CARRI-ON WITHOUT MERCY

It was one of those velvety summer evenings, brimming with the hallmarks of a fairy tale: crickets rosining their bows, moon flowers tuning their trumpets, and fireflies preparing to gild twilight in pale gold enchantment. The candied colors and perfumes of peach, pear, and plum topped off the half-light; these trees were a May Day gift from my mother to us kids, and were planted out in the field - up near the vegetable garden. The first several summers after placing them in the ground, I imagined my brothers and I as our respective trees. My older brother Todd was peach; every season, no matter the conditions, he seemed to effortlessly produce hundreds of sticky drupes, much to the delight of family members and thousands of honey bees. Peach pies, peach preserves, peaches in cream, peach stains on t-shirts and faces - when I think of summer, I think of fresh cut grass and peaches. My younger brother Tedd was pear; he was persistent, but not fecund. Despite being planted between a rock and a hard place, he was determined to produce something; his fruits were small and few, but sweet none the less. I was plum; I had been cursed with leggy limbs, borer, and blight. Concerned that my tree's inferior yield somehow reflected my worth, I kept a nervous eye on each passing harvest; I'd watch my tiny fruits mold and fall to the ground - hoping for better luck next year - trying my best not to take it personally.

 

We watched a buck, two doe, and a fawn nibble at what lay at the foot of the old peach tree (despite its thirty years, and spindly, blistered trunk, this tree was still quite an impressive fruit producer). Mom had just finished commenting on how lovely this all was, when we looked up to see three turkey buzzards circling overhead - wheeling low and curious, and paying no mind to eventide's curfew.

Mom casually said, "Look Bill - they're coming to get us." There was some laughter, then a long silence as we watched and thought about the obvious. Our fairy tale evening had suddenly turned Grimm; sugar, spice, and everything nice had been replaced by poisonous fruit, carrion stew, and a moral yet to be revealed.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER