Written for Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts
Weekend Challenge, using the term ‘Pros &
Cons’. Here’s were the prompt took me.
Tag: Best Friends
Mother Knew Best
Written for Esther’s Writing Prompts #85
incorporating the word “club”.
Here’s where the prompt led me.
Uncle Bobby: The Sighting
Our gracious host, Rochelle, encourages us
to be creative by writing a story in 100 words
or less using the photo prompt below. This is
Friday Fictioneers. Here’s where the photo took me.
Whisked Away
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where
we are urged to get creative in 250 words or less.
The photo below is our inspiration; this is my story.
Happy Together
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #405
using the word “gallant”. In 27 words, this is my story.
Between Friends
Written for Esther’s Writing Prompts-50
with the prompt word “secrets” and
Gerry & Sue’s Weekly Prompts Wednesday
Challenge with the prompt word “whimsical”.
This is my story.
Heart Of Gold
Written for Ovi Poetry Challenge #85.
This week’s inspiration word is
“friend”. Keeping with this year’s
theme of positivity, this is my Ovi.
I Gemelli
Resemblance can be a freaky thing. Supposedly everyone has a doppelgänger; someone out there is a duplicate of you with your mother’s eyes, your father’s nose and that annoying mole you’ve always wanted to have removed. We might even have several pairs of clones walking around, each totally unaware of the other’s existence.
It’s been said the longer people have a pet, the more they begin to resemble that pet. Dogs have been matched by strangers to their owners time and time again. The same is true for people; have you ever seen a long-married couple who now look like a set of bookends?
I have many relatives in Italy and Sicily; my family has always said one particular cousin and I have looked like each other since birth. We were born days apart and are called “I Gemelli” … “The Twins”. The first time my cousin Franco and I met, we just stared at each other in fascination. I think Franco and I do bear a strong resemblance however his eyes are blue while mine are green and he’s got a lot more facial hair than I do! LOL! And we have the same Sicilian nose!
The other day I wrote about my best friend Debby and how alike we are, not just our personalities but our physical appearance as well. One of my WP friends was quite interested in my story and left several comments and questions. I promised I’d write a little bit more about me and Debby … two unrelated women who could pass for sisters, perhaps twins at times.
I can’t explain how these things happen but events at my son’s wedding a few years ago proved the old saying true: fact is stranger than fiction.
There were a lot people at the wedding … family, friends, coworkers. My sister, Rosemarie, was there as was my friend Debby. The time arrived during the wedding reception for a family photo session. The music was playing, people were dancing and milling about. Janet, the wedding photographer, was scrambling around trying to wrangle immediate family members for photos. Craning her neck for a better look into the crowded room, Janet turned to me in surprise and said, “You’ve been holding out on me!”
I had no idea what Janet was talking about and asked her what she meant. She replied, “I know your husband has a twin brother but I had no idea you have a twin sister!”
This conversation went back and forth for a little while … me trying to convince Janet that I didn’t have a twin sister and Janet insisting I did! Of course, Janet was talking about Debby! I laughed and said to her “I really hate to burst your twin bubble but she’s not my sister; she’s my best friend.” When I spotted Rosemarie on the dance floor, I said to Janet, “See the woman in the cream-colored dress? She’s my sister.” I guess I really couldn’t blame Janet; even my new daughter-in-law’s relatives thought the same thing. To make matters more confusing, Debby and I were wearing the same dress (totally unplanned)! Mine was deep purple while hers was dark blue.
It took a lot of convincing for Janet to finally accept the fact that Debby wasn’t my sister and that Rosemarie was. I guess the idea of two sets of twins in the same room was just too exciting for Janet … a missed photo op! I wonder if the same people who matched the pet owners with their dogs would match me and Debby as sisters?
You be the judge.
Twins? Maybe, maybe not, but the resemblance is strong….
….except for my actual sister! Go figure!
NAR©2024
Remember this? Here’s the theme song from The Patty Duke Show called “Identical Cousins”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Girlfriend
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are challenged
to be creative in 100 words or less using this image as inspiration.
“Gee, the house sure is quiet. I wonder where everybody’s gone. Bobby’s been a little distant lately and that makes me sad. I mean, we’ve been best buds ever since he was a little guy. We did everything together and he wouldn’t go anywhere without me. And he gave the best hugs at night. Shh! Here he comes now! Bobby! I just knew you wouldn’t leave without me. What’re we doing today?”
“I’m watching TV with Becky …. alone.”
“Gosh, Bobby. You’re my bestie. Who’s this Becky chick?”
“My girlfriend. Adios, Mr. Bill!”
“Ooh nooooo! Come back, Bobby ….
you little shit!”
