Once Upon a Pear

The professor brought the lecture to a close with a wave like a conductor’s baton. John ducked his head and began gathering his notes together. Murmured voices filled the hall as the rest of the class filtered out. He tucked his pages into the ratty briefcase his father had generously loaned him only a few short weeks ago. Already, John’s heart ached for the comfort of home. Even if he did return to Georgia, the comfort wouldn’t be there. Ever again.

He slammed the briefcase closed after extracting his paper encrusted lunch. The professor erased the board and took no notice of the skinny nancy boy from Georgia as he slipped out. John was used to the glares and disappointment from his father. Being invisible was an entirely new sensation. A few students milled around in the hallway as John made his way to the door. He recognized a few from his courses but they all looked right past him as though he were no thicker than a stalk of barley.

Once outside, John relished the waning September heat. It would be cold up north, his cousin Maddie had warned him when he’d first described his dream. So far, Philadelphia had been warm though not as humid and sticky as Georgia. John liked the heat. It reminded him of too many summers spent frolicking with his mother. As he cross campus, his stomach rumbled in quiet hunger. It felt like he was always hungry now. Aside from the briefcase, his father and new wife hadn’t offered John any support for his schooling. He was left to pinch each penny he owned, stretching the value of the cent through the length of his program.

John still had a half an hour before his next course was scheduled to start. Other students passed by on their way to purchasing their own lunch. John longed to join them. He missed the warm home cooked meals his mother would make. Food wasn’t worth eating if it couldn’t be eaten hot. A grilled cheese sandwich would have been good but John didn’t have time to find a place he could melt his cheese. Warmed by his briefcase was a poor substitute but like every other day, it had to do.

A few trees dotted the green area between campus buildings. They offered a little shade to weary students. John paced over to his favorite of these trees. Despite having a bench perched in the peak shady spot, the area was always deserted. John placed his briefcase on the wooden slats before climbing on, facing the tree. He rose to his full height so he could reach into the tree’s lowest branches. Aside from the quiet shade, this spot was his favorite for another reason.

Using the trunk to better balance, John scanned through the leaves. Back home, these trees would be finished producing fruit by then but John had read they could be harvested through October in the north. After several moments, John spied a low hanging pear. His long fingers grazed the bottom of the fruit so he stretched up on his toes until he could grasp it. A strong tug freed the fruit from the branch. John stumbled with the force of it.

He jumped off the bench and sat down. The first bite of pear dripped juice down John’s chin. He didn’t mind. It was sweet and refreshing. Most importantly, it was free. As he nibbled the pear, John pulled his cheese sandwich from his case. Each day he’d settled into the same routine: up early in the morning for class with a single boiled egg for breakfast, classes until lunch, lunch of cheese sandwich and pear on the bench under the pear tree, and more classes until late. He had yet to shake out a workable routine for dinner and studying in the evening but John figured he still had time. It was only a few short weeks into his college career.

The last of the pear slid down his throat. John was tempted to take a second one but he didn’t want to risk running out of the ones he could reach in the coming days. So John concentrated on finishing his cheese sandwich. Once that was gone too, he folded the paper wrap around the pear core and tucked it into his briefcase. Then he checked his watch—still ten minutes before his courses started again—and began studying from his notes.