Cherry

A Story by Tippytoe396

The short and sweet story of an old man recalling the happy and sad childhood memories involving his best friend- and cherries.

Cherry

I always believed that the cherry was the best part of an ice cream sundae. The rest of the sundae was absolutely delicious, with all the gooey caramel sauce, melted fudge and crushed pecans, but I always saved the cherry for last. As a child, paying seven cents for an ice cream sundae on a hot summer day was a treat that only happened on special occasions because of our tight budget. However, due to my clumsiness, I would often spill my sundae, but I always thought the way the ice cream and toppings elegantly blended together was absolutely fascinating. The ice cream would eventually melt away, but the cherry always remained- glistening with bright crimson in the light. The cherry always remained.

I was nine years old when the Knoll family moved into the house across the street. It was a beautiful, beautiful place- a charming yellow shade that reminded me of the bright summer sun and hand-crafted white shutters all around. It was at least three stories high, too. From inside my own small house, with its chipping green exterior, rusty door knocker, creaky porch, and peeling floral wallpaper, those three stories were enough to make my neck cramp as I watched from my tiny bedroom day and night.
My parents got a divorce when I was six years old, and I still vividly remember trying to drown out their shouting and cussing. Almost every night after they separated, my mother would go to the bar and spend nearly our whole week's income and then stumble to her bedroom with men I've never seen in my life.
I didn't particularly enjoy being home, so I would often try to find ways to play ball or search for large rocks with the boys from town. Most of the time, however, my offers were turned down because I was considered an outsider and "the silent one."
My town made up of 147 people, and most went to the tiny white church on the corner. On Sunday, February 14 of 1933 I attended church and noticed a new, but familiar face behind the pedestal. It was Mr. Knoll. In the front row sat his family, Mrs. Knoll, a young lady with curly brown hair and a welcoming charm. And then there Lucy, a young girl as skinny as a rod with flaming red hair and a bubbly personality that could stand out even from twelve rows behind. When she turned around to give another woman the peace of Christ, I noticed how she had impish dimples and a soft pink flush that vividly stood out against her ivory skin, like the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae.
The white wind howled on that cold February day, so I bundled up in the woollen scarf that my grandmother made me and my long underwear. I trudged down the steps to grab a huge empty box that was initially used to package a new lamp my mother got for Christmas. I then flipped it upside down and wrote in large letters:

