Coming of age under a pear tree

We’re more than halfway to the Outer Banks on our annual summer trip, but boy it’s dragging. The original plan was to try a new beach every year. But love can cause a twelve-year-old to throw the type of tantrum that forces a whole extended family into going back to the same beach each year.

My dad looks at me in the rearview mirror. "Hey Andy. You're gonna try to hang out more with the family this year, right? I know you like your alone time, which is fine. But family's important.” He raises his eyebrows and leans toward the mirror. “It's the one thing you're going to remember about these trips. And I think you'll regret it if you avoid us. Lots of good bocce ball to play."

I nod, then look out the window.

Bocce ball is that game where you throw a little white ball and try to throw the bigger colored balls near it. It's especially fun on hard sand where the ball can roll thirty or forty yards with a nice curve toward the ocean. When I was in elementary school, I always tried to play, but the older uncles wouldn't let me. Now that I’m old enough, I hardly ever play. Blame that on Jessica.

I met Jessica on the last day of our first trip to the beach, three years ago when we were both twelve. I pulled a large fish in, off the dock, and bumped into her causing me to drop my pole. I apologized to which she laughed and said. "I think I should apologize. Looks like you lost your fish."

It was a laugh I would never forget. I stared at the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, actually smiling at me. The dandelion above her ear, which I subsequently never saw her without, held back her thick brown wavy hair. It took a few more seconds, but I saw my pole floating quickly away from the dock. "I guess you're right." Another laugh and I was in love.

She whispered, "Hey. Want to see something cool?"

Every once in a while, God smiles upon you. "Definitely."

She started running. I looked to the house and the beach to make sure my family didn't see. We ran four blocks up the main road and took a left toward the sound. A small bridge led to a path in a canopy of trees. Twenty feet into the path was a ten by ten opening with one ripe pear tree in the middle. Jessica said it was rare to find a tree like this because of all the salt. We each bit into a pear. She was ecstatic. It didn't do much for me, but I smiled and raised my eyebrows to help her moment. She put her head to the side and grabbed my hand and life stopped. My smile turned serious as I stared at her. She laughed at me again, and then we ran back to my house. She said a simple, "goodbye", turned around and that was that.

On the drive home, I began my well-constructed campaign to come back. The next year, I found a way to spend hours with her each day by that pear tree. She lived on the island, so it was not a problem for her, but I had to be creative to get away from my family. Each dinner, I heard about the exciting bocce ball games and had to come up with clever excuses for what I was doing. We had our first kiss on the last day of that trip. It was the first kiss for both of us. Awkward, but special. We had each seen My Girl and decided to make a blood oath that we would never kiss anyone else but each other. Last year, we kissed quite a bit under that pear tree, and on the last day, she even showed me her purple bra strap.

"How much longer, mom?"

"Still three hours away, honey." She turned around. "You sure are excited to get there! I think we're going to have a great week. The forecast looks amazing."

I am extremely excited, but also quite worried. Our annual trip was the last week of August. This year, we have to do the last week of July. Will Jessica even be around? I have no way of knowing, but I have been praying to whoever might hear that she’ll be there.

Fifteen seems like a big difference from fourteen. We both just finished our first year of high school. I kept my oath to not kiss anyone. Not that I had any chances anyway. I know that Jessica and I are ready for the next step. But what that next step is, I couldn't tell you. Over the year, I heard about several freshmen who supposedly had sex. I don’t know about that, but you would be surprised at what my imagination produced these past six months. No wonder this drive seems ridiculously long.

After a century, we arrive at the same house as every year. The car is barely in park and I jump out. "I'm going for a little jog." I run straight to her house. Look in a few windows. Then down to the pear tree. Head back to the beach with my family. I do the same routine three times that day, and several times the next few days. She is nowhere to be found. The prayers become more fervent but yield the same hopeless results.

Thursday morning, I wake up despondent. To eagerly anticipate an event for a year with no control over the miserable outcome. The quality of my life hangs in the balance of seeing this girl. What will I do if I go home without it? I start my daily routine of walking toward her house, this time with my head down, kicking stones. A van pulls into her driveway. My heart beats rapidly, my eyes widen, and my mouth hangs open. Person after person steps out of the packed van. Finally. There she is. Even more beautiful than I remember.

