I bought strawberries today.
Every day, she picks one thing, a single occurrence, polishes it painstakingly in her head like a rolling marble until, by nightfall, she can present it to him, magnified and encased. Turned over as a token, whispered over the phone line that stretches between them, so that there is no silence.
There’s a little stray cat that follows me all the way home from the office every day, meowing with each step. I learned a new word in French, do you want to hear? Désolée. The alarm system in my apartment goes off every time I leave. I can hear the neighbors fighting when I open the fridge that rests against our connecting wall, like a muffled haunting next to the tomatoes. The seawater here, it is so blue, bright and sharp and diamond-cold. The wind is terrible but it feels as though it could pick me up and take me away, so it is also wonderful. I made a new friend.
Miniature snapshots of moments ongoing, already past, gifts presented to stitch two people tight again, tucked in close with no room for the seas that separate them. As though there is no distance after all, only the tinkling of the music that used to play in her head when she would see him, in the beginning, the notes she imagined would always wash them together.
I bought strawberries today.
We are not so far apart.
(Strawberries was previously curated by Pigeon Review in April 2023 and appears again with permission.)
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Flavia Brunetti
Flavia grew up bouncing back and forth between Rome and San Francisco and has lived between Italy, the United States, Tunisia, Libya, Palestine and Niger, so her writing often revolves around place and identity and is usually written on a plane where she inevitably apologizes to the person sitting next to her for bumping their elbow. She is the author of the novel All the Way to Italy. You can find her work published in Bending Genres, The Simple Things, Roi Fainéant Press, Open Doors Review, Writer’s Digest, and others. You can keep up with Flavia’s work and travels on Instagram at @whichwaytorome and at flaviinrome.com.
Thank you for this beautiful short story. With just a few lines of text I was emerged in the world that the author was sharing with us – the smells, the thoughts, the sights and sounds. The line about the neighbors fighting and it being like a haunting next to the tomatoes made me smile and dream a little. Rare positive emotions these days. Would love to read more!
Thank you so much for taking the time to read it and for your lovely words! I’m so glad the haunting next to the tomatoes made you smile too!
I really love the figurative language in this, it’s so creative- ‘polishing’ a single occurrence in her head like ‘a rolling marble’, the neighbours fighting like a ‘muffled haunting’ next to the tomatoes, the seawater ‘sharp and diamond-cold.’ The author has managed to pack so many wonderful comparisons into such a short piece, yet manages to balance this with its humble meaning. I loved it!
I read this comment twice because it made me feel so good! Thank you so much, for taking the time to read it and for your fantastic feedback, I’m so grateful.
This is a beautiful piece of writing. Such delicate details embroidered together, had me transported to this characters reality. I could feel myself getting ready to pick up the phone for her conversation. I’m looking forward to checking out this writer’s other work.
“I could feel myself getting ready to pick up the phone for her conversation.” – thank you so much, this absolutely made my day!
oh that is sweet! and well-deserved.