A Feast of Rubies

I have always found it amazing how memories can come rushing back to you with the slightest influence. I bought a pomegranate last week at the grocery store on a whim. Unfortunately, as is what happens with most all of the fresh produce I buy, it was left on the kitchen counter for almost a week before I thought of it again. I look forward to the days when my life will be more predictable, and stable, but for now, what with school and two jobs, my life is stressed at best. But, back to my story. I thought about the pomegranate this morning after my alarm went off. I cannot even tell you why I started thinking of it. However, I knew it would be going bad soon, if it wasn't already, and decided to take the time to cut it up while making my usually morning tea. The second my knife slid into the juicy flesh it all come back to me. A shabby sofa, the whirr of an old white fan lazy rotating in the warm summer heat, and a little girl named Monet. I had never seen a girl with such red hair before in my life. She was fair skinned, curly haired and I was instantly intrigued by her. How we met, I don't remember, but what I do remember, is that she introduced me to the ruby goodness of the pomegranate. I had no idea what it was, but as we lounged about her living room she offered me a section of the most interesting fruit I had ever seen. Her mother worked at the local Albertson's and I guess had more knowledge of the limited speciality bits they received. She showed me how to eat it, and I hesitantly put a little kernel of fruit in my mouth. Thinking back on it now, I must have been very enamored by her because I have never been adventurous when it comes to food, and yet I remember eating it as if it was nothing. I was surprised by a tarty sweet burst of liquid in my mouth, and I remember being curious by the fact that I had to in fact eat another kernel, that the enjoyment was so fleeting. So, I popped the seedy center out of my mouth and reached for another piece. To this day I cannot see a pomegranate without thinking about Monet. What happened to her? Why didn't we remain friends? I cannot say. My memories of her are so few and yet so happy. We were just kids having fun during the summertime. Walking to each other's houses, having lunch together, playing with her pet hamster, who I believe would stay perched on your shoulder for hours on end. So, as I sit here on this quiet grey afternoon, I think about pretty Monet with the red curly hair and pale pale skin and smile.