WATERMELON

                                              

Once a man spit a watermelon seed out his

truck window onto the side of the road.

The seed came to rest in a small patch of dirt

between tall, dry grasses. It lay there drying in

the heat of the sun.

The boy clung to the porch rail, waiting.

"Did you bring watermelons, Grampa?" he asked when the man had gotten out of the truck.

"Not today, Scooter," the man said. "Not until next year. A man bought the last ones this morning."

The boy's smile melted. He could almost taste sweet watermelon juice against his tongue. "When will next year be?" he asked.

"When the rain has come and gone and the flowers have come and gone and everything's dry again. That's when watermelons grow."

The seed lay many days in the hot glare of late summer and many nights in the cold of the moon's pale glow. It became hard like a pebble, so that it looked like other specks on the ground, or a tiny chunk of roadway kicked by a boy's shoe.

When the first rains came, the water ran off the pavement and turned the roadside to mud. The seed and a few foxtails and a faded pink gum wrapper floated quietly in a thick brown pool. In the morning two dogs ran by, and the hind foot of the smaller one pushed the watermelon seed deep into the ground.

The seed lay many days in the hot glare of late summer and many nights in the cold of the moon's pale glow. It became hard like a pebble, so that it looked like other specks on the ground, or a tiny chunk of roadway kicked by a boy's shoe.

When the first rains came, the water ran off the pavement and turned the roadside to mud. The seed and a few foxtails and a faded pink gum wrapper floated quietly in a thick brown pool. In the morning two dogs ran by, and the hind foot of the smaller one pushed the watermelon seed deep into the ground.

When the rains were past, a tiny mound appeared over the spot where the watermelon seed had gone down. It was high enough to be a hill for ants to climb over, but it only grazed the belly of a passing beetle. Soon two green leaves appeared in the center of the mound, held close together like diving hands, and a small plant rose slowly from the ground into the air and began to spread.

"Is the world awake yet, Grampa?"

"The rains are gone," the man said. "The sun is back. There are new leaves on the trees. Yes, the world is awake."

"Is it settled yet?"

"Go to the window," the man said.

The boy went to the window. Patches of light and warmth fell on his face. A tiny curl of air howled under the sill. It brought the sweet, powdery perfume of peach blossoms. The leaves on the poplar tree sounded like applause.