Da Goddess

A rerun from August 2002 (which I also reran in 2004), for Pam. Since I’m going to be spending the next 24 hours hanging all over everything my LD has to say…here ya go:

The Peach

4th of July, 2001. I had to work. On the 1st I went to the store to stock up on food to take as lunch. Standing in the produce department, looking at all the fruits and vegetables, I pondered and weighed my choices. I wanted fruit that would transport me to that perfect summer day, complete with clear blue skies, light breezes, warmth, and the sounds of people enjoying themselves. I mean, if I had to be sitting in a hospital surrounded by sick kids, I wanted, in spirit and food, to feel like I was participating in the holiday as much as my imagination allowed.

I saw a stack of plums. Yum. But not exactly the fruit that screamed summer. Apples. Nah….those are available all year. Watermelon? Clichéd. Nah….I wanted something. Something special. And then I spied them.

Georgia peaches. That was just what I wanted! But, how to pick one perfect peach that would be of just the correct ripeness on the 4th. I went over. I inhaled that peachy goodness. I could almost smell the fuzz. I could imagine the first beautiful ripe bite of slightly chilled perfection. I could almost feel the fuzzy skin on my lips and my tongue. I could sense the juices in my mouth meeting the sweet and slightly tart flesh of that peach. I could almost feel the pit against my two front teeth after enthusiastically biting in too deep. Shaking myself out of my stupor, I went about gingerly examining each one. How quickly would they ripen? It was warm…..things ripen too quickly if it’s too warm. What if it didn’t ripen enough?

I spied a produce guy helping a few people select some melon. Dare I ask? I take too much pride in being able to gauge the quality of my foods. It would be cheating, wouldn’t it? Ugh. I went over to the deli counter and bought some fried chicken. It was too hot to make it myself. Plus, this particular store had PERFECT fried chicken and that’s what I wanted. Nothing says summertime picnic like fried chicken if you’re being denied hotdogs and burgers. Standing in line at the deli, I looked longingly at the harvested goods 10 feet away. Decisions. The produce guy was actually kind of cute. Why not walk over and ask for help. Maybe he’ll decide I’m cute and ask me out. What the hell…….why not?

Chicken in basket, I wandered back over to the peaches. I checked again to see if I felt confident enough to choose my own. No such luck. I looked up and saw the produce guy looking in my direction and basically gave him the “oh, my…..what do I do here?” look. He came over. He asked if he could be of assistance.

Looking back up, I said, “I’m trying to find the perfect peach for the 4th of July. I want a peach that makes me feel 100% like I’m in the middle of the best summer day ever from the first bite.” (I’m so clever…not.)

He said, “Well, I’m not sure we have any of those. You’re going to eat this today? When?”

“On the 4th. I have to work. I’m spending 12 hours in a hospital (like my ID badge and scrubs didn’t already give that one away) and am being denied the full festive experience.”

“Okay. Let me see…..” he said, in his nice mellow voice.

I looked at his hands while he was doing this (not for a ring, though none was present, but for an idea of the kind of guy he was) and noticed that he had short, thick fingers. Clean. Strong looking. I watched how he handled the peaches. I watched how he gently pressed to judge ripeness without bruising the fruit.

Finally, he handed me three peaches and told me they were the best of the bunch. He said, “This one is the one that should be perfect on the 4th. If it gets too hot in the next couple days and this softens too much, this one is the next best choice. If it cools off considerably in the next day or so, eat this one. I can’t guarantee the ‘perfect’ summertime experience, but you’ll like how these taste. I promise that.”

I said, “And what if I don’t? What do I get then?”

He said, with a smile, “Come back and ask for Joe. That’s me. I’m the manager. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“Thanks, Joe. If these aren’t perfect – I’ll be back looking for you. Might even come back if they are perfect just to thank you.”

“Very good. I work Mondays and Wednesday through Sunday. I’ll be looking for you.”

I smiled and left with my glorious Georgia peaches, thinking about those hands and the taste of summer fruit. I had to eat one peach the next day because it ripened too quickly. One disappeared. I think my daughter ate it. The one that I took to work was exactly everything that I’d hoped it would be. EXACTLY! It was summer in a fuzzy skin.

I’d been so busy at work that I forgot to go back to the store for a couple of weeks. When I went back, I looked for Joe. I didn’t see him anywhere. Not even on his regularly scheduled days. Finally, after two weeks of looking I asked another guy if Joe was around and he told me that Joe had been promoted to a regional produce manager and wasn’t at the store anymore. He’d been given the job on the 7th. It figured.

Oh well. I had the perfect peach.