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is Connie Francis with “Who’s Sorry Now”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
THE IVY GARDEN
From our kitchen window I can see my little girl Nell playing with her new best friend Elena. Since moving to Atlanta two months ago, the girls have become inseparable. They are both four years old and about the same height but that’s where the physical similarities end.
Nell is a green-eyed lanky Irish redhead covered in a profusion of freckles while Elena is a slightly plump Spanish beauty with brown doe eyes, smooth tanned skin and lustrous black hair.
As I stand at the kitchen sink I can see the girls frolicking in the yard with Elena’s puppy, Pongo. Their energy is boundless as they dash back and forth from the swings to the trampoline to their bikes. They like to play a funny game where little Pongo is a scary monster chasing them around the yard …. and Pongo is always happy to oblige.
Moving around the kitchen doing my chores, I can hear Elena counting, followed by an excited “ready or not….here I come”, then the hysterical giggles as Nell’s secret (but usual!) hiding place is discovered.
The yard is fenced in and I’m completely aware of the girls and what they’re doing …. most of the time. Occasionally they’ll wander into a concealed corner of the garden to pick wild flowers for me and Elena’s mom. Even though I can’t see them, I can clearly hear their conspiratorial mumblings as they go from one blossom to the other.
“Buttercups, Daisies and Lillies of the Valley” whispered Elena.
“And some pretty shiny ivy” added Nell. “Mommy likes shiny things.”
All was quiet and I presumed the girls would come dashing into the kitchen and present me with a freshly-picked bouquet; instead Pongo bounded in, yipping and yapping like crazy …. an omen that all is not as it should be. To my relief, there’s no sign of anything unusual in the dining room. The front door is locked and my handbag is still resting on the desk where I left it. To my amazement, on the crisp white tablecloth sat a short blue glass vase brimming with Daisies, Buttercups, Lillies of the Valley and ivy. It was breathtaking.
I stood there admiring the green, white and golden cluster when suddenly I heard woeful whimpering and sobbing nearby. Pongo gave a little tug on the end of the tablecloth and there, huddled closely, were Nell and Elena, their little bodies covered in itchy red rashes. Only then did I realize the vine in the vase with flowers was poison ivy!
“Come with me, my sweet girls. It’s nothing a little calamine lotion won’t fix. Thank you for the flowers …. the most beautiful I’ve ever seen! Won’t daddy be surprised when he comes home tonight!” I said, smiling and chuckling to myself.
And tomorrow we will rid the garden of all the pretty shiny ivy.
NAR©2024
This is Spanky and Our Gang with “Lazy Day”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
Step Right Up
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt
has challenged us to write a piece
of exactly 87 words, making sure to
include the prompt “appointment”.
This is my response to that challenge.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“An appointment? I didn’t even know I was coming!”
“Haha! You should have seen your face! You looked like you were gonna die!”
“Funny! You’re a regular Jerry Seinfeld!”
“Listen, toots! You barely made it up here so don’t push it. HE remembers everything!”
“Up here? So I made it? Oh, thank God!”
“You’ll get your chance.”
“Gatekeeper, can I put in a good word for a friend?”
“No saving seats.”
“Can I tell you her name?”
“No need. HE already knows.”
NAR©2024
87 Words
From the soundtrack of The Aviator this is Rufus Wainwright with “I’ll Build A Stairway To Paradise”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
RAINY DAYS
Yes, indeed, my lovelies! Just in time for another Unicorn Challenge!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! Come quickly! Come quick!
Something has happened to poor Mr. Chick.
Oh, what is amiss? Can my best friend be sick?
He’s scrawny and thin as a tall candlestick!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! His neck is all hunched
and his beak is a-gape, as if searching for lunch.
Perhaps I should give him something to munch
and something to drink. A tasty fruit punch!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! His feathers are gone!
His wings are a-hanging and bare to the bone.
Whatever it is it’s so terribly wrong!
I’ll help him feel better by singing a song!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! Come look at his seat!
It’s shrunken right up and so have his feet!
I think I should give him something to eat
to revive and cheer him and make him go “tweet”.
Now come here, my child, and sit by my side.
Hear all Mommy’s words and do not try to hide.
There will be no more playing or hitching a ride
for your dear Mr. Chick, oh most sadly, has died.
Come now, my dear child. Be brave and don’t cry;
I am going to tell you what happened and why.
Remember the Monday when the sun left the sky?
The rains came a-heavy and Chick could not fly.
Dear child, be happy and hear what I say:
Chick has transformed to spread joy every day!
Now people are flocking from miles away
to see our grand statue standing proud on display!
NAR © 2023
250 words
MY DEAREST FRIEND
Known to everyone as Baby Mary, she was my dearest friend for three fleeting years, from age four to seven. Nearly seven decades later and I can still picture her heart-shaped face the color of warm caramel framed by waves of chocolate-brown hair, her wide eyes glistening shyly.
