Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Cricket appeared, a tray of beers in her hand, the plastic cups sloshing foam, and handed one to each of us. When Travis hesitated, she said, “Come on, Chief, you’re off duty and Burt here will drive us home.”
I choked on the small sip of beer I’d just taken and Travis’s eyes widened as he glanced at the grinning blind man. Cricket let out a boisterous laugh, whacking the side of her hip with the now empty tray. Travis took a sip. “I guess I don’t have to drive home for several hours.”
Several hours left of heaven. I held up my cup and he met mine with his.
Clarice’s booth was near the other side of the festival so we began walking, Travis and me in the rear of the group. “What part of Los Angeles did you grow up in?” Travis asked.
I stalled, taking a sip of my beer and swallowing. “Are you familiar with LA?”
“Not really, other than the famous parts . . . Hollywood, Bel Air, Beverly Hills, Laguna Beach.”
“Not those parts,” I said on a small, humorless laugh. “Picture the opposite of sunny beaches, Louis Vuitton shops, and gated communities, and that’s where I grew up.”
Cricket let out a loud guffaw and Travis squinted toward where the rest of our group walked. She gave a not-very-surreptitious glance back at Travis and then removed what appeared to be a flask and poured a shot in Burt and Betty’s out-held cups. “She’s a really bad criminal,” Travis murmured. “No wonder she served time.”
I let out a small laugh.
“So,” he said after a minute, “no blueberry festivals in the opposite of a gated community.”
“No blueberries, period.”
One brow went up and one brow went down and he considered me. “That can’t be true.”
“Trust me, it is. Liquor and convenience stores don’t tend to sell any produce at all, unless it’s a basket of three or four bananas at the front counter that usually go untouched. When my mom did bring home food, she tended to pick up chips, soda, and donuts. It’s the food pyramid of poverty-stricken neighborhoods. That’s true everywhere I assume, although admittedly I haven’t been everywhere.” I shot him what I hoped was an amused smile, but he didn’t smile back. I looked away. Why was I sharing this? At the blueberry festival? The warm, glowy, sun-drenched blueberry festival.
Because today of all days, it feels good to be known. Walking amidst all of these people who are connected to other people, feeling like you are too.
Was it really so wrong to want that, just for one day? In a couple months’ time, I’d never see this man again. Did it really matter?
“Is that why health food is so important to you?” he asked softly.
“I suppose. And I don’t want to give my mom too bad of a rap. She tried, you know, sometimes more than others, but . . . she was a product of her environment. She brought home food she thought we liked. Food we did like, but that wasn’t good for us.”
“How’d you manage to be different?”
“I stole a cantaloupe.”
“Aha. I knew the first time I saw you, you were criminally inclined.”
“I confess. Once upon a time, that was true. I was eleven, and one day I took an alternate route home from school, which took me past this Korean grocery store. There was a stand of cantaloupes. Well, of course, I’d seen cantaloupes on TV before, but we’d never eaten one. I lingered around that stand. I wanted one.” I recalled that moment of wanting. How it’d been a fierce thing inside that I had no way to explain. Maybe I just wanted to be different, to live a life I hadn’t been given, if only for a brief time. Long enough to eat a cantaloupe. “I wanted to experience a cantaloupe, just once,” I said, leaving out the rest.
I could feel Travis’s stare on the side of my face and I glanced at him. His expression was bemused, and something else I didn’t know him well enough to name. “So you stole it,” he said.
“I did. And I was caught immediately.”
“Oh no.”
My lips tipped and even I could hear the tenderness in my voice when I said, “Mr. Kim, the store owner, yelled and railed. I tried so hard not to cry, but I was shaking I was so scared. He marched me a block up the street to this door and this woman, all of four and a half feet tall, answered, and he said, ‘Here, this little thief tried to steal one of our cantaloupes. You deal with her.’” I smiled softly again. “She led me to the roof of her building and she didn’t exactly seem mad, and so I followed her. And there, she had this garden! All these perfectly organized plants and flowers in wooden boxes covering every square inch of that roof. It was a wonder. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. She told me if I spent the next hour digging potatoes out of the dirt, I would have worked off my debt and she’d send me home with a cantaloupe.”