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!"
Farewell to the Little Black Book
Years ago, I remember seeing on TV that a little black book was an expression alluding to a list of numbers of possible dates or people to hook up with. In our digital and technologically advanced age, I wonder if Match and Tinder have replaced the old-fashioned little black book. It left me wondering if anyone still had a little black book, listing the names of people to call when you need a date, for lonely nights or just for networking. I asked many friends from various backgrounds and ages and not a one ever had one or knew of someone that did. Did my group of friends just not have options or was the Little Black Book something just from the movies? Others explained the Little Black Book was sometimes just a list of contacts and not necessarily for dating purposes. This led me to wonder: Is our contact list in our phones the new little Black Book we pull out and scroll through? Who can we call? Who will answer? How many people have my name in their contact list? Am I a part of someone’s little black book?
By Sasha Brown5 years ago in Humans
At the Water’s Margin
A man and a woman walked down from the beachhead toward the surf. The man carried with him a light pack slung over his shoulder and a blanket under his arm. The woman, a beer in each hand. They were dressed in light clothing and their bare feet left gentle cursive in the sand behind them.
By Drew Knapp5 years ago in Humans
Lost on the Moors
Before doing anything else in the morning, Farrah read. Always the same book, Jane Eyre. She read the same pages, over and over. Since starting high school, her former inclination to sleep as late as possible on a school morning had been replaced by her need to anchor herself in the strands of story, like a girl gently treading water and loosely winding seaweed around her limbs to keep from drifting farther and farther out to sea.
By Lindsay C Lightbody5 years ago in Humans
Labeled As Queen Mother
As a woman in her thirties, sometimes I sit back and wonder why I can't seem to make friends as an adult. I think I'm just as friendly as the next person when it comes to meeting people. I've allowed my introverted behavior to take a backseat and allowed myself to open up to others. But, after a couple of months, those friendships will fizzle out. After conversations with my therapist and self-reflection, I've finally taken accountability for my role in these friendships. I can't help that I have the prowess of motherly instincts and having everyone's best interest at heart. My concern for others has led to distance and disassociation. In the 21st century, I never thought that that would be considered a negative.
By teisha leshea5 years ago in Humans
A Whole Lotto Problems
“Congratulations!” Barry forced a smile. His neighbour, Cole Porter, patted him on the back and turned to his wife, Barbara, for another photograph with the winning ticket. He did not notice the look of distain on Barry’s face, as the old man shoved another chocolate cannoli into his mouth.
By Travis Berketa5 years ago in Humans
The Frozen Lich Trading Company: A New Apartment
Sophie sighed in contentment as she sunk lower into the warm bath water. The apartment she had wanted was available when she contacted the landlord. With the $20,000 part of her lottery winnings she had been able to get the apartment. Plus it was immediately available for her to move in. Dax and Talek had laughed at how quickly Sophie had moved. The rushed moved was so worth the resulting peace and quiet. And the deep tub made for the best bubble baths to relax in. Though she did have to get out of the tub before turning into a walking prune.
By Amanda Martin5 years ago in Humans
The Key in the Notebook
Smoke rose from a crystalized blob of pinion sap dropped upon a charcoal. The incense masked the smell of molding cardboard coming from the heaps and piles of books occupying much of Bryan's small basement apartment. Bryan himself sat on the floor, scratching out a poem on the last page of a small black notebook with a pen he'd stolen from the coffee shop. The notebook itself had been rescued from the recycling bin outside that same coffee shop weeks ago. Then, it had been empty except for a cryptic code scrawled on its final page. Now, it was full of Bryan's notes and doodles and poems.
By Mark Bailey5 years ago in Humans
My letter to Roy
Dear Roy, You were the friend of my youth. You are black and I am white. When we became adults, we drifted apart. You served in the military. I served in the ministry. You died too soon for me to tell you this in person, so I’ll tell you now. You endured more than you should have, suffered more than you deserved, and were held to the unreasonable expectations of white culture, yet still you were my friend.
By Rick Adventure 5 years ago in Humans
A Priceless Life
Dru stares at the faded blue ink of her pen, showing its wear by the chewed tip and the name of a bank that has been defunct for years, as she crosses off the date on the stick-on, dashboard calendar. Underneath the date of October 15th, written with the same, crusty, blue pen were the words “24th birthday.”
By Mary Strause5 years ago in Humans
