Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

In my post honouring the late Dr. Stephen Hawking titled, “The Unlimited Spirit,” I chronicled my own mobility issues, and pledged that I would include more of my own thoughts, opinions and experiences in my future blog posts (The Blogging Experiment, Part 1: Blogging Honestly). I promised to add Part 2 of my Blogging Experiment this weekend, so I give you:

The Blogging Experiment

Part 2: The Saturday Story

If you’ve read my ‘About Me‘ page, you already know that I am an aspiring novelist. I simply can’t wait (until I sign a publishing deal, or choose to self-publish) to begin sharing my work, so I will be sharing one of my stories with you over the coming weeks.

My first Saturday Story is titled, Rags to Riches. Part 1 is below.

I’d love to know what you think, so please comment, and be sure to check back for the continuation of Rags to Riches next weekend!

Going forward, all Saturday Story posts will be available on a drop-down menu on my home page. (Please note that I retain all rights to my work. If you have questions, please comment below, or email me: amber.green@thewriteresults.ca. Please note that the below features some adult language and concepts. Adults (and older teens) are the intended audience. Thanks!)

Saturday Story: Rags to Riches

Part I:

Part I:

No way. No, that can’t be right, I thought, trying to convince myself that my trembling fingers must have tapped the wrong buttons. I checked my calculation again. And again. And again.

It was correct. I was so shocked, I dropped my iPhone.

Upon picking it up, I felt light-headed. I looked down; my iPhone’s newly cracked screen displayed a number that would change my life as I knew it. Holy shit.

I’d always led a very average life… until now.

……

From Rags:

My name is Franca Bruno. I have chocolate brown, wavy hair that hangs just below my shoulders, and jade-green eyes. I’m a 34-year-old restaurant manager. I always wear red lipstick and in my opinion, headbands are an overlooked opportunity to accessorize. I don’t care that my sister stopped using them to corral her dark mane by her 10th birthday; I wear one almost every day.

My roommate (and best friend since high school), Anna, and I rent a three-bedroom townhouse down the street from my parents. My on-again, off-again boyfriend of six years is currently in an ‘on-again’ mood. His name is Kevin, and he’s recently kicked it into high gear; he’s been dropping hints that he wants to get married. I’m not convinced that this mood is going to last forever, so I made the very mature decision to skirt this incredibly awkward conversation (and probable argument) by avoiding him altogether. The ups and downs of my relationship create the kind of waves every experienced surfer only dreams of; it seems that the rocky terrain never ends as I stumble aimlessly down lovers’ lane. This only confounds my parents, as they have been happily married for 37 years.

My parents, Melanie and Carlos, still live in the house that I grew up in in the suburbs. If ever a couple could convince you of the existence of soulmates, it’s them.

They met in my mom’s first year of University, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. They married the year my mom graduated, and my sister was born exactly nine months after their wedding day. My parents have been setting impossible relationship standards for me ever since. If the longevity of their relationship doesn’t set the bar high enough, they’re also business partners/serial entrepreneurs, so they live and work together in a haze of marital bliss, 24/7.

My older sister, Priscilla, is 36. She followed my parents’ perfect example to a tee, at least in the relationship department. She met her husband, Luke, in high school. They live in the same neighbourhood as my parents, and have three boys: CJ (Carlos Junior), age 10, Nicholas, 7 and Jordan, 5.

My younger brother, Chris, is 22. He’s the smartest of all of us, but he still has some growing up to do. He’s flaky and noncommittal in almost every aspect of life. Chris has no interest in being in a serious relationship. Instead, he has a lot of women whom he claims are his “friends”- but my parents will never meet any of them.

Chris insists that he’s a romantic at heart, but my sister and I are convinced that our brother seeks quantity over quality when it comes to intimate interactions. If sleeping around evoked national pride, he’d be on our $100 bill. (Don’t tell my mother. She’s a smart woman, but she is blind to my brother’s countless sexual escapades.)

I was walking to work when my phone rang. Fishing my phone out of my large, violet purse (that is really less ‘purse’ and more ‘duffel bag’), I consider it an early morning accomplishment that I was able to answer it in time.

“Hey Chris,” I said, greeting my brother.

“Hey. Do you have any cash I can borrow?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” I said sarcastically, ignoring his question.

“Sorry. I’m good, thanks,” he apologized, hurriedly. “Listen, I need to borrow some money.”

“What for this time?”

He exhaled into his iPhone. “Jenny found out about Sherry, and took it out on my car.”

“You don’t have a car.”

“Right. Dad’s car.”

Uh oh. I took a moment to take a couple of deep breaths. “What do you mean, she took it out on the car?”

