The Many Lives of the Cherry Tree

The shade of the cherry tree was the only solace Cheria had after her grandmother’s passing. They spent countless hours under that magnificent tree, and the vibrant red of the cherries reminded her of the stylish red lipstick her nana always sported. “This was the same shade of red lipstick I was wearing the first time your grandfather kissed me. The color red is the reason you exist.” She'd always tell her, smiling as brightly as the sun. Cheria’s very first memory was of her grandparents. Her nana holding her grandfather’s hand, Cheria hoisted on his shoulders, they walked through their spacious garden behind their large cottage. According to her grandmother, their family had lived on that piece of land for generations. “Our family is always here, in the nature around us. Even though they’re long gone now.” Her nana told her this after her mother and grandfather died in a car accident. Cheria didn’t understand her then, only 12 years old, suffering as no child should. But now, 20 years old with no living family left, she was beginning to understand. With her back pressed against the trunk, she reminisced on her life up until that point. The family picnics, the stray cats that would always lie on the cobblestone path, her grandfather’s hearty laugh, her mother’s flowing black hair. She imagined her younger self having a tea party with her mother by the hydrangeas, and her grandfather helping her feed the cats. The memories were so vivid - it felt as if the people she had lost had manifested right before her. Cheria could see the kitchen from where she was seated, and the faint smell of cherries seemed to emanate from the house. For a moment, as she stared past the green grass, and countless flowers, she thought she saw her grandma, leaning over the sink, and a younger version of herself, a happy mess covered in flour. It was a memory of the first time she learned to make her nana’s signature cherry pie bars. It almost seemed like her grandma had come back from the restful sleep of the dead. Cheria almost reached her hand out, almost cried out, begging for her best friend to return to her. Then, just as quickly as the memory came, it disappeared. Cheria felt the tears roll down her cheek as her stomach dropped. She didn’t know what to do now that she was alone. She had barely started her sophomore year of college when she got the terrible news. She buried her head in her chest and sobbed for what seemed like an eternity. She was scared, and she knew her entire being ached for something unattainable, but she yearned for her family anyway. As she cried with all her might, more memories came rushing in.

 “Do you know why your mom named you 'Cheria'?” Her grandmother asked her the night of her mom’s death. They were in her mom’s room, Cheria’s tiny body buried under the covers, trying to ingrain her mother’s scent into her mind. She lost her dad when she was younger, and barely remembered him. She never wanted to forget anyone else. Her grandmother was sitting next to her. “No.” It was the first-word Cheria had said all day. “Beloved, darling. That's what your name means, and that’s what you are.” Cheria laughed at this. “I always thought it was because it sounded like cherry. You know this family has such a weird obsession with the fruit.” Her grandmother chuckled. “Your parents met under that cherry tree. One night, your mother and I had a bad fight, and she stormed outside. That was when she met some random guy, sitting under the tree-like he owned the place! She confided in him her issues then, and after that, he came back every night, waiting for her under that tree. He said he would spend the rest of his listening to her. Sometimes, I think my daughter may have a casted a spell on your poor old man.” Cheria slowly pulled herself out from under the covers. “The name Cheria was perfect because you are their beloved, darling. The human embodiment of their love, which began under that mystical tree. It made sense they chose a name with a resemblance to the fruit.” A month later, her grandmother asked her if she wanted to learn how to make her famous cherry pie bars. That was the only time Cheria assisted her grandmother’s baking. Cheria was always at school or a part-time job whenever her grandmother had the time to bake, so she didn’t know much about pastries. But the bars tasted so heavenly, no matter how many times Cheria ate them. They melted in her mouth perfectly and lifted her spirits no matter how bad of a day she’d been having. 

“Ow.” A few cherries fell on her head then. The sensation brought her out of her reverie. Cheria stopped crying and began to laugh when she realized what had fallen on her. She saw it as a message from the universe that she shouldn’t sulk for what she’s lost, but to remember that the love of her family will always be there, just like her nana told her. She wiped the tears from her face and walked to the lonely cottage. She found her mother’s fruit picking basket and picked cherries from the tree. 

The kitchen was eerily quiet, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The lack of sound shook Cheria to her core. Even after her mother and grandfather died, her grandmother was always making so much noise in the kitchen. Her family had great cooks, but they were nothing if not clumsy. The clanging of pots and pans used to annoy her growing up, but now she felt lost in the silence. 

