The Peach by Rayne Dowell

It was the last peach left in the box, and it was the largest, most perfect, luscious peach I’d ever seen. 

I quickly grabbed it and scurried away. 

Lovingly, I gently washed it and set aside not one, but two, paper towels to eat along with it: knowing it would be so succulent, that rivers of its wonderful nectar would surely need to escape out of the sides of my mouth. 

That night, I dreamed of eating my peach.

In the morning, I made my lunch and gently placed my beautiful peach inside my lunch bag.  Smiling, I thought about eating it outside, beneath a tree, in the sunshine, at lunch. 

I sauntered happily to the bus stop and gingerly placed my lunch bag next to me on the bus bench.

I thought about my wondrous peach on the bus ride – how there wasn’t a puncture mark, a bruise or a blemish on its skin.  My mouth tingled with anticipation. 

I revelled in the fact that this peach was perfect and I was going to be eating it.

The bus lurched to a stop.  I looked, and halfway down the street, a homeless guy was sitting on the sidewalk. 

Then a strange feeling bubbled up my spine and gently landed in my head.  The feeling morphed into a small, soft, insistent voice that told me I needed to give my peach to him. 

I was stunned, I couldn’t believe it… 

I balked, unable to accept my terrible luck… the irony of it.

I debarked the bus and dejectedly shuffled to the crosswalk, my brain wanting to cross the street.

Still, my feet kept walking towards him, the voice quietly encouraging me. 

As I kept walking towards him, my brain rebelled, telling me to run! Run! with my peach. 

Instead, my feet stopped in front of him. 

Silently, he looked up at me.  I sighed and finally knelt down in front of him. 

I slowly brought the peach out of my lunch bag and held it lovingly in my hands, turning it this way and that, admiring it… torturing myself.

Finally, I lowered the peach and looked him in the eye.  

“It was the last one, you know…  I love peaches.”

He stayed silent.  

“I was so looking forward to eating it, I can’t believe it,” I said, shaking my head. 

Still, he said nothing.  

I sighed. 

Reverently, I handed him the peach.

With dirty, cracked, rough hands, he gently cupped it.  

“You’ll be needing these,” I said, giving him the paper towels.  

I took one last look at the peach.  

“You’re a lucky guy, you know.”  

He nodded his head solemnly. 

Sighing again, I stood up and slowly walked away.

At the end of the block, I looked back, and he was still cupping the peach, looking at me. 

When I remember that day, it occurs to me that he gave me a greater gift that day than I gave him.