Just Ripe

Things are not always as they seem. There is no definitive good or bad. There is no right or wrong, just what we make of it. Bees sting but help keep our ecosystem stay alive. Dogs are great companions, but they can bite. Food keeps us nourished and alive but can poison us and rot us from the inside out. Even Mother Earth herself shares this duality, harboring all known life in the universe while seemingly trying to destroy it all in one breath. You get what I’m trying to say. So you see, I’m not a good person. I’m not a bad one either. To label something so simple would be ignorant. 

The day is new, the sun hasn’t even come up all the way so the morning haze fogs up my windows. I feel so energized right as I open my eyes, that feeling is so rare I decide to make the best of this day. I stretch and pull off the covers and step into my brown house slippers. I make myself a quick, measly breakfast, don’t wanna waste any more time. I put on a fresh shirt and shorts, still having that clean laundry smell, and my favorite sneakers, they are great for running. I grab the essentials for going out like my keys, wallet, handkerchief, headphones, pocket knife, a granola bar, and of course, some gum. I pop the sweet bubble gum piece in my mouth and as I’m locking the door to my apartment, poor old Mrs. Waters comes stumbling up the steps with bags of groceries. 

“Here let me help you with that”. I say while grinning and helping her up the remaining steps.

“Oh, you’re too kind”, she bashfully says back. 

I take the groceries and my arms start to quiver from the weight as she very slowly attempts to open her door. Her wrinkly shaky hands barely managing to stick the key in the lock. I get her situated, and even give her a piece of gum. I’m slightly bothered by the interruption, but poor old Mrs. Waters needs all the extra help she can get since her husband has been missing for a couple months.

I put in my headphones and gleefully hum to myself as I make my routine walk. I smile and wave to passersby as I step to the beat of Rock Lobster. My route consists of walking a couple blocks from my house to the largest park on this side of town. As I’m waiting to use the crosswalk, I spot a homeless woman across the street with a small shaking dog, if you could even call it that. I run over to them when I’m permitted by the walking sign, and hand her the granola bar I was saving for my walk back. She grinned a big, ugly, gummy smile and I walked away now a little more hungry. 

I casually make my way to the entrance of the park. Oh how lovely the park is during the summer, but it really is the best during the fall when it’s less crowded. I go and sit at my favorite bench alongside the walkway, just near the pond. Across from me on the opposite bench sits a young woman who looks like she's taking a break from her morning run. We smile at each other and I take in the scenery before me. The sweat glistens on her tan skin as the morning sun is starting to rise. The orange and brown leaves sway behind her as a morning dove sings out. Such a perfect sight I think to myself, when all of a sudden an older gentleman comes moseying down the walkway. He takes one look at the woman and I can see in his eyes, he’s ravenous. He hobbles over to her, somehow already drunk so early in the morning, and it's disrespectful on such a nice day. He brazenly takes a seat at her bench, and before he can even take a breath to say hello, she is up and continues her run, not once did she look at him. I glare at him for ruining such a perfect moment and making that woman uncomfortable. He doesn’t even seem to notice me as he grunts from his failed attempt and gets up to walk away. He only makes it a few feet before I run up behind him. I tap him on the shoulder and he swings around, looking like he’s ready for a fight. 

“What do you want?” He says abruptly, and quite focused because the words can barely escape his sluggish mouth.

“Hey, just wondering if you wanted some gum?”

Later that day back at my apartment, I carefully squeeze a perfectly ripe orange with my left hand and start to peel it with a knife with the other. Oranges have always been my favorite fruit since I was young. What I love about them is that just have to be just right to enjoy, you can’t be indulgent, and November is the perfect time to enjoy one. They are also good for aiding in masking stenches. You just have to throw the fruit's shell down the sink, turn on the disposal, and now my apartment smells like an orchard. As I finish peeling the orange, I knick the top of my thumb and blood starts to trickle out the tiny wound. Some of the tart juice drips into my finger and I hiss at the sudden sting. I make my way to the bathroom, putting my finger in my mouth to momentarily stop the bleeding. I’ve never liked blood, that is the one thing that’s hard about what I do to keep this world a little safer. I open the mirror and grab a small band-aid, and as I’m rummaging around for the rubbing alcohol I remember I’d just run out.

“Old bastard, you just keep on ruining my day.” I laugh to myself, but it’s mostly directed at the decaying body sitting in my bathtub.