Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Sightseeing (08/08/05)
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TITLE: First Fruits: A Fable | Previous Challenge Entry
By Carol Sanford
08/10/05 -
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Dad summoned me secretively into the kitchen on a hazy, hot summer Saturday. He pointed to the newspaper. I nodded, feeling a rush of excitement as I read the contents of the ad over his shoulder.
“I’ll get my hat,” he said. “Let’s hurry.”
“What about Mom?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about her,” he responded with a chuckle. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I quickly hopped into the car as Dad backed out of the driveway. “Did you tell Mom where we’re going?” I questioned, knowing she wouldn’t approve of our little jaunt.
“Well…no.”
“Hmm...” I mused thoughtfully.
With the air conditioner on, I could appreciate the sights from the car window. Shady sycamores lined the residential streets where we lived. They waved to us lazily in the balmy summer breeze while bright orange day lilies saluted our passing. Manicured lawns rejoiced, welcoming the refreshment of a drink from unseen sprinklers tucked in the short green grass. I never tired of a drive through the friendly neighborhood where I grew up, though this morning there was a sense of urgency to our trip.
Within minutes we arrived at our destination…the grocery store. Without speaking, Dad and I headed to the produce section, not stopping to get a cart. Our eyes scanned the bountiful array of fruits and vegetables. Dad saw them first and quickly beckoned me to follow him.
Just the sight of these precious gems was enough to make my mouth water. Feeling a little like Pavlov’s dog, I reached for the largest plastic bag I could find to collect our booty. “Ah…” we both exclaimed in unison. Bing cherries, dark and sumptuous, the first of the season, seemed to smile back at us.
Both of my father’s hands scooped up the biggest and blackest ones he could find, gently placing them into the bag I held open. From past experience, we could tell when we had an appropriate amount but decided on weighing just to make sure. The scale registered exactly three pounds. Perfect.
We moved at a rapid pace to the express line. Dad paid. The exorbitant price of $3.98 per pound went virtually unnoticed. I momentarily considered the probable consequences of our actions, but quickly dismissed any semblance of rational thought.
Back in the car, we both knew what to do. The bag of Bings was placed on the seat between us. I untied it and carefully folded over the top allowing a generous opening for two hands to fit inside. We rolled down the windows, heedless of the blazing heat and humidity which blasted in our faces. Immediately, as we drove out of the store parking lot, we began to devour cherries. My dad and I sighed contentedly, savoring the delectable taste. This time I hardly noticed the neighborhood sights as we happily ate our fill, chatting merrily, spitting the pits out of the window as far as we could, in competition for the greatest distance. We took our time meandering through shady streets and avenues as we journeyed homeward.
Suddenly, I observed that we had traveled several miles away from home. At the same time, reaching for the last cherry in the bag, my stomach began to ache and I noticed how terribly hot it was in the car. I stole a look at my dad who had become quiet. We exchanged glances that told us we’d better get home fast!
Accelerating, Dad drove as fast as he dared while we silently repented of our actions and painfully contrived an appropriate story that would explain our absence to my mother. Considering our options, we decided that it was best simply to say we went on a little tour of the neighborhood. As we pulled into the driveway, she met us at the front door.
“Where have you two been?” she asked slyly.
“Oh, out for a ride, just sightseeing,” Dad replied. Guiltily, we bolted right past her, avoiding her gaze.
“Really?” she inquired, sweetly, speaking to our backs. “With so much needing to be done around here, you could have spent your Saturday morning much more fruitfully. I wish I had known you were out “just sightseeing”. I would have asked you to stop at the store. We’re out of toilet paper…”
MORAL: Covetousness impairs sound judgment or…
Overindulgence makes one sorry in the end!
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You captured the reality that "men will always be boys," maybe even more boyish than their own boys at times!
“What about Mom?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about her,” he responded with a chuckle. “I’ll meet you outside.”