Strawberries

My favorite berry was always a strawberry. I hated the flavor. I hated the color. I hated the way they looked, all covered in those ugly little seeds. But it was my favorite berry.

I used to sit outside in the lawn with a bowl of strawberries and a bowl of sugar. I wouldn't eat the strawberries. I hated them. I ate the sugar.

You used to come and you'd eat the strawberries and I'd eat the sugar and you'd tell me about college. "It's fun," you'd say. "I like it."

I think you liked college the same way I liked strawberries.

The first day you left for college I asked you if you would ever come back. I couldn't see you getting in that car and leaving me forever. You laughed and pulled my hair and told me you'd always be back. "I'll always come back for you," you told me.

I cried the day you left and Nana couldn't make me eat and Papa couldn't make me sleep and I sat outside with my strawberries and wished someone was there to eat them.

Strawberries have an ugly color. Red. Red is the color of blood, of hate, of anger, of rage. It's the color of smashing my fingers in the car door. It's the color of squashed cats under car tires. It's the color of despising someone's very insides. It's the color of scars and of burning.

It's not the color of love because love isn't red. Love is blue or green or gray. Not red.

I counted every day you were gone at college. I wrote them up my arms and down my legs and over my face. My birthday was on the 167th day and I ate sugar and flattened strawberries under my bare feet.

Papa was angry when he saw the strawberries and he took away my paper and I went outside and screamed...

You called me late at night and said happy birthday.

I remember your birthday because it was exactly 203 days after mine and 167 plus 203 is 390. Nana said I did useless math but I did it for sanity's sake and I don't know what she meant but I know I had to. I had to count and add or I'd scream. You used to help me count the strawberries and all the seeds on them.

You came home for the holidays and I sat in the snow with my strawberries and I told you how much I hated them.

"But they're my favorite," I said. I had to make you understand.

You nodded solemnly. "Like college," she said.

I threw a strawberry at you and watched the red splash on your white shirt. It reminded me of blood and smashed fingers in a car door and the cat under the tires and I was scared and I ran away. I heard you calling my name but I was afraid to look at you.

You caught me and held me and told me it was okay, it was alright.

I never cry.

That summer we sat on the beach and ate strawberries. I counted the seeds and there were 390 on the biggest one and that made me sad.

I hated the water. I threw all the strawberries you didn't eat into the water and you were quiet and watched me.

You found someone you loved and I watched as you got married. I came to your wedding and gave you a strawberry and you smiled...

My favorite berry is a strawberry. I hate the flavor. I hate the color. I hate the way they look all covered in those ugly little seeds. But it is my favorite berry.