friendship
C.S Lewis got it right: friendship is born when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one!"
Our Little Black Book
I close my laptop with a sigh of relief. My little black book full of notes and scribbles still sits open on my desk. I look at the photograph to the right of my laptop, the one I look at every day. “I’m done”, I say to the image of the two of us smiling and eating ice cream: Ella with no hair and me with some sort of braid. The picture was taken the day Ella shaved her head…
By Laura Brooker Manning6 years ago in Humans
In Common
Rumner paced back and forth across his living room holding the phone gingerly to his ear. These conversations were always conflicting. One part of him wanted to talk with Carlos, to catch up with his oldest friend, to inquire about his children, and to complain about work together. The other part of Rumner couldn’t stand the banality of their lives. How many times could they talk about their useless coworkers? How many times could Rumner listen to Carlos go on about his children and where they went to school? Who cared about the new puppy his family had just gotten! It was difficult for Rumner to listen to the off-hand comments Carlos made about vacations he went on, or the dinners he went out to with his family. Inevitably, every time he called Carlos, their conversation circled back to Nicaragua and, like clockwork, their shared past. Resentment rose up and he couldn’t help but spit out a harsh comment on Carlos’ maldita vida.
By Camilo Toruno6 years ago in Humans
The Danish Gambit
Kamy is behind the wheel of the old Altima. Heading up NY 9N, along the west coast of Lake George, it is the last bit of her trip. The I-87 piece from Albany to Bolton Landing is often mindless miles. Today, Christmas Eve, NY 9N can be bare-knuckle driving for most. She looks through the passenger window. Ice is already forming along the shore. This is the most dangerous time of year as north-easterlies can whip icy spray onto the road surface. Or Favonius can bowl the snow down the foothills of the Adirondacks, forming treacherous drifts. Kamy knows this road too well. Her Dad chose to eschew Saratoga Springs for Hague. He would gleefully pilot his old SL500 to Skidmore, top down, deep into autumn. For twelve years, she rode shotgun for the drop off at the central school campus.
By Jonathan M. Harding6 years ago in Humans
Revival
The silver threads in her patchwork shawl glittered and tiny specks floated in the sun-filled conservatory. A smoky Burmese cat simmered in her lap, kneading with splayed paws as though in a trance. Lillian Carmichael regarded the creature with amused affection, her snowy white hair pulled loosely back, a single errant wisp trailing her papery cheek.
By Nilgin Yusuf6 years ago in Humans
Broken webs
The deliberate rearranging of the sheet woke me from a dreamless sleep. Wearily, I focused my eyes on the nurse who nodded curtly at a figure barely sitting in the chair next to my cot. I turned my head slowly and shock stabbed through my useless body. The young man moved forward and apologized for waking me, initially speaking in poor French, but switching quickly to unaccented English
By Fiona Fitzpatrick6 years ago in Humans
A Life of Joy
A Life of Joy An unfamiliar man in a fedora and long trench coat stood on the porch and knocked on the door. Emily was home alone and opened the door tentatively. “Hello, My name is Roger Warhall, I’m an estate attorney, are you Emily Parker?” She nodded. “I have something for you from Mr. Minkler. Did you know him?” She paused “I don’t know if I would say I knew him, but I passed by his house every morning on my way to school.” “Well,” the attorney said. “I’m sorry to tell you, but he passed away. He included you in his will and I’m here to give you this little black book.” Emily paused and then took the book from his hands,“Thank you” she said. He tipped his hat slightly towards her and said “You’re welcome, take care.” She shut the door and stared at the book in her hands.
By Lesley Zacharias6 years ago in Humans
Bless You, Mr Plotkin
I know he was just a neighbor, but damn I’m going to miss old Mr. Plotkin. We weren’t friends in the text all day sense. We didn’t make plans to hang out or anything. But I brought in his newspaper and trash cans, and he left his light on until I was home. I’d bring him some of whatever I was baking that week, and he’d walk Sisko, when I couldn’t get home during the day. And we would chat. Nothing earth-shaking, but just….comforting, regular old chat. Sometimes he was the only person I’d exchange two words with for weeks.
By Raine Spencer6 years ago in Humans
