Remember Me

Chapter Eight

"All my kids please take a peach," my father demands in a soft tone and I silently wince.

I confess, I don't like peaches that much.

When I first glance at them, I groan at the fact that I have to peel the fuzzy exterior. Nectarines are much better in that regard since it is the same taste but less hassle, though they are much tougher to munch.

I pick it up and wash it under a splash of water from my bottle without much interest, noticing how some water pearls form on its surface. Nonetheless I shake the fruit off and I give it a bite.

The biggest difference between a nectarine and a peach, aside from the soft exterior that gives your tongue a gentle massage, is that peaches are very juicy. The moment your teeth sink in, juice sprouts and you have a mess rolling down your mouth. I quicken my pace in order to pull out without getting the sticky sweet liquid dripping down my clothing and face. I go to slurp the juice, just as I part my lips from the flesh.

As I enjoy the chunk in my mouth, I realize that the pulp melts rather easily; the peel takes some time but I come to realize that I don't mind the texture at all. It is very welcoming. It wraps my teeth and I have the sensation that I am doing good. I am eating fiber is its motto, and I might go around thinking and truth is, that it might not be way too off.

I have to be careful when I eat a peach: not only is the juice lousy enough to get all over me, but the seed is not something my teeth would like to hit. It's rough and hard, nothing to gain from it when I think about it.

This peach is sweet and now my perspective changes a bit. I'd like them to last a lifetime. Sadly, I am proven wrong when only the pit is left, a small reminder of my encounter.

Nectarines on the other hand...well...

Nectarines take more time, and it is only because they have exchanged sweet juice instead of a thick pulp. It can be harder to bite, more so than an apple. In the end, it can prove more of a problem to eat than a fuzzy peach. But they taste so good, prickly and with chili.

It is like life, really: some like it sweet and juicy, some like it rough and hard.

The choice is up to you.

"Simon, could I have another one," I ask when I throw the peach pit into the compost bag which hangs on the side of the table tent.

"Be my guest. I'd rather have you guys eat them all then have the peaches sit there and get mushy. Speaking of that, will one of you run over to Jason's campsite and offer some to the Olson's and the Smiths?"

"I'll do it," I say before thinking of what I just signed myself up for. Back at home one of my favourite things to do is help people whenever I had the chance, whether it be bringing in someone's groceries, helping elderly people cross the street, or handing out baked goods to my neighbours. I never expected anything in return, because for me, it felt good to help people. What I had just agreed to was something my younger self would have done without hesitation. Now, however, I don't know why I opened my mouth.

Maybe it is because deep down I want to see Nathan again.

I want things to be better.

And the only thing stopping me from doing that is the fear inside me.

You'll be fine Charlotte. Just ask Nathan if he wants a peach. It's no big deal.

The gravel crunches beneath my feet as I make my way through the forested path toward Nathan's campsite. The Olsons; Jason and Nathan sit around their firepit; Jason reading a magazine of something sports related and Nathan carving a stick with such intensity I almost laugh.