Oranges and Parades

I sat on the steps of the small local grocery store, eyes fixed on the sun-baked June street. In the distance, a dog barked. The heat rolled off the blacktop in ripples of liquid temperature. I felt like I was going to melt into a puddle, despite how thirsty I was.

I took a sip of water. I sighed at the relieving feeling of the cool liquid on my parched throat. I watched closely for the parade. 'They should be here soon,' I thought. Janet had said so. I looked down at the gift the grocery store owner had given me. I peeled it, sniffing the citrusy aroma of the peels as I used my tiny six-year-old hands to pull the little sections into bite-sized pieces.

Suddenly, I could hear thunder. I looked around, terrified. It sounded in harsh cracks and deep booming roars. Suddenly, a fire truck drove into view. I almost shouted. Was that it?

I ran to the street, orange in hand. I looked around, and some old cars drove by slowly. I gasped in excitement. The parade! 

I ate a slice of orange, and juice dripped down my chin. I wiped it off, and suddenly the thunder was so close I felt it reverberating in my bones. A drum suddenly appeared around the corner and I cheered along with the people on the other side of the road on the sidewalk. I stood in the grass, whooping and hollering as the band went by. 

Suddenly, I felt eyes on me. 

I saw a trumpet player looking at me, brown hair in a high ponytail. Her trumpet was high in the air, and the brilliant sound hit me and blew me off my feet. I dropped the orange. She smiled around the mouthpiece as she passed.

I wanted to be her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten years later, I walk around the corner, focusing on playing with all my heart despite the searing heat. I look where, ten years ago, I had stood, and smile as I see a girl, no more than six years old, holding an orange. 

I am not surprised when the orange tumbles from her hand.