“You ever hear Carrie Underwood’s, Before He Cheats? I think Jenny used it as inspiration. But I got to her before she attacked the interior. So…” He added, clearly thinking this qualified as an upside.

“You intervened?!” I asked, shrilly. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Chris replied, flippantly, unimpressed that our conversation had deviated from his original request. “Jenny was under the impression that she and I were serious and exclusive- when she realized that wasn’t true… there was some fallout.”

I know my brother, and something wasn’t adding up. “Did she have any reason to believe that you two were serious?”

He paused. “She asked if I ever wanted to get married. I said, ‘one day,’ but I didn’t say that I’d be married to her…”

Now it was my turn to exhale into my phone, “You have a good mother, and two caring sisters,” I lectured. “How are you such a pig? I wish it was your car.”

“Me too,” Chris said, sincerely. (He ignored the rest. Don’t worry- I caught that, too.) “Dad’s going to freak, but if you loan me some money, my friend will rush to repair it before Mom and Dad come home from Aunt Allie’s cottage next week. There’s no bodywork; just glass, a headlight, and one of the side mirrors. Dad’ll never know.”

I was silent at this. Chris had some really good friends, but not all of them were stand-up citizens, and my (sometimes) short-sighted brother could be taken for a ride when in a state of desperation.

“Come on, Frankie,” he pleaded, using a nickname only family and very close friends were permitted to use. “You’ve always been good with money! You’re a manager; people call you “boss”. You must have some.” He said, trying to be playful.

I rolled my eyes. I had some in savings, but not a heck of a lot.

“I work hard to save some, Chris,” I retorted, reminding my oftentimes spoiled brother that cash wasn’t exactly easy-come, easy-go.

“I know,” he replied, earnestly. “If I could ask anyone else, I would. I’m starting a construction job with Luke’s company today. You’ll have your money back in two weeks.”

“Okay,” I agreed, feeling defeated. “God knows Dad can’t pay for it.”

“Thank you, Frankie!” Chris exhaled, sounding relieved. “And no! He can never find out. Neither of them can ever know. You know Mom can’t keep secrets from him.”

“I know. Your friend better be good,” I warned my brother, as I had the mental image of my father’s windshield collapsing the next time he went through a car wash.

“He’s good. No concerns there.”

……

“Are you kidding me?!” My sister exclaimed, her deep, brown eyes wide with shock. I’d just told her of our brother’s latest predicament, as we sat in our favourite café on my lunch break.

“We were too easy on him when he was a kid,” she said, shaking her head. “Two protective, older sisters, and parents who worshipped the ground he walked on? He had it made!”

“I know,” I agreed.

“I mean, I know Mom and Dad love us, but let’s not pretend that they weren’t thrilled that their surprise bundle of joy turned out to be a boy.”

I nodded. They were. “I remember. I was 12.”

“They told us just before my fourteenth birthday. Chris was my special present that year,” Priscilla rolled her eyes.

“That’s right!” I laughed, as I reminisced. “Times were tough, I guess. But now you have three wonderful boys of your own,” I smiled.

Priscilla softened at the mention of her children. “Yeah, they’re true gifts. So is Chris, really. He’s starting work with Luke today; I’m sure Chris will tell him all about the misunderstanding that led to the unscheduled batting practice. Chris has to be honest with his friends, and get himself together. That poor girl…” she said, as she looked off, lost in thought for a moment. “His friend better be good at fixing dad’s car,” she said, coming back to reality.

……

My sister and I are the best at managing money in our family. We had it better than many, but seeing our parents struggle with money when we were growing up instilled a deep sense of financial responsibility in us. Still, my sister’s brood drained much of what Priscilla and Luke made (“Wait until they’re older, and you have to feed three teenaged boys. One of us will have to win the lottery by then!” Our mom joked), and working in restaurant management didn’t exactly put me in the top 1%. Priscilla and I were savvy, but we still struggled to make ends meet.

My parents balanced each other out in a lot of ways, but unfortunately, they’re cut from the same cloth when it comes to their saving habits. It’s not that they don’t work hard; they’re extremely innovative. They take smart business risks (usually), and they’ve always provided a good life for my siblings and me. While they’ve had some fun along the way, they’ve always said that they’ll worry about tomorrow… tomorrow.

Fortunately for my family members, ‘tomorrow’ was going to be a beautiful day, I thought, as I looked down at my cracked iPhone.

…………

Thanks for reading! Please enjoy Part 2 of my first Saturday Story: Rags to Riches here.

Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!

Amber Green

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

© 2018-2019 Amber Green