My childhood is defined by the baniferous sweetness of orange juice. There was a time when my family and I would go out to eat, and I'm sure everyone was satisfied with the sweet taste of this citrusy beverage. However, because it's so easy to substitute, many of us would occasionally end up drinking some other brand. The one thing that we all found equally unhealthy are their blue/yellow flavored concoctions.
I have always been aware of this dark, sweet flavor that envelops everything in our world. It is one of those few things you can't get enough of without having to try something else. A way to combat the boredom and monotony of not knowing what to do with your next grocery store run, I started stocking up on these foods at local supermarkets around my school. By the following weekend, my parents were already considering making me a regular customer, and they agreed that I could buy orange juice. So after spending hours shopping for whatever other products I wanted, I was finally able to purchase my very own bottle of orange juice! With excitement, I filled up the black plastic bottle with only my two friends' names written neatly on the cardboard, and we began readingied ourselves for the rest of the day. We would take turns opening and pouring the warm liquid into our glasses, each of us adding our name to the growing list of customers who had come to enjoy every last drop from that day. After a whole week, I'd had enough to share, while my friend was still looking forward to the second delivery tomorrow. At any rate, she was going to be first in line.
On her face, she looked like an angel with her beautiful yellow skin. Her long curly brunette hair was styled perfectly and flowed down to her shoulders as she stood there. As for me, I was about ten feet tall, wearing a pair of blue jeans, and my eyes were almost set to become greenish-blue under the green hue of the orange juice.
I made my choice at that moment. When I took one glance at the little red package that held my orange juice, all thoughts immediately went to how cute I thought she was. Little did I know that just moments later, I'd find myself talking about how much I loved her. In the midst of my conversations with my friends at the supermarket, I decided to sit and talk with her throughout the rest of the day. Though it wasn't required for me to act as if I were actually interested in talking, I allowed myself to feel the sensation of curiosity that usually accompanied new events.
As the days passed, we began discussing our feelings towards each other. I didn't want to make anything more awkward than it already was, so my voice remained flat and didn't drift into any weird voice inflection. She seemed genuinely nice, and told me to look over my shoulder as often as she could, knowing that I would see the smiling faces of my friends staring back at me. This new feeling of excitement brought tears to my eyes as I hoped the others knew that I was crying for this girl! But sadly, no one but me noticed. Eventually, as we became busier as the weeks wore on, my interest shifted once again. Our conversation turned from topics that were purely superficial to ones that were deeply rooted in our hearts. Soon, the topic of whether or not I should tell her that my mom didn't let her sleep with another boy went down on my brain. Though the timing made sense, the timing was completely irrelevant; I couldn't believe how happy I felt when someone asked me about my feelings towards her. Since the beginning, I've never really been able to tell my friends anything about the relationship I had with my mother. All I've ever known about her is that she was a wonderful woman, and she made every effort to create a bond between us. Not only that, but she also worked tirelessly to support my brother and sister in times when they needed her the most. For my mother to treat me how she did meant everything to me, and I felt a slight twinge of disappointment when the fact that she didn't choose to do so was revealed. On top of that, my father had been away for several months, so all I spent time alone with my grandfather. Even though he wasn't home all day, he would spend a lot of his time cleaning the kitchen before coming back to work to cook dinner and watch television shows. He wasn't exactly the type to say too much, which I thought was appropriate, since he only ever said it once, "It's hard being gone." Although I knew that he didn't say it, it struck me that night as he didn't want to leave his daughter alone. Despite this, I still found myself wishing that he had never left.
Throughout the morning, before I even got out the door, I would talk of him leaving, and then discuss where he was heading. Each day we would discuss what his plans were, trying to figure out what kind of man he was. After a short amount of time passing, we would return to our lives as regular young adults. Then later in the afternoon, as my grandfather finished cooking lunch for me, I would tell him about how excited I was for my birthday present, and how much fun I had having him here. I'd eventually explain that it was my gift, and no longer felt sad about its disappearance. Instead, I hoped that maybe he would have appreciated that gesture all along. From that point onwards, there came a day when I found myself searching for my birthday present. Unfortunately, my mum had given it to somebody else instead of me. To my dismay, my grandmother tried to help me find my prize, saying how she hoped that I'd soon start showing my appreciation for my friend. I was shocked and confused at this point, and my grandmother continued to convince me to accept it back. While my mother was taking out the trash, I made a phone call to pick up my presents. I didn't care that my older cousin was living with us now for a bit longer, especially since we'd gotten along quite well.
I picked up the package, thinking that we'd be walking through town, getting changed and all, for the big event we'd held for her. Alas, none of them were home, and the party's guest was the opposite sex. What little we knew about each other's sexual preferences only added to my embarrassment. As we approached the house, my uncle greeted us by saying that we'd been invited, saying that he'd be glad to have us. Just moments later, my dad came running out to greet us, telling us that we were there already. My mum and auntie were nowhere to be seen, and when we reached the front door, there was nothing but silence.
We didn't think that we could hear her voice, until the moment I saw her sitting on the chair, surrounded by the group of girls that I'd seen earlier. Suddenly, everything flashed through my mind: my dad, her best friend, my grandma. I had missed everything after he left. My grandmother looked the exact same as she had just a moment ago, except, obviously, now that she was standing there with us. I looked around, hoping to see others of my cousins in attendance at the party. But I knew that I wouldn't find them. They weren't in class after school either, so I didn't think I'd be able to see them either. I tried to keep a calm tone though, and I managed to maintain an understanding tone in spite of all of the small details surrounding her.
I asked my nephew if he knew where my parents were, and he nodded proudly. In that moment, all that mattered was the fact that I was holding my birthday present. "Thank you for bringing it to me," I replied softly. My auntie gave a short nod and said that she would check back in with me as soon as possible, and that she'd be right there in the meantime. As her arms rested upon my shoulders, I realized that I wasn't entirely certain about where my parents were, but I could confirm with my nephew that they were indeed there. That was a relief. We walked together for a while, and I remembered how great it felt holding his hand. His warm hands made me smile every time we passed. Finally, at the end of the street, we stopped so that we could enjoy each other in the sunlight. Without even realizing what I was doing, my lips began to tremble in anticipation for the kiss that he sent. After his mouth touched mine, I pulled up my panties once more as quickly as it could, and kissed him back. Immediately, I felt butterflies rush across me. I wondered how long we would spend together now, how my parents thought that I was crazy, or even how he thought that he'd gotten to know me. He was suddenly pressed against my body, creating a sort of gravity as the pressure tightened. All I could feel was warmth and familiarity, and a brief sense of guilt that I didn't realize was there until years later. Yet, despite the initial confusion, I was soon led off into a deeper deepness of joy that I could barely understand. My cheeks burned, and my heart pumped rapidly as I wondered what to do. At that same moment, he kissed my forehead and chuckled softly.
"I don’t know what to say, but… I love you," he whispered, as his breath caught mine. "I love you, I love you… please don’t tell me I’m stupid, please tell me I’m dreaming." I gasped violently. It hurt, but I felt incredibly moved as both of us kissed one another. After a moment, my head finally settled down upon his shoulder, making me giggle softly. A small grin crossed my face, and his thumb gently stroked it in agreement.
All the