the orange

Blog Post 38.

i picked up the orange, having carried it from southern Spain, knowing how sweet it would be this time of year, knowing how long it had been since you last had an orange.

sharing it with you, i was sure, would be the highlight of my day. i carried it in my hand, so as not to let it knock around in my bag.

for it was a nearly-perfect orange.

when i gave it to you, you said thank you. and you set it down.

eventually you asked me if i thought maybe that other person would like some of the orange. you began to peel it.

i said i could not possibly know if they wanted it, or even if they liked oranges.

so you offered a piece to them. they smiled, accepted it. and of course they liked it. and of course you offered another.

i watched as the orange i gave to you diminished. when the orange was nothing more than the pile of peel that sat on the table between us, you turned back to me.

and you thanked me once again. for it was a lovely orange.