We bought bananas

We bought bananas

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Fiction

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Moral rights

S.E. Saunders asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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Authors Note:

While the assertion above states the stories found in this book are fictional, I will include notes where the stories aren't fiction. The following is based on events from my life.

We embarked on a banana-buying adventure. The day before tragedy struck. Picture us struggling to carry a massive forty-pound box of bananas through the winding path that led to our backyard. Why we decided to make this peculiar purchase remains a mystery, but mischief danced in our eyes as we anticipated raised eyebrows and gossip from our ever-vigilant neighbour. The woman had an insatiable appetite for meddling in other people's affairs and was always ready to unleash her disapproval with a quick dial to the authorities.

Once, I dared to contort my face into a mocking expression aimed her way. It was admittedly impolite, but she had a talent for gawking at everyone in our complex like a gaping fish. What I wanted to do was smack her smug face. In retaliation, she wasted no time dialling child protective services and levelling accusations of neglect against my mother.

Mom was many things, but we could have dined off the pristine floors in her home, and no children were better cared for within the entire row of low-income housing. To our amusement, when the social worker graced our doorstep, she was taken aback by the prompt admission into my mother's sparsely furnished yet immaculate home.

My mother explained the exasperating situation and shared tales of another neighbour's grievances with this vexatious woman. You see, this neighbour had already levelled several other complaints at others. One because the woman who lived kitty-corner to our townhome dared to sit on her front steps and smoke her cigarettes for too long. Justice had its day, though. Her false claims caught up with her, and she faced her own reprimand. She wouldn't look at us from that day forward. Frankly, I would have preferred to leave a flaming bag of poop on her doorstep, but the heavens had their way of dealing with her.

Despite our circumstances, our household was filled with laughter. We made the most of what we had, finding contentment in the simple joys, and we had reason to celebrate that fateful day. The insufferable neighbour had gotten her comeuppance, and we had bananas—lots of them.

As we approached the house, a misstep almost sent my mother tumbling off the slight stoop. With quick reflexes, I steadied her, and we burst into laughter, imagining the wild theories our nosy neighbour would concoct. What would she say this time? Drunkenness, perhaps?

My heart swelled, and in a rare moment of emotional vulnerability, I felt compelled to express my love for my mom. It was a beautiful day amidst a sea of hardships, and I felt a glimmer of hope because we were both in a good place. We were happy and safe.

We chatted about my upcoming wedding in December, and the tasks still left to tackle. I didn't know the significance of the day.

I know it now, though. It's forever imprinted on my heart.

As the sun cast its gentle rays upon me the following day, a bittersweet ache enveloped my weary body, remnants of the bananas we carried throughout the store, onto the bus, and up the steps. I stayed in bed. Usually, I would gather my little ones, and together we would embark on a familiar journey to her place. Those days were when our lives intertwined seamlessly, like the delicate threads of a tapestry woven with love. Each day was a symphony of shared laughter, the aroma of freshly baked goods, and the simple joy of wandering through the aisles of a local shop. What we lacked in necessities, our spirits thrived, nourished by the warmth of our smiles.

It was through the neighbour I found out she was in an ambulance on her way to the hospital. Her boyfriend, my future brother-in-law, told me she had had a heart attack. She was forty-two. Too young to have a heart attack. Too young to die, I reasoned. She'd survive. I wasn't worried. I asked the neighbour to watch my children and walked to the hospital. If I'd known the circumstances, I would have run.