Fallen Citrus

It looked like a scene out of an old Italian film. The mountain range stood like a giant, as if painted onto canvas and hung carefully in the backdrop of a movie. Nearby grasshoppers sang a symphony to my ears as cars drummed in a low baritone behind me. The house was of an old Spanish design and painted white, with a red trim that matched the mountains, which were reflecting light from the setting sun. The infinite rows of orange trees, all small with leaves green, stood upright like soldiers in a small army.

This place lives vividly within my memories, because it’s the place where all the possibilities for the future were so vivid. This is the place where all our dreams were in grasp like those succulent oranges. This is the place where love blossomed within me for the first, and strongest, time. This is the place that most makes me remember you.

I can still remember that summer before we left for our different universities and followed our own distinct paths in life. I can remember the way you smelled of fresh lavender and ocean breeze. I remember the way your blue eyes, deeper than the mariana trench, could melt my heart with a glance. I remember all the words spoken in that orchard, all the things we did that summer. Most importantly I remember all the words unspoken, and all the actions not taken; and I’ve never stopped regretting them.

During that time in our lives the fruit was ripe, but as the years passed the fruit fell to the ground and decayed. Ever since I let you go without saying what I have always known to be true, I’ve lived an anhedonic existence. I think often about all the things that I once fantasized about saying, and how I  could never grow the courage within myself to actually say them. 

Perhaps that’s why I always found writing them easier. Inventing these grand romantic characters who say all the things I have always wanted to say to you. These characters got me into the college of my dreams, then later allowed me to write screenplays for Hollywood movies. The words I’ve always wanted to say to you built my life and my career, but my life has still always felt like a barren tree in the winter frost. 

Do you remember the day you left for college, when that last hope for fresh fruit fell and decayed? It was a hot August day, you were wearing a red sundress. That sundress which matched the mountains at sunset and the red trim of your old Spanish house. That’s why I can’t forget this place, because it was the place you called home. The sky was so clear and blue that day, but it couldn’t compare to the blue of your eyes. 

You look beautiful.

That was the first thing unsaid that day, when you met me at the door.

“How are you?” I said to you instead.

You smiled as if you had heard my unspoken words.

“I’m great! Excited for today,” you said.

We walked the length of your endless rows of orange trees, talking about everything we did over the years that we have known each other, the hot air blowing those green branches softly as we walked past. At that time of the year fresh fruit still hung from the tree, while fallen citrus decayed at our feet. 

There were many things unspoken and actions not taken at that point as well. I remember the night, earlier that summer, that we huddled under one of those orange trees watching the stars. The air was still warm in that all encompassing darkness, the only light being the stars above us. I remember  the way you stared up at those stars, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

I smiled looking at you. You looked at me and laughed. 

“What are you looking at?” you said.

“You,” I said. Words that had finally been spoken. 

I remember the way that we both stopped looking at the stars and stared at each other. It felt like time had stopped just for us. The only thing we could hear were the grasshopper’s nearby singing their symphony, and our slowed breaths. This was the moment that I never wanted to leave. One where I could finally do something I have always wanted to do and always written doing, but never could have done before. I remember still being able to see your deep blue eyes in all that darkness. The smell of the lavender and ocean breeze all around me, inviting me to be engulfed by it.

I leaned in and kissed you for the first time.

I didn’t though. Instead I looked up at the stars again and you did as well. I remember once hearing that love was all about chemistry and timing. That in order for love to begin you need both elements to synch up simultaneously. That night both came together in one perfect moment, but I was too scared to give into it. 

After we reached the end of our walk the day you left, the sun had begun to set. I remember the way that you turned around. I remember this specifically because at that point I reached out and grabbed your hand before you could start walking away. You stopped that time and looked back at me. Again we were caught in another moment of perfect synchronization of chemistry and timing. This was the last citrus of the season, ready to be plucked before it could ever fall and rot. 

This was my final chance to say what has always been unsaid, to act on my inaction. I had a second chance to act on this perfect moment. I was again looking into your blue eyes, again wrapped in that sweet scent of the ocean breeze. This second chance was even more perfect than the first, as the mountain range all around us morphed to become the same color as your dress. I finally felt ready to say the thing that has always been unspoken, but I have always known to be true.

I love you.

“Goodbye,” I said instead.

With that one word any chance for grasping ripe fruit fell, and began its slow decay into dust. You again looked as if you had somehow heard those words unspoken.

“I know,” you said. 

You squeezed my hand once and walked back to your packed car, ready to leave on your next stage in life. I stood there looking at you walk away, leaving with any chance for love to bloom. It was night by the time I began to walk out of that orchard. 

That was ten years ago. Now as I walk down that same orchard in a suit and tie, arriving at your wedding, I think of all the possible fruit that could have been plucked. We didn’t fall in love that summer, and I never truly did afterwards. You found love your sophomore year of college, and my notification of this came in the mail three months ago in the form of a wedding invitation. 

There were many things unsaid, and many actions not taken. However, your life continued. You don’t live with the same regrets that I do. Now any love that we could have had has decayed into dust due to my inaction.

In the end our love is just fallen citrus.