beside her, just in case, circled through their simple melody three times and then stopped. From outside her bedroom door came the cries of the cat, hungry again, its staccato screeches demanding attention. Sunlight fell like shards of glass on the floor, too bright this April morning, reflecting the snow that should not have fallen, here, in Atlanta, where last week was springtime. Read more.