When I was really little, four or five maybe. My Dad used to climb up over our neighbours old rickety fence to collect fruit. He’d perch on top, like an over-grown bird, perfectly balanced from years as a gymnast. The decrepit fence would teeter and sway, and I was always scared he’d fall. But he never did, he’d reach over and pick whole branches off the sagging plum tree. When he was done he’d just drop right back down beside me. No longer a bird who’d lost his wings, he was just my Dad, my amazing, clever, caring Dad. Before we’d had to move to Brisbane, then to Turrenwong. He’d pick plums off the branch and drop them into my floppy green hat, the one with a little ribbon of straw snaking round the rim. He’d hand me a ripe, half softened yellow fruit. I’d bite into it, juice dribbling down my little bum chin. Sometimes, when they weren’t quite ripe, they were tart, hard and sour. Like lemons left in the suns, sour and warm. But the best were always the sweet red ones that came from the very top of the tree, the ones that Dad would have to jump over to get, perfectly ripe and sweet. Fresh and cool on a boiling summer day, the sort of Melbourne day when everyone hides away from the heat. Inside with fans and air-cons on, yet it’s still too hot and humid. The days when people lie on wet sheets and cant sleep, but they try to anyway. Just after Christmas, all broke from the gift giving extravaganza. That’s when Dad and I would go out and pinch the ripest, juiciest, and sweetest of them all. I never found out what sort of fruit they were, some sort of stone fruit I suppose. But when we moved to Brisbane, the tree stayed. That’s probably what I miss most about our farm in Emerald, not the fruit, but Dad. Having him there and all that jazz. Its not that he’s dead, must never around. I sort of feel like I haven’t just lost mom, I’ve lost dad as well.
A/N sorry its so short, i might write a few more oneshots with hazel. but i might not, so yeah. hope u like it, please leave a comment if u like/dislike or have any questions
