Fighting Words

Lunar Fruit

A story by Ruby Cusack Cave, age 15, Co Wicklow

I just wanted you to hold me, rock me to sleep as I cried in your arms ... I wished you looked at me and told me you loved me. Photograph: iStock

Ruby Cusack Cave
Tue May 21 2024 - 05:00

I pick an orange from the tree drooping over my head and I begin to peel away its skin. I try to handle it gingerly, treating each piece as if it were a ticking time bomb but the segments burst in my hands, juice trickles down my fingertips as the pithed skin catches beneath my nails. The orange lays fractured in my palms, it’s ruined, unfixable, but I’m cradling it fondly to my chest, scared it will wilt away. The truth is the flower bulbs are blooming and I’m missing you terribly.

I was never any good at peeling fruit, that was always your job. You would carefully take it apart, piece by piece with gentle hands, treating each segment with such tenderness it would make my heart swell. When I tried, I always ended up with a soggy mess swimming in my palms, but you didn’t seem to mind. Instead, you always laughed as I licked the juice off of my fingers and our knees would knock together as the gentle echo shook your body. You would wipe my hands clean with your sleeve and pick me another one and we never grew tired of the constant routine of it.

Back then, I took these little things for granted, they’d linger in the back of my mind, going slightly dusty and though I kept them close to my heart, I never realised how much I’d treasure them. But now things are different, when I think of you, I can picture a palette of different fruits we shared. The cherry rich tint of a pomegranate bleeding down your lips, the scent of the lemons that flavoured the air as we baked my favourite cake, a kiwi reflecting in the green of your eyes. Each memory created a mosaic of colours, like a stained-glass window. I wondered if the pigments of the fruits would dilute like watercolours as they slowly lost their hue, but I soon realised that you sowed your fingers in my hair, like roots in the soil. So I let my hair grow long so I could keep every piece of you.

To you, spring was everything, it brought on a new moon which meant new beginnings, rebirth, embracing change, I didn’t really believe in all that nonsense. I didn’t have any morals, no dreams or goals, but you were the complete opposite, as if the sun showed up at my front door and kissed my cheeks, you opened a part of me that I didn’t know even existed.

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On the night of Lunar New Year, when the clock was minutes away from striking midnight, I was sitting under an orange tree, minding my own business, perfectly happy ignoring everyone – but you came and sat beside me anyway. I remember when you tilted your head back to look up through the branches, the moonlight shone down on you as the splotches of silver danced across your features, illuminating the kisses of freckles that painted your cheeks.

Chests do this strange thing sometimes, the climax of heat behind the rib cage like bubbles in a steam pot, something you didn’t know was rising until it pops. I wanted to harness this feeling forever, replay it just to feel the comforting heat of it warm me up.

You picked an orange from the tree, peeled back its skin and gave me the other half. You didn’t utter a word, but through that simple gesture it felt like we understood each other. Suddenly a cheer arose, counting down the seconds till the clock struck midnight, a new moon, a new beginning. I glanced over at you, and you smiled back at me and to my surprise, I smiled too.

From then on, that orange tree became something holy to me. We watched it change with us through the seasons, from basking in the sun’s smile, to sleeping in winter’s white blanket, as fireworks lit up the sky as another Lunar New Year passed and we gazed up at the new moon. When I was with you, I saw the world in shades of colour, something other than black and grey. I cherished the sun kissed fruits we shared, the little drawings of you that I hung up on my fridge and the days when I woke up in your bed, the sunlight kissing my ankles. I would give everything to experience such happiness again, to grasp it and keep it close to my heart ...

Wait!

Oh wait ...

I remember now, I’m dreaming,

Again? yeah, it keeps happening.

I really am pathetic.

The truth is, you’ve left me bleeding. There’s no sign of a scar or a wound, but if I was to tear my flesh off and step out of this body, you would be sure to find a rotting interior, like roadkill on the side of the motorway, ruined, damaged, too disgusting to even attempt to piece back together. I’ve become nothing more than your unfinished leftovers, once you were done with me, you spat me back out like a pip stuck in your tooth. I was sure to give you a cavity, maybe you would need a filling.

There was a time when my teeth were falling out, decaying, rotting, but I didn’t mind, it was a sign that I was sick. I didn’t get them fixed because I wanted you to look at me, realise that I wasn’t okay, that I needed love, attention, anything that’ll account for all the times you ignored me, glared at me like I’m dirt on the bottom of your shoe. I knew your heart was cold but mine was still warm, willing to love you, forget all the hate you showed me, I just wanted you to hold me, rock me to sleep as I cried in your arms, I knew it wouldn’t be easy for you but I was willing to try, I wished you looked at me and told me you loved me.

Did I ever tell you that I assigned you a colour? You were bright blue. I saw it in fizzes, when you were laughing it would shoot out of your mouth like fireworks, they would differ in shade, I’d see spots of cobalt, teal even indigo. I was contagious around you, I hoped some of your spark would wash over me, that I could taste those electric fizzes and it would leave a sensation in my mouth like popping candy, but there were times when your colour drained slightly, times when I could trace anger in your words, and my lemonade would leave a sour taste on my tongue. Your soul began to rot, I could feel the mould growing into your skull, darkening your colour, the edges turning black.

Maybe that’s when our connection seemed to perish, but now I know that it was like this from the beginning. You never told me how you felt but I could tell there was more, and you just didn’t want it clinging to the air. Sometimes, I can feel my hesitancy towards spring resurfacing, maybe you simply outgrew me, looking for a change.

I feel like I gave away a piece of myself in the name of loving you, but was that still not enough for you? I should have known, I held you like water in my hands, it’s no wonder you slipped through the cracks, but you were my little bit of light and I stuck to you like a moth to a flame.

You’re like the way raspberries stain my fingers, I wash my hands in hope of moving on, but then I eat another and remember it all again, the fruitful memories, I want them back, my moments of happiness.

I’m pathetic really, I’m like a dog with a bone. I’m sitting under our tree, it’s Lunar New Year again. I’ve been waiting so long now, the fruit I saved for you is covered in mould.

Ruby Cusack Cove

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