This Week’s 3 Randomly Generated Words:
They sparkle in the warm afternoon sunlight that spills into my closet– each gleam sparking a new memory…
My neurotic mother anxiously, painstakingly sewing sequins into perfect rows. Her sharp eyes inspecting every inch of my costume– nothing is missed.
With each tightened bolt and oiled wheel on my skates, she proves grapevine wrong. Money doesn’t make a family rich. Love does.
I tug them out of my closet and clasp them to my chest. The musty smell of a long-forgotten roller rink envelops me. I see her cheering, tears rolling down her face, as I take a wobbly bow.
My nonna (Italian for Grandmother) was the most crafty woman I’ve ever known. She could knit a new pair of slippers, make an amazing dinner, and teach us grandkids how to crochet little tea-towel hangers in an afternoon. I’m still astounded by her to this day! Most importantly, she always found a way to show her love through the way she took care of us. This flash fiction (inspired by those sweet memories of my nonna sewing new clothes) is dedicated to her and the hours she took to craft these masterpieces of love.