Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer
Beneath the shocking fluoreensce of the light above, sat Carly. Her only companion a steaming cup of black tea and a freshly lit Camel cigarette precariously dancing between her nicotine stained fingers. A mass of white blond curls framed a long, thin tired face. Her Roman nose, black roots and thick bushy dark eyebrows the only hint to an ethnicity she once rejected and fought with. Simple and somewhat juvenile studs adorned each earlobe, however, the remnant scars of previous multiple piercings were a constant reminder of days more rebellious and wild. The deep crevices around her eyes housed the day’s mascara and as she squinted to protect her eyes against the rising cigarette smoke, the crevices deepened and darkened. Carly had once laughed aloud and unashamedly at a young department store beautician when she was told that the “elixir to eradicate those annoying laughter lines is a mere $70 and 3 days away…”
“Ha!” hoarsely responded Carly “Ha! Laughter lines?! Now that’s funny. No, love I don’t bear these wrinkles or lines as you call them because I laughed, I bear them because I lived and live, hard” And with that, she resumed he anonymity with the rest of the department store crowd.
It wasn’t always hard and challenging. Life was once pure and magical. Life was once playful. Carly allowed her thoughts to journey to such a time when life tasted like sweet snow peas and the aroma of freshly baked biscotti would envelope her like a big bear hug. A time when Nonna Mami’s big bosom would dance in tune to her sweet melodies of nostalgia and longing.
Nonna Mami. Carly smiled.
Such memories were made all the more vivid and real by the piece of yellowing paper that Carly had gently unfolded and rested on the laminex table before her. The tea cup move aside and the cigarette butted out prematurely, Carly fingered the paper at the tearing folds, all the while conscious of the tears welling in her eyes. She did not fight it but was careful not to let her tears fall and smudge the ink that brought the cursive script to life.
The only sound, apart from the rhythmical ticking of the clock behind her that broke the deafening silence, was Carly’s gentle sobbing. She lifted a roughly manicured hand void of any adornments to her eyes and wiped them free of tears. Carly stared through the paper and beyond the words. She was suddenly an 8 year old child again wearing an oversized apron which carried the stains of past culinary delicacies and kitchen adventures. A hairnet gathered her shoulder length brown curls and contained them into submission. She looked ridiculous but felt beautiful. Nonna Mami stood tall and proud next to her, reading out loud from the same piece of paper that sat before Carly. Carly knew the recipe off by heart but loved the gusto in which Nonna Mami would read it.
“OK Carla, now we cook!”