Vanilla Bean & Cherry

Are we akin cherries? We may reside in the world on our own-- or be connected to another by a long, thin stem. Many admire the pair, however, the one that ventures alone is just as sweet. Each has a hard center that keeps it strong and whole. However, in the end, each will vanish eventually. Do we bother to stay grasping to the other or do we seek the sweetness of being unfettered?

I don't know which kind I am...yet.

I follow him to the very top of what seems to be the tallest hill. Once the pathway hits the peak of the horizon, an area of green grass scatters; overlooking the city. Surprisingly empty. He places a blanket on the floor alongside a bag. I take a seat, laying my coat beside me. He brings out a bottle of Merlot with two wine glasses. He begins to pour as he makes small talk. Small talk leads to talking about our hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams turn into giggles and snorts. The wine tastes like vanilla bean.

The sun hides as our high spirits linger on the hill. I speak of that one time I ran into a door as a young child and he one-ups me with the time in high school when he fell down almost two flights of stairs. I can only speak for myself when I say I don't want the night to end. I take another sip of the wine, as the vanilla comforts my tongue. Before I can take another sip, he leans in, and our lips meet.

The drive through the city we were just overlooking contributes to the disbelief of the night. He drives, as I look out the window at the details of each passing building. Soft music plays in the background. In a blink of an eye, we are suddenly at his place. He takes off my coat and places it on the hook planted on the wall. He goes to the other room, while I stay back and examine everything around me. The clock on the wall, the paintings that hang all around, the vases. The splash of red and beige lifts the welcoming feeling of love and possibility.

He enters the kitchen, but I am too occupied looking at every knick-knack that sits on the shelf. A picture frame that has fallen lays face down on the edge of the shelf. He brings a bowl of cherries and places it on the table in the same room I am studying. "I forgot the wine in the car. I'll be right back," he says. Or that's what I think he said. My mind is astray. The front door closes, causing me to snap back into reality. I see the bowl of cherries. I sit and look through the bunch. I look for one that is single, but they are all in twos. I grab a paired one and rip the stems apart. I bite and I bite until the seed is isolated. The combination of cherry and the vanilla that stays on my tongue is indescribable.

The telephone in the other room rings. It rings again, and again, and again. Finally, it stops along with a beep. "Hi, honey. I'm on my way to my parents' for dinner and wanted to see if you were still working or if you'd be able to make it tonight? You weren't answering your cellphone so I thought I'd have better luck here. If you get off early, call me back. Love you." Another beep follows. I rise to my feet and walk over to pick up the fallen picture frame. I look down.

In my hand is two cherries. Two cherries that used to be connected by a long, thin stem, but now ripped apart because of the desire for one. Just one. Yes, sweet but now vanished. I exit, making my way to the sidewalk. My feet move faster with each passing second. Behind in the distance, a faint sound of a car door closing. I don't look back. As I turn the corner, I pause and catch my breath. I open my palm to only one cherry. Lonesome, but sweet. I dangle it by the stem, then wrap my fingers back around it as I continue to walk and I think to myself:

Sometimes cherries are better unfettered.