Raspberries

This story is soooort of based on me and my brother (something equivalent to the bike incident once happened). We also used to deliver papers together and pick raspberries in the horseshoe. But as for the rest… well that’s just fiction. :)

I wrote the first part of the story while on my trip to Sumba. I planned on making it much longer, but because I submitted it for something (it had to be 500 words) I cut it short and ended differently than I planned. For that reason, I’m not thrilled with the ending… but… what can you do?

The bittersweet taste of an almost ripe raspberry in mid-July doesn’t usually make me cry. I reminded myself of this as I placed the small red fruit in my mouth. As I bit down, thousands of memories flooded my brain as vividly as the sour flavor permeated my mouth.

“Johnny, Johnny! Wait for me!” I screamed as if life itself depended on the paperboy ahead of me.

Johnny’s legs pedaled furiously and the hole in his newspaper bag wore down more with each successive rotation. My legs burned with exhaustion but adrenaline pumped through my veins and I kept going. I was going so fast now that the little bugs in the air stung as they collided with my face.

Still ahead, Johnny maintained inimitable speed and dexterity—whizzing through the neighbourhood and dodging all the potholes.

“Johnny!” I could go on no longer. I stopped and began to wail. It was all over now. I was alone. Johnny was too far ahead and he obviously was not coming back to help me.

Suddenly I heard a screech and the sound of a rubber tire on the road, the bouncing of shocks and the rattling of a five year old bike. I looked up in time to see an image I’ll not soon forget. Johnny had stopped alright—after pulling his front brakes. He did a flip over the handlebars and landed nimbly—albeit shakily—on his feet. The bike stayed standing for a moment but it soon toppled over and Johnny’s legs gave out. He landed flat on his rear end.

If Johnny felt any pain, he showed no sign of it and my seven year old brain got over it pretty fast. I pedaled over to wear Johnny sat.

“Lisa, you kemosabi, what’s your problem?” Johnny was ten and always had better insults than I did. “Can’t you even bike by yourself for ten minutes? We’re almost home for Pete’s sake!”

I felt stupid now. “I… didn’t want to be alone.”

“You’re such a baby, Lisa. Just get over it. No one’s gonna hurt you here…” Johnny gingerly dusted off his rear. He got on his bike again, but I noticed he never actually sat on the seat the rest of the way home. Apparently there was a little damage done.

Johnny and I delivered newspapers together. Every week, we would start delivering in the area of town called the Horseshoe (it was shaped like a horseshoe). Halfway through the Horseshoe were wild raspberry plants. We picked and ate them every week in the summer and eagerly anticipated their return throughout the winter and early spring. But, as all kids tend to do, we grew up and we grew apart. ‘Johnny’ was shortened to John and the raspberries were forgotten.

Still, every summer when raspberries come back into season, I get a little teary-eyed, remembering the friendship we once had.

Today, I went back to the Horseshoe, but the raspberries plants were gone.

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Tags: Random Writings, When I was young...