Citrus

"If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm raw
If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore
And you would wait tables and soon run the store"
 - Helplessness Blues, by Fleet Foxes 



I walked to church, wearing a white dress printed with yellow lemons and green leaves. I bought the dress because I happened to see a photo of a woman wearing a skirt which had a similar pattern, so I searched online until I found an affordable, dress version, purchasing it and loving it immediately.

I had a large basket slung over one elbow, in which I carried cucumbers, tomatoes, avocados and limes to turn into a salad, part of the lunch I'd make for the Casa Gabriel boys. As I crossed the highway, I noticed that a large mesh bag full of oranges had burst open and been run over in the middle of the street, likely having fallen off the back of a truck. The scent of oranges lingered in the air and I inhaled deeply. In the midst of the city air, full of fuel and exhaust, the smell of citrus seemed to be a boon.


The day went by as usual. It was close to 5:30pm when I walked out of Casa Gabriel. The basket on my arm was then empty, the salad long made and eaten. A typical Ecuadorian salad doesn't have lettuce: it's sliced vegetables such as tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, and avocados thrown into a bowl together and mixed with lemon juice and salt for dressing. It is delicious.

As I opened the large metal door leading from the yard to the street, a voice called my name and I saw Jesus R. walking towards me. He has a smile which seems to take up his whole face, and I waited in the doorway, leaning forward so we could greet each other with the traditional besito. Jesus is a graduate of Casa Gabriel who works in the home as the leader on the weekend, giving the regular house-parents a break. We talked for a bit before saying goodbye, he entering the house and I leaving.
"Ten cuidado!" he called, which means, "Be careful!" I smiled at him, his warning coming like a brotherly blessing. I'm protective of all the guys in the home, graduates of not, and they are equally protective of me. In the pocket of my lemon dress rested a small, sharp pocketknife. The boys tease me for carrying a knife, asking if I'd ever actually use it on someone.

"I would use it to scare someone," I reply. "If someone started to attack me, they might think twice about continuing if I flash a knife at them."

Hopefully, such a day will never come. For now, the knife has been useful for slicing apples or performing other food-related duties when no other options were available. I always keep the blade clean, transferring it between pockets and purse and letting the boys carefully handle it when they're curious as to if I still have it or not. Likely, no one would guess that the woman in the lemon dress with a basket swinging from her elbow was armed. I fingered the knife's casual weight, smiling at my secret.

The oranges in the street had been flattened even further throughout the day. Likely, it was simply wishful thinking, but when I breathed deeply, I thought that maybe I still caught the faint citrus scent, lingering on the breeze.