by Maggie Secara
You can call me Callista, if you like. Back when I was leaving footprints in the Anglian strand, my name was a sort of nasal snort that more or less meant “Hey, you with the limp.” Then Reynaldo found me. Happily I changed that inarticulate grunt for the alternating freedom of attenuated electrons, for which I’ve most recently traded bronchitis and a nervous twitch.