THE ORANGE TANGERINE
Where did it come from? I walk a little slower and realize I'm barely shuffling my feet and my mother is holding my hand. In her other hand is a brown paper bag. She looks at me, smiles and asks, 'Want one now, Sweetie?' 'Oh, yes, yes, Mommy.' We stop while she opens the paper bag, looks in, and pulls out just one tangerine. She asks me if I want her to peel it for me. 'No, no, I can do it,' I reply, take the golden orange in my hand, dig my fingernail into the top and juice squirts all over me and into my eye. Mommy wipes it off with her sleeves and takes away what is left of my tangerine.
'I'll do it for you or you will spoil another one.' I beg for another chance and am able to separate each little section slowly, one by one, stop when only one juicy piece is left. 'Mommy, I'm sorry I was a pig. Here, you can have this.' She leans towards me, opens her mouth real, real wide and I pop in my last slice. Soulfully, I gaze at her and ask if we can share one more tangerine.
I close my eyes, realize I am on my way home from the supermarket and I was just sort of day dreaming. Why did that warm memory come back from nowhere? The reason clarifies itself in an instant. My car is waiting and I head my loaded shopping cart towards it, notice the packer had put my large, heavy bag of tangerines on top of my tomatoes. I remove it and as soon as I can push the button to open the trunk, put them in first, all the way to its rear and leave the rest of the space for canned goods, cleaning, soaps.
At home I unpack all that had been packed in the super market and then again in my car trunk. I rip open the net bag of tangerines and hate myself for buying what I know are dried out, sour orange delights. My money is down the sewer. From my purse I remove my market sales slips so I can return the lousy,dry tangerines the next day.
I think perhaps this experience is a message. In the kitchen, my writing pad and pen flies like a November wind to send you my thoughtless thoughts.
ENJOY what you can while you can.

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