| General Non-Fiction posted March 13, 2021 | Chapters: |
-Prologue- 1... 
|
  |
a story about friends
A chapter in the book Fifty Days of Friendship
Fifty Friendships
by Bill Schott
I heard someone quote someone else the other day saying that life is a series of interruptions. We start with a plan, but are delayed from proceeding by stuff that happens. Sometimes that stuff involves people who become more than a moment and a memory. It is people, or the individuals, who are the days of our lives.
When I was six I met the love of my life. Her name was Karen, and I know that I liked everything about her. She had red hair, like a Raggedy Ann doll, and so many freckles they must have been free. We played cats in the cradle and I gave her half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, on more than one occasion.
She had an older sister who was rather mean to me, which made Karen's smile and kindness stand out even more.
One day she got sick and never returned to school that year. She was never at any places we played during the summer and she never came back to school in the fall. She had "caught" cancer and died over the summer.
I never really mourned her loss as a child, never understanding how I felt. It was not until I had actually gotten involved with girls seriously that the red-haired girl came back to me. It was that innocent and honest relationship with her that made me wish she had made it.
I met another Karen that school year; she was totally different though, with an olive complexion and dark brown eyes. She also never came back after summer, but I knew it was because she moved away. I never knew where, until fifteen years later, after being married for a year, I realized -- she was my wife.
To be continued...
I heard someone quote someone else the other day saying that life is a series of interruptions. We start with a plan, but are delayed from proceeding by stuff that happens. Sometimes that stuff involves people who become more than a moment and a memory. It is people, or the individuals, who are the days of our lives.
When I was six I met the love of my life. Her name was Karen, and I know that I liked everything about her. She had red hair, like a Raggedy Ann doll, and so many freckles they must have been free. We played cats in the cradle and I gave her half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, on more than one occasion.
She had an older sister who was rather mean to me, which made Karen's smile and kindness stand out even more.
One day she got sick and never returned to school that year. She was never at any places we played during the summer and she never came back to school in the fall. She had "caught" cancer and died over the summer.
I never really mourned her loss as a child, never understanding how I felt. It was not until I had actually gotten involved with girls seriously that the red-haired girl came back to me. It was that innocent and honest relationship with her that made me wish she had made it.
I met another Karen that school year; she was totally different though, with an olive complexion and dark brown eyes. She also never came back after summer, but I knew it was because she moved away. I never knew where, until fifteen years later, after being married for a year, I realized -- she was my wife.
To be continued...
When I was six I met the love of my life. Her name was Karen, and I know that I liked everything about her. She had red hair, like a Raggedy Ann doll, and so many freckles they must have been free. We played cats in the cradle and I gave her half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, on more than one occasion.
She had an older sister who was rather mean to me, which made Karen's smile and kindness stand out even more.
One day she got sick and never returned to school that year. She was never at any places we played during the summer and she never came back to school in the fall. She had "caught" cancer and died over the summer.
I never really mourned her loss as a child, never understanding how I felt. It was not until I had actually gotten involved with girls seriously that the red-haired girl came back to me. It was that innocent and honest relationship with her that made me wish she had made it.
I met another Karen that school year; she was totally different though, with an olive complexion and dark brown eyes. She also never came back after summer, but I knew it was because she moved away. I never knew where, until fifteen years later, after being married for a year, I realized -- she was my wife.
To be continued...
 Recognized |
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Bill Schott All rights reserved.
Bill Schott has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
