Apple of Her Eye

Melissa enjoyed sitting below her apple tree. It wasn't really her tree, but she had sat below it for nearly a year. Each day after her mother's classes ended she'd grab her notebook and her walkman on her way to sweat through the afternoon. And each day around 5:30 as the sun weaved through the branches an older girl would ride by on a white bicycle and wave hello as she continued on her way home.

She rode a beat-up cruiser, her short hair was gross with sweat, and she hardly thought about Melissa beyond how cute it was that she always sat below that old tree. But Melissa always thought about her.

She consumed the pages of Melissa's notebook and the folds of her brain. She rode on cloudless climes, her smile was a breath of spring, and her kindness was unmatched in her eye. As quickly and deeply as teens fell in love with miniskirts, British bands, pretentious poetry, and desperation for adulthood she fell for a nameless girl on a bike. During the day she'd wait in breathless anticipation for the brief moment she would see her ride by. She'd plan out all her confessions carefully so that she could finally have her affections returned - only to simply wave when she passed. During the night butterflies danced in her stomach, raring to tear her apart. She couldn't control her racing fantasies and the feeling of becoming unmoored from her own feelings over a girl she barely knew was thrilling.

In moments of clarity, Melissa would wonder why an introverted homeschooled kid like herself would tip head over heels over a girl she barely knew. And why did she waste so much of her time drawing, writing, dreaming about her?

And all it took was an orange.

The girl was passing by in early June and the basket on her bike held a bag of oranges and a candy bar. On that day, she stopped near Melissa for the only time and spoke to her.

"Hey, want an orange?"

"Sure."

She tossed Melissa an orange and they sat in an awkward silence for a moment, she told the nameless girl thanks, she responded by saying no problem before continuing on her way. She felt guilty for not saying more, perhaps it was the guilt that helped spiral her intrusive infatuation, or maybe it was something else.

Then one day she stopped coming.

It was mid-July and the sunset was coming. Melissa realized she wouldn't be cycling past the apple tree today. On her walk home she weighed and measured each possibility as to why she didn't cycle past. The most likely circumstances entailed her taking a different route or just feeling unwell, but being Melissa, her mind raced to car crashes, serious illness, and death. And suddenly the joyful crush made her nose and eyes swell.

She didn't come the next day. Or the day after that, the next, and the next few. As July turned to August Melissa's agonizing turned into exhaustion, and she spent afternoons alone listening to music on her bed. Girls were supposed to feel torn up about football players, valedictorian boys, and guys with beards, not some random tomboy. Of course, being homeschooled she didn't know any boys, and she struggled to interact with people anyways. That's why she and her mother spent every day together. Her mother was wonderful and she knew everything about her, but the girl on the bike was completely unknown. Beyond a simple act of kindness and an entrancing appearance she knew nothing.

After two weeks of misery, she started to miss the apple tree and the fresh air. Something inside compelled her to leave in the night under a starless sky. And she didn't go to the right to the apple tree. Instead, outside her humble ranch house, she turned left and walked deeper into the city. Her heart pounded inside her chest and her breath was shallow but she kept going.

Eventually, she reached the city and gaped at all the colors and lights. American flags, Puerto Rican flags, Cuban, and others she didn't recognize. There was an astonishing amount of people gathering in groups and talking. The noise filled her head and made her dizzy. She wandered in a daze almost invisible to the people around her. When she finally sat down on a bench she realized her hands were shaking and her feet were aching in pain.

Someone sat down beside her, an older man in dirty clothes and holding tight to his jacket and a brown paper bag. He took a long drink from something inside the bag. And offered it to her. She considered it for a moment but given how much her stomach tossed and turned she decided against it. They sat in silence for about a minute before Melissa started bawling. She didn't know where the crying came from or why it felt like a monster deep inside clawed its way out of her body and left her feeling raw. The man beside her opened his mouth as if to say something but eventually settled on just placing a hand on her back and a sympathetic smile.

They sat like that for quite a while, and Melissa realized how much she appreciated the simple physical touch. A simple connection with someone she hardly knew. The power it held and what it gave her. His hand was everything she hadn't known. It was confusing and calming all at once. When the tears finally stopped she said thank you, left him there, and walked home in a calmer manner returning just before daybreak.

Some time passed and the limerence started to fade, and she realized the girl on the bike was just one girl, and she simply moved somewhere even bigger and brighter than Melissa had ever dreamed of. Suddenly the world came into focus, and she came into focus with it. And when a few days later she returned to the trail she noticed fruits blooming out of her tree. But they weren't apples, all along what she was waiting for were pears.