© 2018  Sarah Montana

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November 6, 2019

In honor of my Dad’s birthday, here’s one of my very favorite memories of him. (Spoilers re Santa ahead).

When I was seven years old, I figured out that Santa was just Mom and Dad—the handwriting was a dead giveaway. When confronted, my Mom cracked like lava cake, sec...

October 24, 2017

I am a ghost, I think. I can’t feel anything. I float through the crowd of thousands—literally thousands of people—crammed into the gym of our seventies dinner theater-esque Catholic church. All brick and terrible wood paneling. As I drift down from the bleachers into...

August 20, 2017

I am breaking up with my fiancé this weekend. But tonight, I’m sitting at a cast party in a divey bar on the Upper West Side. My fiancé and his parents are my wardens in this corner on these stools, their discomfort an invisible barrier between me and the rest of my ca...

April 9, 2017

There were eight of us in Ms. Graham’s class. There was a mysticism surrounding GEMS—a highly selective, seniors-only seminar. Eight gifted eighteen year olds, raw and invincible, sat around four small tables jammed together to create a jagged little Algonquin.

We’d all...

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I am a ghost, I think. I can’t feel anything. I float through the crowd of thousands—literally thousands of people—crammed into the gym of our seventi...

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October 24, 2017

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