![]() ![]() As I crossed the room, I brushed my hand across the strings of my harp that sits patiently waiting for me every day. “Yeah thanks, I heard.” I quip sarcastically. “Mom wants you.” Erin says never taking her eyes off the screen. I jumped down the stairs in the hall and scamper pass my sister sitting on the couch watching T.V. “Megan! I’m not calling you again!” My mother screamed. We stick out like firecrackers exploding on a hot July night. ![]() That would have made us fit in to this all Italian neighborhood except for our flaming red hair and milk pale skin. Erin and I have authentic semi-Jersey accents. Erin was two and I was five when we moved here. I’m not really sure why we had to move to America but leaving my beautiful Irish cottage behind was hard. My mother and father wanted to fit in when we came to New Jersey after Gram died. “Megan!” I heard my mother calling me with her slight Irish lilt. Medigan (meh-di-ghan): a seriously non-Italian person. ![]() Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental. ![]() Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. Cover Art and Formatting by Indie DesignzĪll rights reserved. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |