Pineapple (a novella excerpt)

Is this home?

I wondered as I stood in the doorway of our new apartment, sighing at the plain sight of the small space; so discolored and cramped.

We wiggled our way through the room and stared at the walls that would now house all three of us for the next 9 months. It was white, so were the counters, and the chairs had maybe a color or two, but overall, dull. 

“This was expensive” Mom remarked with a dissatisfied look. I couldn’t help but stare at her confusedly. This is what we paid nine hundred dollars for? We were finally experiencing life on a family island, and so far it hasn’t been going well. I could already picture the miserable, uncomfortable days I would spend in that apartment.

After several screenings we all came to an agreement that our space was extremely small. I had desperately arranged that my younger sister, Asia, take the room in which we shared a closet, drawers, and mirror. Instead, I persuasively convinced myself that I would be much more comfortable sleeping on the couch. Our bathroom was neat, but the problem was the faucet, which we were told, normally needed to be fixed, and would be upon request. Our kitchen was much sadder, had an unwelcoming, penurious, aura to it despite the ‘welcome home’ sign held up on the wall.

Being here was the final goodbye to the home I grew to love, one fit with food, well, on good days, spacey though, comfortable but not always clean, not always loud but not always quiet, depending on Mom or my father’s mood in the house that day. I began to miss the luxury, the lack of responsibility, and immaturity of living. I missed my dad but only for his funny moments. Not for the deadbeat man he disguised with doughty and pig-headed pride.

I missed the mom who cooked everyday even when the fridge played empty. The sauces and herbs would come together magically; twisting and turning themselves until molding into something delicious. Then Mom would call us together to serve her delights.

The memories continued to invade my mind. Although physically, I couldn’t just take a plane back to home and live with my father again, my mind kept taking me back to older times. I always had a hard time adjusting to the new, specifically when living becomes harder it already was. Life was complicated but simpler than it would become. My brother would also part from me, leaving me with my sister to be tortured by her grief and selfishness. 

I returned from my mental voyage and confronted reality. I plunged myself onto the cotton covered sofa and stared out the window at nature’s gift.

The waves of the sea.

The daydream ends.

The first task of moving into a new place is always the most tedious to me. Each member of the house was assigned a chore. The door swung wide open, letting in the salty sea breeze; an intense mixture when combined with the aroma of lavender and chlorine. The floors were being mopped whilst I organized the dishes, unpacked the houseware, and cleaned the kitchen. My Mother handled the sweeping and continued to clean the bathroom; “amuck” compared to how the landlords described its condition.

A long and well-deserved shower followed the tireless cleaning. It was already afternoon, and everyone felt tired. The original plan was to spend our first day home, settling down, but my stomach was gnawing at my insides. Mom had already advised us that we had little money and wouldn’t have much for shopping until the end of the month. It was mid-February when she told us this. She told us to prepare for a drive, anyway, not yet revealing where we would be going. 

We listened and went to our room to get dressed. My sister and I wore what we usually wore, if not farm fresh clothes whatever the other knew how to style. Mom’s blue van sat ready until she finished her makeup, an important use for every outing, but not for me. The two of us were women, to be clear, but I had somehow still not earned the right to wear makeup.

We took off on our unexpected journey. I had been taunting mom all day before that. We were running from 5 o’clock that morning without having eaten breakfast, as there wasn’t any food in the house then. I kept reminding her though, that I was really hungry, and I didn’t think we could be at home all day without food. She called it ‘annoying’ especially because I had no money, yet insisted that we buy hot food to succumb us.

Mom had passed her cellphone to the back with her GPS, signaling me to find a nearby restaurant for us to stop by. I searched and searched, until I settled for ‘7 seas’, a restaurant that seemed the closest, and with the most edible food. I was actually excited for the first time on our journey. Fun! I thought at first, until I was reminded of the no fast-food policy that our pine-ridden islands followed. Still, though, it was bound to be an experience, reassuring if enjoyable and discouraging if unpleasant. The road was short but paved in potholes that reigned the street, each one landing perfectly in the center of my mother’s tires. She screamed “ouch!” on everyone and wished to end the nightmare she called “driving”, a rarity for a small town with only one straight road. I stared at the many bushes that scrolled by, uninterested at the sight of boring trees. 

Upon arriving, we parked in front of a two-story blue building with the logo “7 seas” on it. The outside appeared fancy with its white undertones on the stairs and railings, and dining tables stretched out on the second floor. I left the car and sprinted inside, desperate for any meal to fill my stomach. 

The interior of the building was a vast discovery. Instead of its clean, sophisticated look on the outside, we got an island luxury of glossy wooden tables, stools, and floors. A cooler of drinks sat in the corner of the restaurant, rather than behind the wooden counter. It was then time to order our food, as we peered at the laminated paper menu sitting on the counter. No one greeted us at the counter until we mentally completed our orders. My eyes chose the cheeseburger and fries, disappointed with the other options on the menu that didn’t come with cheese. There was much to order but I thought a simple burger and fries would suffice— they always do, and I wasn’t feeling chicken. My sister had her eyes on a burger too, with chicken instead of beef. Mom ordered some conch strips and fries, her usual order at restaurants like this.

We sat down on our stools whilst Mom ordered three Vita malts. I decided to talk to my sister about how her part of trip was going so far. Unlike me, she said that she was enjoying it, the scenery, the serenity, and weirdly, her favorite part of it was the island-like style.

 How bizarre to me! I then asked her,

“But don’t you miss home?” 

To which she had replied, “Not really” with a shrug.

