Cassandra Picks Berries

Wild strawberries, she called them. At first I thought her foolish for spending so much time picking them since there was no way you could just eat them instead of other foods. They were barely the size of a fly, after all. Perhaps I was the real fool, though, since I still did it with her. She told me her mother would spend hours and hours picking them growing up, and when she had a basket full, the two of them would make a pie together.

I remember the first summer we were together. She begged and begged me to go help her pick them and wouldn't tell me why, and it had to be on June 25. Eventually I relinquished and she her eyes went really bright like I'd never seen before. She brought out this big basket �"it looked handwoven�" that had been clearly tattered and repaired by time. I asked what she had such a ratty old bag for; We were poor but not that poor. She gave me an empty "yea" and led me out to the field behind our house.

She said I had to step carefully. They were so small and fragile that I'd crush them under foot if I didn't. I crouched beside her and began combing the ground for the yard freckles. For hours I just sat by her side, occasionally plucking one as I saw them and gingerly pinching away the leafs. We talked and talked and talked about everything, but after short little bursts we both fell silent.

Then as the sun was passing its peak and the heat was turning harsh I looked over to see tears streaking from her face. I asked her what was wrong but she wouldn't tell me. All she could do was sob then. I grasped her hands in mine and we sat there on the grass. I felt bugs eating away my legs but ignored it. Cicadas warbled from the trees around us, but it didn't matter. I just sat there with her, my eyes growing wet too. Oh Matilda, I said to myself, I'll sit here forever for you.

At long last she began to lighten. "I-I'm so sorry," she said to me. I couldn't believe she was apologizing for it though.
"You didn't do anything wrong. I love you, Matilda. I really truly do."
"Thank you Cass. Thank you so much."
I only nodded. She resumed picking berries tacitly, and I followed suit. The basket was filling at a surprising rate. Worriedly I glanced over every few seconds, but avoided any eye contact with her. After some time she told me, "I think we have enough berries."
I looked over at her and she met my eyes.
"My mother died six months ago today," she started. My eyes widened and I grabbed her hand over the basket handle and we began walking. She told me how her dad had left her as a baby, how her mother was a school teacher. She got diagnosed with Alzheimer's at an age of forty. I'd never heard of someone getting it so young. But five years later, she was dead. That was just last Christmas. Matilda had just one parent, and she lost her on Christmas day.  Now I was the one to break down crying. I couldn't have imagined losing my parents, and I was a few years older than her. She was living so alone all this time.

She passed in front of me but I stopped her at the threshold.
“Matilda,”
“Cass?”
“I promise we’ll go picking wild strawberries every summer. And we’ll make a pie together too.”
She smiled and wiped a tear from her eye. “Thank you.”

Author's Note

This is sort of based off a true story. My mother and I would go to our back yard every summer and pick wild strawberries. But she's in much better health than Matilda's mother. Please give any feedback you want!