HOT CHOCOLATE
ONLY 5 ¢

I rummaged through the peeling wallpaper, which was where I stashed my money, and collected the thirty-one cents. My mother hid the chocolate in her bedroom, so I searched under her bed and in her nightstand. There was one chocolate bar tucked away, along with a few half-smoked cigarettes and crinkled dollars that appeared every night, presumably from the men that I only ever saw once.
I had set up my station outside the front door of my house, and I waited. And waited. And waited. Until Lucy Knoll, the girl who lived across the street in the bright yellow house, walked passed my hot chocolate stand and looked at me like I was brilliant.
“Get it while it's hot!” I advertised.
“You're so silly. How much have you made so far?” she questioned innocently.
My awkwardness was getting the best of me. I couldn't come up with words to say, mesmerized by her long ginger eyelashes and rosy cheeks. Lucy Knoll actually spoke to me.
“Hello? Anybody home?” She knocked on my head.
I snapped out of it and finally replied, “Oh, sorry. I haven't sold any yet.”
She tilted her head, her long braids falling to the side. “Well, I could help you find a better spot if you'd like. People may still be heading out of the church, and they'd love to have some hot chocolate. We could set it up there!” She paused. “You also look like you could use a hot chocolate partner. My name is Lucy Knoll, by the way. We just moved to that house,” she pointed across the street, “about a week ago.”
But I knew that already.
“My name is Ralphy Brown, and I'm pretty sure I was born in this house.” I pointed to my house, embarrassed at its tininess and mess compared to hers.
She giggled.
We agreed to haul our little hot chocolate station over to the church corner, and even though we only made fifteen cents, her company was priceless. I offered to split the money and let her have the extra penny, but she refused and let me keep all the earnings.
She folded the money in my hand, smiled, and skipped away.
As that winter faded, the colors of the trees blossomed into what looked like pink peppercorns and then miraculously transformed into to a vigorous shade of green. It was the summer of 1933.
My mother continued to come home and collapse into bed at the strangest hours, but when she was awake, she'd order me to do the dishes, wash and hang the clothes on the clothing line, and go shopping for groceries. Her colorless life was beginning to have an effect on me, but I had no fear because Lucy was there to help me with all of my chores and buoy my spirits with her friendly smile every day. When my life at home seemed dark and gray, she was there to brighten my world and make me feel warm and happy inside. My mother didn't know about my new friend Lucy, but that was okay. I didn't want Lucy to have anything to do with my mother. She was like my own private treasure, and I wanted to keep her safe from what my world really was.
Often times I would sneak out of the house just to play with Lucy. We would do all sorts of things: climb trees, play hopscotch, play tag, and even search for frogs. I found myself willing to do anything as long as we were together. She was my best friend.
I still had the fifteen cents Lucy and I earned from the hot chocolate stand in February, and I wanted to woo her with it by buying her an ice cream sundae at the ice cream shop just down the block. Wanting to look put together and polished, I stole my mother’s comb and mirror and parted my shaggy ash hair and made sure my collar was straight. I thought I looked pretty handsome for a nine-year-old boy, especially considering the fact that I was just the knobby-kneed town outcast.
I stepped outside into the heat of the gentle July wind and walked across the street to Lucy's house.
Lucy greeted me at the door with that familiar smile on her face. “Oh, hello, Ralphy,” she said, brushing at her yellow dress and adjusting the bright red bow in her hair. “Would you like to come in?”
“No thanks. I was just wondering if you would like to get a sundae with me! The shop is not that far from here. It's just about a ten minute walk.”
Her father was preaching in another town, but her mother was home to allow her to get some ice cream with me.
She stepped down from the patio, and my palms began to sweat as I tried to build up the courage to take her hand. Maybe on the way back, I told myself. We leapt over the cracks in the sidewalk and kicked stones until we arrived at the pale pink shop of wonders, squished between the local theatre and bar.
“Ladies first!” I said gallantly, holding the door for her.
“Why thank you!” She curtsied and stepped through the doorway. The bell chimed as we entered the chilly ice cream parlor. To the left of us was a long wooden counter with glass cases full of every ice cream and topping known to man, and in the corner was a flashing jukebox playing one of my favorite tunes I always heard on the radio.
The woman behind the counter greeted us and took our order. I ordered my usual vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce, melted fudge, and crushed pecans, and Lucy ordered a large sundae with chocolate ice cream, peanuts, and strawberry sauce.
“That will be fifteen cents, please.” The woman behind the counter said. Lucy began to rummage through her dress pocket for some change, but I stopped her and told her that I would be paying.
“You are my best friend and you have gone to hell and back with me, so this is me paying you back,” I said, looking her in the eye and smiling.
She blushed and looked down at her shoes.
The woman came back with our sundaes with even more whipped cream than usual and a bright red cherry on top. We thanked her and exited the parlor.
On the walk back, we talked about everything and enjoyed our ice cream, but not for long. About half way back I spilled my ice cream sundae all over my shirt.
She giggled and helped wipe off the mess with her napkin. “You know, you really are my best friend too. Did you know that?”
But as she said this, a stronger wind hit us.
“Oh, no! My bow!” she shrieked and ran out into the street after it.

I remember the blaring of the car’s horn as if it were yesterday. But what I remember the most about that day, is the body of my best friend Lucy- her flaming red hair spread across the pavement, the color in her cheeks that was no longer there, the melting sundae that had flown out of her hand, and the cherry that rolled to a stop in the gutter.
My face was hot with tears and my palms were cold and sweaty, but I knelt over her lifeless body and held her fragile hand. If I had gotten the courage to hold her hand while she was still breathing, she would have flushed a deep shade of pink and looked down at her shoes. Instead, she simply lay there, cold and lifeless.
I took the cherry and held it tightly in my hand.
Now just being an eighty-three or eighty-seven year old man with an unrecognizable face and skin like prunes, I look back on that afternoon every numbered day of my near-ending life, and smile. I smile because no matter how aged it may look, the cherry still sits on my dresser today.
Lucy reminded me of that cherry. Like a cherry is the best part of an ice cream sundae, Lucy was the best part of my life. Like a cherry that glistens in the light, Lucy brightened my days with her twinkling smile and her hair, cheeks, and lips bright red. Like a cherry that doesn't melt away in the sun, Lucy Elizabeth Knoll will forever hold a place in my heart. Forever and always, as the good ones always do. The cherry remains.