Vignette #2

Summer Plums

The morning sun emits a feeble glow from behind a blanket of clouds, barely warming the dewy earth. Thin sand stretches briefly, shining and wet, against the silhouette of the sparkling gray lake, a shade darker than the pale, pearly sky. Grass beckons, waving its ragged arms in the fitful breeze. I kick my soccer ball, checked a harsh black and white, to this damp spongy grass, letting it roll over the uneven earth until it halts in a hollow.

Here! Pass! I’m open! My brother Julian yells his sporty enthusiasm to the distant clouds.

No, I want a turn! Six-year-old Daniel chimes in his piece. Let me have the ball! See those trees?  He points to a pair of towering maples surrounded by swaths of leaves and shade. That’s the goal!

Julian kicks a roundabout shot that bounces off of a root and idly rolls between the maples. Yeah! We did it! He cheers and throws the ball into the air ecstatically.

I wanna turn, Daniel whines. Can I be on Rose’s team?

No fair! What about boys versus girls?

The rest of the morning disappears in a whirlwind of crisp shots fired off like missiles. The chilly air slowly warms and the clouds dissolve into wisps high in a cerulean sky.

I’m hungry, Rose. Can we go home for lunch? I consent and we begin the necessary hike.            

Trees drape their arms, laden with leaves, over the narrow cement trail. Bikes whiz past, shooting like rockets to faraway places. Ferns line sections of the path, springy and damp with sweet dew. Birds harmonize with the quiet swish of tires on wet concrete. A wall of thorns grows parallel to the trail for a short stretch. I reach up through the prickly branches, feeling for the ripe blackberries, the fruit of summer.

Rose, Daniel says, I can’t reach any.

Fine, I’ll help you, but there aren’t many this time of year. Stretch tall, Daniel. Grab that one. Oh, you’re too short? Here, take this one. He tosses the berry in his mouth and grimaces.

I don’t think these are fully ripe, Julian whines.

Okay, let’s pick plums.

I can’t reach any of the plums.

Shut up, Daniel, Julian says, disgusted. Let’s pick berries from the bushes near the street. Watch out for cars.

I hoist myself up into the plum tree, stretching my arms out for the ripe fruit, just out of my reach. I shift to my tiptoes. The soft skin of the sweet summer plum sweeps across my fingers. I gently tug it off the branch, delicately as an owner petting a tiny kitten.

Julian, come here, I picked one.

No, I want the first one.

I’ll give it to you, Daniel, just let me hand it down to Julian. I let the plum fall, heavy with ripe juices, straight into Julian’s waiting palms. Daniel grabs it greedily, gulping a first bite. Generous juices run down his chin as he eats the dusty purple fruit. Julian’s stomach rumbles and I toss him another plum. As he devours it, I eat my fill. Heavy with fruit, and fingers stained purple, we head up the hill, trudging towards home.