Page 8 of Then Came the Fall
We continued that way for a few minutes, talking and picking, moving slowly down the row, being careful not to step in muddy spots.
“Where you from? You look kind of familiar,” he said.
“I’m from Queens. It’s in the city.”
“Oh. I live in Bethpage. It’s in Nassau County.”
“Yeah. Most of the kids here come from Long Island. It’s okay, though. One day when I’m a grown up, I’ll move to Long Island. I like it better than where I’m from.”
“How come?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s quieter. I live on this famous street called Queens Boulevard. You know why it’s famous? Because people get killed from bad drivers there all the time.”
The boy looked at me, horrified.
“You’ve got to be street smart. Cross at the red and all that. My mom says it all the time. We get the right of way, 'cause we’re pedestrians.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the walking people. We don’t drive. Only my dad does. Me and my mom take the subway and bus to get places.”
“Cool. I’ve never been on a subway.” He held up a green bean. “Hey, you think you can eat these?”
I laughed. “Uh, yeah. What do you think we’re picking them for, silly? Dottie—that’s our cook—she’ll probably serve them for dinner or something.”
“I dare you to eat one!” the boy said, smiling.
“Raw?” I grimaced.
“Yeah, raw.”
“That’s gross. But I’ll do it if you do it.”
He laughed, accepting the challenge. “Okay,” he said, wiping a string bean off on his mesh shorts. “On three. You ready?”
I chose a small bean pod from the basket and wiped the dirt off the end. I nodded.
“One, two, three!”
We both chomped down on the end of our respective green beans, our faces twisting at the taste. We stared at each other, unwilling to swallow.
Suddenly, a whistle blew. I turned to the side and spit out the mouthful of chunky, green slime, laughing. He mirrored me, sputtering into a nearby plant.
“C’mon, guys! Head over to the peach trees!” Derek called.
“That was nasty!” the boy declared.
“Yeah, those are way better after Dottie cooks them,” I agreed, expelling leftover pieces into the rows of crops.
We carried our basket out and dropped it at the gate.
“Race you to the peaches!” he called, tearing off ahead of me.
“Hey! Wait up! You never even told me your name!” I yelled, giggling.
I caught up to him at the orchard, where he climbed halfway up a stout peach tree. “I’m Matt,” he said. “And I’ll bet you a million dollars I can find the biggest peach on this tree.”
We searched and picked, comparing peaches, taking bites to test ripeness, basking in the warmth of midday sun and new friendship. I had such a good time that by the end of the period I completely forgot to go visit the bunnies in the barn.