I hide behind a bush in the neighbor's yard. I want to surprise her if her family all heads inside and she is by herself. I pluck a dandelion from the yard since she doesn’t have one behind her ear. Sure enough, she is there alone and just before I jump out, she runs toward the street and leaps into the arms of a really muscular dude with plenty of stubble on his face who swings her by her hips in a circle. For a split second, I convince myself that this might just be a relative or friend. Then they share a long, passionate kiss. Way longer than she ever kissed me. I watch the whole thing. Afterward, she laughs with the older gentleman as they hold hands and walk toward the ice cream shop. I collapse behind the bush with my face in the mud and lay there for several minutes. It surprises even me, but I cry. And I cry hard. I slowly crumple the dandelion between my fingers. It feels good to destroy something pure and innocent.

I stumble back to the beach by my house and sit in a chair, looking at the lonely ocean, which pales in comparison with my loneliness. Screams from what seems like an epic game of bocce ball snap me back to reality.

Obviously unable to sleep at night, I stare at the dark ceiling above my bed, cycling through jealousy, anger, self-pity, and fatalism. Plenty of tears and plenty of questions. Maybe she has been with other guys all along. With one more day at the beach, I have to decide what to do. It comes down to four options: 1) I can just pretend I didn't see anything and see how far I can get with her. My imaginations are still strong, but that seems risky. Who am I compared to the incredible Hulk that I saw today? Plus, don’t I have some integrity? 2) I can just ignore her and never see her again. But that isn’t a true option. I would never be able to live with myself. 3) I can tell her off for breaking our agreement. At least I would get a rise out of her. But I choose 4). I resolve to tell her what I saw. It's not surprising. We were kidding ourselves to think we could keep this going. I, of course, kept it going, but I will forgive her. It was a nice run. Shake hands, maybe hug, and take the high road and head home, free to be with other girls.

Friday morning, I peek in the key windows in her house and she isn’t there. On my way to the ice cream shop, I hear, "Andy!?" I turn around to see the hair of a sun-kissed angel float effortlessly in slow motion as she runs and leaps into my arms. Deja vu from yesterday. "What are you doing here?"

"My family came early this year. I've been looking all over for you."

"Oh no! We were on vacation. I can't believe you came the one week we go on vacation. Thank God we came home early and I get to see you. I've missed you so much!" She squeezes me.

"I've missed you too. What do you say we get some ice cream and catch up on the past year?"

She releases her grip and looks around nervously. "Um, let's … just … go to our tree!"

No complaints from me. But I remind myself of my resolution. We catch each other up on the past year during our walk. Then I ask, "So, have you kissed anyone else this past year?"

Immediately, "Nope. You?"

"Really?"

"Cross my heart. What about you!?"

I stop walking and stare at her. She doesn’t blink, look away, or even flinch. What an unexpected turn of events.

"No, me neither."

We start walking again, and I look down and say, "Well, to be completely honest, yes I have." She looks straight ahead, nodding slightly. "Actually, I kissed her like several times.” I shrug my shoulders. “Like six or something,”

She squints with a sympathetic smile. "Hey, that's okay. We're in high school now. It's hard to go a whole year. I'm just so glad you're here!" And she puts her elbow around my neck, kisses my cheek, and runs to the bridge.

Well, that sure complicates the mission.

No pears are ripe, so she takes a bite of a leaf and hands it to me with her out-of-this-world laugh. She smiles at my usual serious stare, and puts her hands around my neck and kisses me.

I pull away, and with her hands still around my neck ask, "Are you sure you haven't kissed anyone else?"

"Swear on my life." And she kisses me again. It feels so good. I embrace her and kiss her several times. All my plans and whatever integrity I have evaporate. My imaginations from the previous year ramp back up. I reach around her back and begin pulling her shirt up. She pulls away, bites her lip, and stares at me as she removes her shirt. She lays it down and goes in for another kiss.

I hold her shoulders and say, "So, I saw you kissing that huge, older dude yesterday when you got home from your trip." Her eyes widen and her mouth hangs open. "I hope it was worth it."

I grab her shirt off the ground and sprint toward the bridge.

"Hey!"

After running the whole four blocks, I throw her shirt into the dumpster by the back of our house. I run down to the beach where my entire family stares at the sweaty, out-of-breath boy. "So,” I clap my hands, then rub them together. “Who's up for some bocce ball!?"