....It was a normal morning, and I had taken my regular seat, third from the back on the 601 bus to school, when I looked over and saw that the person occupying the seat next to me was not a person at all, but a small Valencia orange.
He was dressed in a smart red hat and matching boots. I say “he” for the sake of brevity although it just as easily could have been a she, It’s hard to tell with fruit.
“It’s not very nice to stare,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, more than a little taken aback. “It’s just that I’ve never seen an orange in boots before, much less one that could talk.”
“Yes, ” sighed the orange. “I get that a lot. But you’d be surprised just what a thing can do if they just put their mind to it. You weren’t born with shoes on your feet and language in your head, but I’ll bet no one’s ever been surprised that you can walk or talk.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I said, taking a moment to glance at the other passengers, self-conscious of how strange the whole situation was. Was it even real, or was I home safe in my bed? Maybe I was dead.
If I was, no one else seemed to notice. An elderly couple up front argued over a grocery receipt. The boy in the seat behind me was fast asleep with his head smooshed up against the window, a smear of drool on the glass. It seemed safe to carry on the conversation.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how is it that you learned to talk?”
“Oh, I’ve always been the ambitious type. Mother said she never had an orange grow ripe quite so fast as I did.” he said as he straightened himself up a bit.
“Mother?” I asked as I imagined a whole family of walking talking citruses.
“My tree,” explained the orange. “I was grown in California, on an orchard with hundreds like me. Only, I wasn’t content to just sit on my branch and wait to be picked. I had dreams, you see. I’d always wanted to be a cowboy.”