At the time my family occupied the corner house of a row of two-family homes on Eastchester Road in The Bronx. Baby Mary and her large family, the Romanos, shared one of those houses. She lived on the ground floor with her parents and maternal grandmother. Her father’s side of the family lived upstairs.
We were just three houses away – close enough for little girls to run giggling back and forth multiple times a day. We spent all our time together, busy with important little girl things.
The residents of Eastchester Road were immigrants who adhered devoutly to their Italian heritage and love of family. They were proud to be living in the United States and strove to become citizens; some passed the test, others didn’t. We delighted in celebrating all the traditional Italian holidays and festivities while embracing all the new and exciting American holidays.
The 4th of July was without a doubt the noisiest day of the year on our street. Some how the men managed to get their hands on firecrackers, sprinklers, cherry bombs, ash cans, rockets and fireworks. Baby Mary’s uncles always seemed to have the most. I remember her uncle Joe had a massive lead pipe with a diameter of at least 12″. He’d prop the pipe against the fence in their backyard so that it was angled and facing the sky. With the glee of a little boy he’d toss firecrackers, cherry bombs, etc., into the pipe and yell for everyone to cover their ears. The explosions were deafening and we’d all cheer. The best was when he’d toss fireworks down the pipe and they’d shoot out into the night sky, erupting in glorious colors. Baby Mary and I would sit together in the corner with our sprinklers taking it all in with eyes as wide as saucers.
I was fascinated by Baby Mary’s mother and grandmother. They did work from home, sewing little bows and pearls onto ladies’ panties. Their hands moved rapidly as they sat in their crowded living room watching soap operas and sewing. I rarely saw Baby Mary’s father; he worked in New Jersey in his cousin’s shoe repair shop and only came home on weekends.
At the age of five Baby Mary and I started kindergarten. Every morning my mother would walk us to school and pick us up in the afternoon. The best times were when she came to get us in her car. My mother was one of the few women in our neighborhood who had a driver’s license. We would gleefully hop into her Ford Fairlane 500, begging she take us to Carvel for ice cream. Sometimes we’d stop for gas and my mother would complain about the price being 30 cents a gallon, calling it highway robbery.
When it was time for us to go to first grade, my parents decided to send me to a private school. It was the first time I was going to be away from my dearest friend and we were heartbroken. We would run to meet each other after school and we played together as much as possible but it wasn’t the same. And our trips to Carvel were few and far between.
One day after school Baby Mary didn’t run to meet me. I looked up and down the street but she was nowhere in sight. My mother brought me inside and told me the saddest news I had ever heard: the Romanos moved away that day. She explained that they went to live in New Jersey where Baby Mary’s father worked. I cried for days and couldn’t understand why she had to leave; I felt so lonely. There was no one to tell my secrets to, play with my dolls or happily share ice cream. I had to see my dearest friend, even if it was for an occasional visit. I pleaded with my mother to drive me to New Jersey but she never did. There was always some reason why we couldn’t go. When a young couple moved into the Romano’s house it was as though Baby Mary never existed.
Years later I learned the truth: Baby Mary’s father was in The States illegally, a fugitive hiding from immigration authorities. He had committed a terrible crime before fleeing to America. He was apprehended in New Jersey and deported; the whole Romano family returned to Italy. I never saw or heard from Baby Mary again. I think of her often and wonder if she ever thinks of me, her dearest friend.
NAR © 2023
Originally published 2020
I hope you’ll join me today
At The Movies
for a very interesting post.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
SALTY TEARS
My life-long friend sat beside me, holding my hand as I lay crumbled in bed. Her eyes were rheumy from too many tears, very uncharacteristic of her; I was used to her carefree, bawdy laugh – just one of the many things we had in common.
“Is there anyone you’d like to talk to … besides me, that is?” she asked, already aware of what my answer would be.
“If you mean a priest, you know better than that” I whispered in reply. “No. I’m ready to go. And you’ll be on my heels, toots!” My friend cackled; she knew I spoke the truth but it did not frighten her. Like me, she had enough of this mortal coil.
We’d been through a lot together, she and I. We thought of each other as sisters, not just best friends. There was only one secret I never shared with her or anyone and I would take that to my grave. I knew I wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
We had both lost our husbands a couple of years earlier; hers went first and mine followed shortly after. We were there for each other through it all. Part of me was relieved my husband went before me; he had always been the stalwart in our marriage, a steady rock who cared for our family without complaint. He was stronger than me; I always knew that and at times it made me feel ashamed because I doubted I could do for him what he did for me. He cared for me even when he was exhausted and ready to drop. How he cried seeing me in pain; he thought I didn’t know but I could hear him weeping late at night. He loved me with all his being until his last day; he slipped away in his sleep without a chance to say goodbye – perhaps the kindest way for both of us. It would have killed him if I’d gone first, leaving him alone.
