pear tree

i forget whose idea it was to requisition some fruit... probably stella's, the undisputed leader, at least among the three of us, and due to the then significant age gap between us and michael.

in any case, it must have been around 1981, queens ny, and either hot and dry or hot and humid. a pear or two from the shady and seemingly towering tree that presided over the patchy islands of crab grass dotting the dusty sea of packed and rain-starved soil. who could argue with that? i now realize this was the time before anything like arguments even existed for us.

barefoot, our three-year old bodies struggled with the too-heavy wooden pole and managed to liberate a few hard green orbs from the branches. six bare feet went stomping into the bathroom situated oddly close to the front stoop to wash the knobby pale green hides.

biting into the pear was too difficult from the start, the first vague clue of something awry, then the bitter and decidedly un-pear-like taste. without much deliberation, i rejected our hard-won spoils with a simple throw onto the stoop (i don't think we even exited the bathroom) and it rolled off.