Fruit Man

Dahle Sinnott Andrea

Description

This is the fictional story of a young teacher who meets the fruit man of a bodega and has a brief affair. She is set to wed a lawyer. The lawyer dies in an accident and she meets the fruit man ten years later at the Rockefeller Xmas tree. They find romance again with some twists and turns.

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 11 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781622872657
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Fruit Man
Andrea Dahle Sinnott


First Edition Design Publishing
THE FRUIT MAN

By:

Andrea Dahle Sinnott
The Fruit Man
Copyright ©2013 Andrea Dahle Sinnott
ISBN 978-1622872-65-7

February 2013

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means ─ electronic, mechanical, photo-copy, recording, or any other ─ except brief quotation in reviews, without the prior permission of the author or publisher.
This is a fictional story. Any similarities to real persons or events are coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
I first encountered Enrique Lopez in December of 1999. I was on my way to a bodega a few blocks away from the elementary school where I taught third grade. The air was crisp with winter’s cold and I hummed a tune softly to myself as I walked along the main thoroughfare of the town.
Feeling the spirit of the approaching holidays, I reached into my pocket and gave a few dollars to a homeless man. He was slowly making his way along the busy avenue with a shopping cart filled with dented cans and the few precious treasures he could call his own. He tipped his ragged cap at me in gratitude while flashing a crooked smile.
Back at the school, my students were busily preparing for our holiday party with my teacher’s aide Mrs. Craig while I dashed off on my lunch break to buy some tropical fruit for the much awaited festivities that would take place in the afternoon.
The giggles and excited eyes of the children were a delight to me these past days. They made decorations out of construction paper and hung them around the room and whispered among themselves of their expectations for the days ahead. They held in their small hearts the spirit of happiness that youth seems to embrace so easily. I was privileged to be able to share in their enthusiasm.
I taught in a large district out on Long Island in New York. Through the years the town has become a haven for immigrants from South and Central America, many of them here in this country-- illegally .
Many of the students were learning to speak English as well as mastering their other subjects. It was a difficult task for both teacher and student, but I enjoyed the challenge of teaching them with the hope that they would become productive adults in a complicated world.
I picked up a basket as I entered the bodega and headed for the bin of oranges in the fruit and vegetable section of the market. I wanted the children to have something to munch on besides candy and cupcakes.
“I help you?”
I didn’t look up, but put a number of oranges in a big plastic bag. “Thank you, I’m fine,” I said to the voice, not wanting to be impolite. I was in a hurry. I only had forty five minutes for my lunch period and had used up a portion of it walking here.
I selected some mangoes and a bunch of bananas and hurried off to the register. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tall, slender man in the green apron looking after me.
The checker bagged my purchases and I went off once again into the chilly air and back to the school to finish the last minute touches for the party.
“Your cheeks are rosy,” said Lilly, one of the other teachers, as I passed her in the hall. She noticed my bags. “You are ambitious, trekking out to the store for your class.”
“Just some fruit,” I said. “In order to have a cupcake, they have to eat a little fruit.”
She smiled at me. It was Lilly’s first year at teaching. It was my fourth year, but my first in this school. “You are such a good teacher, Sarah. I hope I can be as inventive as you.”
“Well, thank you, Lilly,” I said. It was always nice to get a compliment especially from a colleague. Being a good teacher was an important part of my life.
I went to the bodega again a few days later before going home to my apartment in a nearby town. I needed milk and bread for the following morning. I would be off from work for a week and a half with the Christmas recess and I was looking forward to sleeping late and working on the details of my upcoming wedding.
“Hello, Miss.”
I looked over to where the voice was coming from. It looked like the same fruit man who had greeted me a few days ago. His dark wavy hair was partially covered with a white cap. He was smiling at me. “Feliz Navidad,” he said. His teeth were very even and white.
I couldn’t help smiling back at him. “And Feliz Navidad to you,” I replied. There was something about him--something--exotic might be the word.
“You are a teacher?” He asked me.
I stopped at the counter where he had been carefully piling coconuts. He pointed to the school ID that hung on a green lanyard around my neck. His deep brown eyes looked so seriously at me.
