The Legacy of Friendship: A Story of Saucepans and Rain

When our mother finished her story, she’d be crying too, tiny streams down her cheekbones. I knew she would hock everything we’d ever own, except the only thing that mattered, five size-ranged saucepans, with a Dutch oven. Still in their hard case, only a few handles chipped.

I run my fingertips over fingerprints now, over years, generations. They haven’t changed much; they still smell of friendship. I suppose that to my nanna, Samuel was much like a ‘cloud buster’. Letting in the sun, some hope, the rainbow had been their friendship. And I suppose that to Mum, Samuel was someone who she wanted to be around, like a ‘blue sky’. For Samuel, my mum and Nanna, I don’t know, maybe the exchange was even, and maybe when those clouds burst open, he got to feel the rain. A cleansing rain, and maybe that was enough.