Tommie Lyn

The Orange

Actions have consequences...

He looked around, squinting. No one would notice. He grabbed the orange, reached in his pocket for his knife and winced. He pulled his hand from his pocket and dropped the knife. He clutched his chest and his wince became an expression of outright pain. He turned his face toward the distant truck where other pickers were emptying their baskets, his mouth opened in a mute cry for help, he took one step, faltered and fell on his face. His body knocked over the basket of fruit he'd picked, and the oranges scattered across the ground. The orange he held rolled free from his hand and traveled farther than the others, coming to rest against a fence post.

The fiery orb of the sun hung above the western horizon as though it was reluctant to slip behind the darkening landscape. An old woman in ragged clothes shuffled along the dusty road that ringed the grove, the sole of one shoe making a slap-slap sound with each step. She saw the orange lying within reach, and her eyes shifted back and forth as she turned her head, making sure no witnesses would observe her actions. She'd have to reach inside the wire barrier to get the piece of fruit, and if anyone saw her...well...she'd just have to make sure no one did.

She held the piece of fruit like a jeweler would hold the Hope diamond, brought it to her nose and sniffed.

"Mmm."

A slight smile of anticipation altered her sagging face, lifting its lines and rearranging its planes into a softer appearance. So engrossed was she in her contemplation of the orange and her expectation of enjoyment it would bring that she didn't hear the engine of the sports car hurtling along the road toward her.

The silver car topped the hill, smacked into the old woman and knocked her into the ditch. She dropped the orange and it rolled down the hill behind the car like a tag-along younger sibling, but stopped when it reached the bottom. The darkness of night came and went, and the orange glistened with the faint sweat of dew when the morning sun's rays rested lightly on it.

Two boys padded barefoot along the side of road, fishing poles resting on their shoulders.

"Looky there, Johnny," said the older and taller of the two. "An orange."

"Yeah, but it ain't our'n. You know what Pa says about pickin' up things that don't belong to us."

The older boy shrugged and the two walked past the orange. "Well, it sure woulda tasted good after we been fishin' awhile."

The boys reached the top of the hill and saw the body of the old woman lying in the ditch by the fence. They ran to summon help, and the body was taken away. And the orange rested alone in silence again.

Late in the day, the boys returned from their fishing expedition, each with a stringer of fish slung over his shoulder with his rod. They reached the bottom of the hill when a rattle-trap pickup veered down the road toward them. The pickup stopped, and a man leaned out the open window, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel, the other propped in the window.

"Where you boys headed?"

"Home."

"Looks like you got a nice mess of fish there, Walter."

"Yes sir."

"Just wanted to thank you for lettin' us know about the old woman."

Walter shrugged.

The man's eyes fell on the orange. "Hmm. Wonder how that got down here?" He looked at the boys. "Y'all like to have that orange?"

"Sure would."

"Well, help yourself," the man said. "You got my permission."

Johnny stooped and grasped the green and yellow globe. "Thanks, Mr. Jenkins."

"Yeah, thanks," said Walter.

Mr. Jenkins continued on his way to town and the brothers split the orange in half.

"Boy, this sure is a sweet one," Johnny wiped the juice from his chin.

"Guess what Clyde said ain't necessarily so."

"What's that?"

"He says stolen fruit is the sweetest, but I think this here's the sweetest durn orange I've ever et."