Peaches (For Evan)

When I moved into the apartment I'm living in now, my father told me stories about the tree one can see through the window. He said it used to be full of peaches, all the time. Big orange and red peaches which looked juicy and beautiful when the sun shined. But this happened years ago, when the neighborhood was a little "better", my aunt would say, because nowadays it isn't, "it isn't what it used to be, such a shame" (and I'm quoting her again).

I've been here for a little over a year. And the tree has been dry. There was a rooster, though, during Christmas. He lived under the tree. And he lived very confused, I think, because he sang (or whatever roosters do, crow?) at 3am, every morning, which made my holidays miserable. Then he disappeared, and so did the misery, or so I thought.

Anyway, the morning of my birthday (which followed a terrible party which made me miss the misery the rooster made me feel), my father came to pick me up for lunch and, as we sat near the window, we saw three men picking up peaches, lots of them.

They weren't there before. They came out the day of my birthday as a celebration. Maybe to remind me everything blooms sooner or later. It takes time. Peaches for my birthday. And, now, peaches for you too.