50 Word Non-Fiction: Friendship – Batch 12

Every week, we publish the latest 50 Word Non-Fiction stories of Friendship. Read this week's pieces below!

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She cupped her mouth. 'Mom said we're going to Uncle Robert's soon. But I don't want to go. It stinks there. If she makes me, I'll pretend to be sick.'

She complained into his fluffy ear, now damp from her whisper. He stayed silent, thoughtfully, staring back with glassy eyes.

I stared at them as we lay in bed. If anyone had seen us, speculation would have burnt through the room and spread down the street out into the city, reducing it all to ash. A presumption on limitations of love – that love of this strength was reserved for lovers.

'Let me offer you my hand in friendship: if you play nice, buy my goods, cede that land.'

'Your 'hand of friendship' comes dirtied with bacteria of obligation and viruses of coercion, spreading dependency like a sickness, like a fungus. Friendship trumped by greed. No, thank you. We are Canada.'

Orthopaedics said there was nothing more they could do. She walked on her tiptoes on that foot for forty years. Took almost two hours that first appointment with rest breaks. Next time, she ran normally from the car park to hug me. And they say podiatrists just cut toenails.

I put my hand in my pocket and found my list, pros and cons; 'On leaving Jay'. A friendly young German couple sat in the queue.

'Where's your favourite place you've visited so far in Thailand?'

'Kho Pang Yhan' they replied confidently in unison.

'One ticket to Ko Pha-ngan, please'™.

25 Years and a Side of Garlic Dip

Age five, she'd a runny nose, and a passion for Crispy Pancakes. Always late, despite living closest. Separated by sea and decades, our updates were announced by the bells. Still late, she now brings Hebridean jam and three beautiful wains. Pizzas delivered, 25 years of distance melted by garlic dip.

Forever friends we say,

Started at nursery, then same schools.

Drifted a little finding our way as adults.

Back together, especially during difficult times.

A hug from someone who shares your history.

Laughing about unsuitable boys and discos.

Still friends in our fifties.

So many choices,

Friendship the best one.

Each year our daughters are devoted to the orphaned lambs they hand rear. I expected weaning to end that relationship, as they no longer need milk or care, but last year's pets now greet the girls as scratch-giving friends. Today, they even followed them to school!

You take my sausage roll and break it. We eat while talking, hands waving, crumbs falling. We have the remembrance of our elders and clasp those memories so tightly.

We are the only ones who remember the cat named after Botticelli, the taste of your mum's chiffon pies, and school.