Cheria racked her brain, trying to think back to the day she made the bars with her nana. She couldn’t remember much, and she refused to look the recipe up online. Her nana never did and neither would she. She remembered she needed flour. All those years ago, her grandmother blew some on her face when she noticed Cheria about to cry - her mother’s death was still a fresh wound in her heart back then. Cheria smiled as she thought about how selfless and caring her grandmother was. She walked to the pantry and tippy-toed to reach for the white powder that was at the top. She saw the sugar and salt and remembered what her grandmother told her that day. “We always need a little bit of both, in baking and life. If we’re too sweet we’d be taken advantage of, too salty and no one will like you. Gotta find that balance, Cher.” Cheria placed the ingredients on the wooden island and tried to think of the other things she needed. She crossed her arms and closed her eyes, a habit she picked up from her father. Whenever he thought carefully, he leaned against something and did what Cheria was doing. She doesn’t know when she began to copy him, but she found it did help her concentrate. “Oh! I have to make the cherry pie filling first.” She had almost forgotten an important step. She found the cherry pitter and began to pit the vermillion fruit. Her grandfather showed her how many years ago, as it was always his job to pit the cherries whenever her grandmother baked. She hummed along as she searched for the lemon juice, cornstarch, water, and almond extract. Cheria realized she knew more about the pastry than she thought. After all, she had been eating it for years. Although she wasn’t always there to witness their creation, her nana lived to tell stories. Cheria decided it would be a good idea to write the recipe down when she remembered what she needed; she ran to the living room, where she had left her journal on the coffee table earlier that day. She ripped out a page, wrote down the ingredients she was using, then went back to working on the filling after she set the paper down on the kitchen’s window sill. She wasn’t sure what to do next but in her head, she heard her grandmother’s voice, telling her about the new saucepan she bought for her well-renowned deserts. Cheria delightfully mixed the components in the pan until it came to a boil, then she began stirring frequently. She recalled she had to stir quite a lot because it was her job when she first baked with her grandma. Before Cheria, it was her granddad’s charge. Whenever her grandmother’s arthritis would flare up, he took over the stirring for her, and he’d try his best to help her out with the rest of the recipe. It was odd he was no longer there to help his wife while she did what she loved most, but her nana kept a bright smile on her face anyway. She added in the almond extract, and when ten minutes had passed, the filling was ready. She let it cool while she tried her best to figure out the rest of the things she needed. She stared at the ripped page and thought intensely. She went to the fridge and picked out the eggs and butter. “Be careful not to drop the eggs.” Her grandmother had told her way back when not even looking at her. Cheria, like the rest of her family, was a tad bit clumsy. She walked extremely carefully to make sure she wouldn’t drop anything as she walked to the island. She went back to the pantry for the vanilla extract and preheated the oven. She creamed the butter, sugar, and salt together in a bowl, and stirred until it was light and fluffy. “Never forget it has to be light and fluffy. Like those cats that think they own this place” Her nana’s hand was guiding hers while she whisked the mixture together. Even after all those years, Cheria never forgot how comforting her nana’s wrinkled fingers felt. She added the flour, eggs, and extracts. She spread the dough onto a baking pan. She couldn’t help but grin as she placed the pie filling on top of the dough. She put the remaining dough above the pie filling, and set it in the oven. 

“Hmm. I feel like I’ve forgotten something again.” Cheria said to herself. Once more, she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, deep in thought. “The glaze is my favorite part. Here’s what we need...” Her grandmother’s voice was so distinct in her head - it was almost tangible. Cheria searched for the milk, extracts, and sugar. She mixed it all in a small bowl. She drizzled it over the top and knew she had finished. All she had to do was wait for them to turn golden brown. Cheria decided to write down the recipe before she forgot it completely. It was still on the window sill, but when she reached for it, the wind from the open window blew it away. Cheria, for some odd reason, decided to run after it instead of getting another paper. The paper found its way behind the cherry tree and landed atop a brown-haired man. Cheria didn’t notice when he had walked into the field. He was sitting peacefully, eyes closed, under the shade of the green leaves, cherries surrounding him. A stray cat Cheria had only seen once and had dubbed "Fluffy", was sleeping next to him. Cheria crouched down and stared at the stranger before her. He lifted the paper off his curly brown hair and slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were the darkest brown she'd ever seen, and the kindest too.

“Is this yours?" He asked, in a voice as sweet as honey. Cheria felt the blood rush to her face, though she wasn’t sure why. “Yes. I’m writing down my nana’s recipe for cherry pie bars.” She said, her head down, trying to hide the red tint on her cheeks. The brown-haired man stood up. He took Cheria’s hands and lifted her to her feet. Cheria looked at the brown hands that encompassed her tan skin; she didn't want him to let go.

"Maybe one day I'll get to try those bars your nana taught you how to make,” He smiled gently at her. He walked away, the cat following closely behind. 

Back in the cottage, she waited for the pie bars to finish. They smelled divine and reminded her of better days. After she let them cool, she ate two. It was quite lonely to eat the pastries by herself; she always had someone by her side while she ate. Cheria baked too many for one person, so she put the rest in the fridge, saving them for another day. 

A few days passed, and Cheria was making breakfast, the soft light on the sun entering the kitchen. She heard a soft purring and scratching coming from the back door. She opened the door and found "Fluffy" trying to scratch his way inside. His owner was not far behind. He apologized profusely, explaining to Cheria that his cat loved her house for some reason. Cheria took his hands in hers and asked, “Would you like to try some cherry pie bars? I’m Cheria, by the way.” His face was beet red, and he tried to hide a laugh, but he was as giddy as a child on Christmas. Although embarrassed, he managed to say, “I’m Lufian. I’d like that.” Cheria took out her picnic basket, placed some of the bars and drinks in it, and led him to the cherry tree. They sat there and talked for hours. As she sat there, laughing with Lufian, his cat in her lap, she looked across the nature that surrounded them. Looking up at that ancient cherry tree, she thought of everything it had witnessed, everything its existence had somehow managed to preserve. Cheria was embarking on a new beginning, but she wasn’t scared anymore. She knew that even though her loved ones were long gone, the love they shared still existed within her memories, and a new kind of love was always going to introduce itself. She laid back against the tree trunk and thought about the happy times she had with her family. Under the comforting shade of the leaves, she daydreamed about the good times yet to come. Cheria breathed in the intoxicating smell of the sweet fruit tree, a smile forming on her face.