“I’m so pissed off” I said, making my friend laugh again.
“Tell me about it!” she replied colloquially. “I feel your pain, sis.” And I knew she truly did.
Damn this arthritis, this crippling disease that turned me into a twisted dried up old vine! “Remember when I was a hot number a thousand years ago? My melons were nice and firm back then!”
“Haha!! They called us ‘The Honey-Do Twins!” and we both laughed again, happy memories of our once supple bodies dancing around in our brains.
“What the fuck happened?” and again we cracked up. Our laughs turned to coughs and gradually we calmed ourselves. I strained my eyes to look at my dear friend; at this point, my mouth and my eyes were my only body parts that moved on their own without pain.
“I’ve got one regret” I whispered. “I should have fought harder. I let this damn crippler control me. I should have pushed myself, done more with my family and friends. I pray they understand and forgive me. I wanted to spend more time with them, live a fuller life; I just hurt too damn much.”
Tears ran down my face and my friend wiped them away. “Do you want me to call your sons?” she asked.
“No, not now. Wait till it’s over. I can’t bear to look at them.” Even now I’m thinking of myself. What a coward! “Kiss me goodbye, sis. I’ll see you on the other side. I love you very much, you know.”
My friend leaned over from her wheelchair; she gently pushed my hair aside and kissed my cheek, our salty tears mingling.
“Goodbye, my dearest friend. I love you” she murmured, even though she knew I could no longer hear her. “I’ll be right behind you.”
NAR © 2022
MY DEAREST FRIEND
Known to everyone as Baby Mary, she was my dearest friend for three fleeting years, from age four to seven. Nearly seven decades later and I can still picture her heart-shaped face the color of warm caramel framed by waves of chocolate-brown hair, her wide eyes glistening shyly.
At the time my family occupied the corner house of a row of two-family homes on Eastchester Road in The Bronx. Baby Mary and her large family, the Romanos, shared one house. She lived on the ground floor with her parents, maternal grandmother and older brother. Her aunt, uncle, cousins and paternal grandmother lived upstairs. We were just three houses away – close enough for little girls to run giggling back and forth multiple times a day. We spent all our time together, busy with important little girl things.
The residents of Eastchester Road were immigrants who adhered devoutly to their Italian heritage and love of family. They were proud to be living in the United States and strove to become citizens; some passed the test, others didn’t. We delighted in celebrating all the traditional Italian holidays and festivities. Christmastime was a veritable light show, everyone in friendly competition for the most impressive decorations.
I was fascinated by Baby Mary’s mother and grandmother. They did work from home, sewing little bows and pearls onto ladies’ panties. Their hands moved like quicksilver as they sat in their crowded living room watching soap operas and sewing. I rarely saw Baby Mary’s father; he worked in New Jersey in his cousin’s shoe repair shop and only came home on weekends.
At the age of five Baby Mary and I started kindergarten. Every morning my mother would walk us to school and pick us up in the afternoon. The best times were when she came to get us in her car. My mother was one of the few women in our neighborhood who had a driver’s license. We would gleefully hop into her Ford, begging she take us to Carvel for ice cream. Sometimes we’d stop for gas and my mother would complain about the price being 30 cents a gallon, calling it highway robbery.
When it was time for us to go to first grade, my parents decided to send me to a different school. It was the first time I was going to be away from my dearest friend and we were heartbroken. We would run to meet each other after school and we played together as much as possible but it wasn’t the same. And our trips to Carvel were few and far between.
One day after school Baby Mary didn’t run to meet me. I looked up and down the street but she was nowhere in sight. My mother brought me inside and told me the saddest news I had ever heard: the Romanos moved away that day. She explained that they went to live in New Jersey where Baby Mary’s father worked. I cried for days and couldn’t understand why she had to leave; I felt so lonely. There was no one to tell my secrets to, play with my dolls or happily share ice cream. I had to see my dearest friend, even if it was for an occasional visit. I pleaded with my mother to drive me to New Jersey but she never did. There was always some reason why we couldn’t go. When a young couple moved into the Romano’s house it was as though Baby Mary never existed.
Years later I learned the truth: Baby Mary’s father was in The States illegally, a fugitive hiding from immigration authorities. He had committed a terrible crime before fleeing to America. He was apprehended in New Jersey and deported; the whole Romano family returned to Italy. I never saw or heard from Baby Mary again. I think of her often and wonder if she ever thinks of me, her dearest friend.
NAR © 2020
The Elephant's Trunk 