That turned me off from the conversation. I shrugged back, pretending to be interested in her answer. She was sociable, outgoing, and left so many friends back home. Why would she rather be here? I didn’t understand that and hoped to figure out what she saw in this island later on. Our drinks had finally arrived and Mom sat down with us. I sipped as if the malt was plain water, not having drunken anything for the day either. Mother remarked disappointedly, telling me that I was far from a lady to be chugging malt.

Our restaurant visit ended after being served our food. We darted home for the day, so hungry and eager, that Asia was calling dibs on the microwave. I felt petty and tried to take her place, which she unfortunately claimed. It was finally time to try our food, I started gobbling down first on my fries. Unsurprisingly, it was distasteful, dry and saltless. After a few bites I couldn’t bear the taste. It was the first time I’d ever eaten a terrible fry, something that I did not think anyone could achieve without really trying. To make matters worse, there was no ketchup to dispense the taste.

My burger tasted wet, soggy, and even upon removing the drenched, spoiled veggies in between, it tasted like something living. The biggest ick was biting into it and immediately being greeted by a solution with the texture of spit. I was worried and disgusted, so I threw it away. 

When my family started complaining too, I knew surely something was wrong. Asia enjoyed her BBQ chicken burger but threw all of her fries away. She said she couldn’t bear swallowing rocks anymore—not without water. My Mother only sighed, unfazed at yet another bad food experience from a new place that someone recommended to her. She ate a few of her conch strips and fries and saved the rest in the fridge. No one had enjoyed their meals that day.

I went to bed hungry that night. The food was so bad that I didn’t even save it for later. I curled up on the living room couch for the rest of the day. There was nothing else to eat, not even water unless you boiled some, which was not recommended. There wasn’t any Wi-Fi but we shared some data from my mom’s phone, which was limited. For the few hours I had internet, I felt connected to something. To a friend, to my dad, to my brother, to a world that was going to distract me from the real one. The dream ends, and I am forced to confront reality.

My sister’s reasons

My sisters’ reasons for liking it here were strangely different from mine. Her thrill of exploring the island had not been calmed, it was her personal journey to find every cove, cave, and blue hole that surrounded the neighborhood. She too noticed mom’s lack of interest—in almost everything but didn’t allow her pessimism to get in the way. Her plans would unfold that afternoon; a secret, hasty voyage that would require company to be entertaining. That’s when she grabbed me by the hand and told me to come with her, having no idea of where we were going.

She had similar reasons to hate this place, though. It was a small island and there wasn’t much to do. My only thought was to go to the beach and watch the sea. I wouldn’t swim—well I couldn’t swim, especially not with the things I’ve heard about our waters. I’ve heard that they were much more beautiful than Freeport’s oceans, yet a lot more hazardous due to sharks and jellyfish. My fear overtook the urge to experience that luxury. 

Asia woke up early that morning and took a shower, something she normally made me do first because I take so long. She got out leaving the bathroom humid and steamy, assuring me that my bath water would be colder afterwards. Cold showers were something I just couldn’t stand in the morning, as they only made me shiver and never woke me up. Asia took off with her jeans jacket and boots on, so excitedly, slamming the door on her way out. I mumbled under breath, “Don’t wake up mom” followed by a sigh. After a few minutes she returned to the house bursting the door open to announce that she had found breakfast.

“Krissy!” she shouted in a whisper. “I found sour oranges.” I jumped off couch and towards her, staring at the quintet of greenish orange fruits in her hand. I was excited and impressed to see them, until I thought about where she got them from.

“Where’d you find them?” I asked, placing a hand on my kimba. 

“From the front yard.” She said with a grin. I always knew Asia was a little mischievous, so I was worried about her answer. I hoped that she didn’t find any of these in the neighbor’s back yard.

She placed the oranges down on the dining table, handing one to me and taking one for herself. We washed the oranges and bit into them, followed by our super sour faces; squinched up lips and face whilst smacking down on our fruit. It was unlike any other breakfast we had, but we enjoyed it. Maybe it was because we were dying for something to wash out the taste from our food yesterday.

Two sour oranges later, Asia was on her feet and ready to go out again. 

“Where do you think your going?” I asked her.

“Back out” she said. She latched her backpack on her arms and left the house. I was so indecisive of whether to go with her, but I also didn’t want to get in trouble. I then thought about if I would be in even more trouble if I let her go alone. After overthinking so much I couldn’t think properly and made the decision to go anyway. I didn’t have time to pack a backpack, so I just carried my phone. I sprinted out of the house and searched for my sister. She had not travelled far; she was just about to bend the corner of our street. I ran up to her, asking if she was crazy, to which she shook her head. We continued our journey silently for most of the walk.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” I asked worriedly.

“Nope” she replied. “Just taking a walk and seeing what nature provides.” Like she did with the oranges. I normally wouldn’t go on these adventures with my sister, and I had no choice but to trust her. We walked, until I noticed another fruit tree a little way from our path. It was a sea grape tree, with no ripe fruits on it. The grapes were still green, but its vines were full. We looked at the tree in awe, excited for what the tree would bring this summer.

Immediately after passing the tree, we stumbled upon its natural habitat. A small beach ridden with pine trees, its cones buried in the grass, and old pine leaves. My sister looked at me and smiled as if she was saying “see, I told you so” and began walking to the beach. We cradled our way onto the sand through the tall trees and over the steep dunes. The sand was surrounded by large, spiky rocks, which still did nothing to ruin the view of the beautiful shore.

To be continued