The Peach Field (A very short story by me)

The sunshine slowly filled Heather’s room, eventually landing on her sleeping face. Heather opens her eyes carefully, blinded by the morning sun and as she slowly moves her body under the sheets, she hears a crunching sound under her hip. Once again she has fallen asleep while eating biscuits in bed.

“Heather! Heather, get up,” shouts Linda, the African American maid. Heather gasps knowing if Linda found biscuits in her bed again, she wouldn’t let Heather play with father’s taxidermied animals while he was away.

“Yes I am Linda,” Heather yells, beginning to remove the evidence by stuffing biscuit parts in her mouth.  “Is something the matter?”

“Today’s the day you walk in the peach field with your Grandmother,” Linda raises the pitch of her voice, “And she’s here!”

Heather’s eyes shot to the calendar on her bedroom wall, sure enough it was the first Monday of April.  The first Monday of every month, Heather and her Grandmother go walking in the peach field.

“Okay, be down shortly!” Heather says, with a mouth half full of stale biscuits.

In the kitchen, Linda is taking fresh biscuits out of the oven, while Grandmother is laughing hysterically about a story she just told.

“...you should have seen her; white pants before memorial day,” Grandmother says.

“That must have been some sight Ms. Grandmother,” Linda replies, more interested in removing the fresh biscuits from the oven.

“There’s my girl,” Grandmother says as she notices Heather coming down the stairs. “Are you ready or do you want to eat something?”

“No, I’m good Grandmother, let’s go,” Heather glances at Linda, who is now feverishly churning butter in the middle of the kitchen, “Bye Linda, have fun.”

“Okay, bye.” Linda says, sweating.

The peach field is on the other side of the road of where Heather lives. It’s been in her family for years, Grandmother used to play in it during the depression, when the field was a dust bowl for a little while. She and Heather have been taking these monthly walks for about three years, ever since Grandmother’s doctor told her she needed to exercise and lose weight. Heather likes to motivate her, as they walk in a zig zag motion through the peaches and tall grass.

“Oink oink, Grandmother, find those truffles,” Heather commands, as she dances around her red-faced grandmother.

Not far into their walk, Grandmother pleads, “Let’s take a break,” and begins sitting down. Heather, pretending she didn’t hear, stays in character, “You smell one? You smell a truffle? Oink, oink. Get it!”

Heather eventually snaps out of it and sits next to her panting grandmother. They sit quietly for a while.

“Grandmother?”

“Yes, Heather?”

Heather hesitates, “See...There’s this boy, and, well, I’ve noticed him for a while at Shabbat, and he’s really cute.”

Grandmother smiles, “Oh ya, which one are you looking at?”

“Mitch Steinberg.”

“Oh yes, the Steinbergs. They’re a nice family, I’m sure Mitch is the same.”

“Well, Piggy, what should I say?”

“Piggy’s not my name.”

“Well, Grandmother, what should I say?”

“Compliment him,” Grandmother continued, “Compliment him on his shoes. Men love compliments, and they like it when you talk about them.”

Heather looked at Grandmother and smiled, “Is that what you did with Grandfather?”

“Well,” Grandmother composing herself after a little chuckle. “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember. We were always complimenting each other, I can’t remember who started it though.”

“That’s sweet,” Heather says, plucking a peach from a shallow tree and taking a bite.“What if Mitch doesn’t say anything back? Or he says something mean?”

“Then good!” Grandmother shouts, disturbing a family of birds. “Wouldn’t you rather know it now, then two weeks or two years or twenty years down the road?”

“Know what?”

“Know if he’s the kind of person you want to be around. If a man can’t be nice when you’re complimenting him, then there’s something wrong between his ears.” They both sit quietly for a little while.

“Do you miss Grandfather?”

“Oh yes, all the time,” Grandmother admitted, pushing her hat a little further over her eyes to block the rising sun, “But that’s okay.”  If I didn’t miss him, then what's the point? It’s healthy, missing him. You see, this is all temporary." Grandmother pauses, looks around.  "We get excited in the spring when we see these trees fill up with peaches. It’s beautiful. But like a fifty-six year marriage, it has to end some time."

Heather sits motionless, contemplating what Grandmother just said. She stares at an old peach on the ground, then notices Grandmother's wrinkled hand.  Heather abruptly gives her Grandmother a big awkward hug, catching her off guard. They hold each other in the hot Alabama sun with teary eyes, and happy faces.  

About twenty feet away, a deer appears out of the woods that border the peach field. Grandmother and Heather still engaged, look at the deer, then one another, and smile.

“You ready Heather?” Grandmother asks.

“Always.”

They both pull 9mm glocks from the small of their backs and begin unloading a round of lead into Bambi. Smoke is everywhere, the smell of sulphur overpowers the peach fragrance. As they shoot, both Heather and Grandmother have the same slack-jawed expression---like two Stephen Hawkings shooting a deer. Finally they run out of bullets. The smoke begins to clear.

“Daddy will love this one for his collection!” Heather says to Grandmother. “Hey Linda, we have another animal that needs stuffing!”  Linda looks at the two ladies quietly through the kitchen window, shakes her head, takes a swig of whiskey. Linda does that a lot.