“Yes, I am a teacher,” I replied and started to walk on.
“I need to learn the English,” he said.
Oh, here it comes. He wanted something from me.
“You speak pretty well,” I told him wondering why I was spending time chatting when all I wanted to do was get home, put my feet up and sip a hot cup of tea.
“You could teach me the English? I pay you to teach me.” He had a determined look on his face. I was sure he didn’t have a lot of money to pay me anything.
“I am so busy,” I told him. “I can just manage to teach my class these days and I don’t do private tutoring. I am sorry.”
“And I am sorry to ask this,” he said. “I do not want to be a--bothering person to you.” He smiled slightly and looked down at the worn tiles on the floor.
I could see that he was disappointed. What was it about this guy in the long green apron? He was-- good looking. He had a twinkle in his dark eyes and a certain vulnerability about him that was-- appealing. Not to me, though, I told myself sternly. I was about to be married. I wasn’t looking for anyone appealing .
I thought for a minute. “The public library in town here has people who volunteer to teach English and reading to people--like you. You might try that,” I told the fruit man.
“I will do that.” He gave me a little smile. “Thank you, Miss,” he said. I left him tending to the hairy fruit. Coconuts, they seemed-- sensual in his hands.
I smiled to myself as I paid for my purchases and left the store. Was this guy flirting with me? Stop it.
I didn’t have a lot of confidence around men. I would often feel awkward among women as well. To my way of thinking, I didn’t emanate the savvy that other women possessed and dispensed so easily. I would make an effort to be casual and sophisticated, but inevitably, I was the date who got her pocketbook caught on the doorknob or tripped over a tree stump during a romantic walk in the park. I would also be the one to have a bit of romaine lettuce stuck in her tooth while lunching at a trendy restaurant or better yet come out of the Ladies’ Room with the back of her dress caught up in her panty hose. All of these incidents have actually happened to me. Get the picture?
Despite my bit of clumsiness, I was serious about life and the things I wanted to accomplish and I was wary of the consequences of my actions. I was always attempting to do my best like a good scout or something like that. I meant well.
And yet-- I have been known to dance on a table in a yellow bikini and enter a wet T shirt contest after a few vodka cocktails. Those were rare times, but it proved that there was a side of me that could enjoy a romp in the wild.
Then, there was my love life. My cousin Grete contended that I was not assertive enough with men and that was why my few previous semi-long term relationships were not lucrative. I like that word. I didn’t think that romance had to be lucrative, but Grete believed that a woman had to be wise--especially in her love life. “A woman has to assess her relationships apart from the hormonal lust that often drives them,” she stated with great conviction. Many of her ideas were a product of classes she took in women’s studies at college.
“Remember Mike?” She would ask me with a toss of her head.
“Of course I remember Mike. I went out with him for two years.”
“A loser if I ever saw one.” Grete didn’t mince words. Mike had changed colleges three times and his major, I think four times. He wanted me to get an apartment with him, but Grete and my best friend Moira intervened.
“You’ll be supporting him.” They sang the words in a duet.
Well, I would have helped him out, that was the way I was, but Mike met the daughter of a prominent doctor at a local pub one night and our romance took a quick turn for the worst. He found Gillian to be more helpful than me. Nice guy.
Then there was Ben. Ben had this burning ambition to climb Mount Everest and since his father spoiled him rotten, he was able to enjoy his whims. Ben would go off to Colorado and other mountainous places with his friends and when he came home he would be attentive to me--until the next climb.
“Yeah, well climb this, Ben,” Moira expostulated with her fist outstretched and a mean look on her pert face. She was right. Ben and I eventually parted ways as the saying goes.
Ben and Mike were my two main relationships during my younger years. There was casual dating in between, nothing spectacular.
That was why Grete decided to introduce me to Alex. She teased me that Alex was assertive and that I might learn some things from him. He was also quite a catch, coming from a family who had made a fine reputation for themselves in the legal field. Alex and his family came from immigrant Irish. McClellan, McClellan and McClellan was the name of their firm and Grete worked there as a paralegal.
Grete decided on a double date. There would be Alex McClellan and me along with the assistant district attorney she was dating. We would meet at her apartment.
My cousin Grete was a confident young woman. I had to give her th