Kalliope 2015 | Page 165

tangerine, shaped like a heart tapering to a point so fine it tickles my palm. The skin is smooth and slightly hard – it is not yet ripe, but that is the best time to savor it. He peers at it doubtfully. “What is this?” “The memory of a first love.” I cradle the delicate thing in my hands. “Nothing is as sweet as a first love. She fills your thoughts and consumes your every waking moment, and when you go to sleep, you dance with her in your dreams. When she leaves, her laughter remains beating inside your skull until she returns again. In warm summers, her skin cools you on the bed. In winter, her body is hot beneath your own. You are convinced she is too good for you, that she will vanish and leave you as miserable as you were before, and so you seize the chance for fear it will vanish forever. The moment she accepts is your greatest achievement. In that moment, your happiness reaches its peak. Even if the rest of your life is a steady decline, the first love always stays pristine.” Softly, he says, “I’ll take it.” Hands trembling, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a wallet. I shake my head. “That’s not the price I ask.” His fingers freeze over the crisp green bills. His voice carries an undertone of menace. “Then what do you want?” “A memory.” I reach into my pocket and take out a single seed. It is small and colorless, ready to become anything. “A memory for a memory, that is my price. First, you must give me one in turn, to replace the one in my garden. Any memory, but it must be heartfelt – your most brilliant, whether it be good or bad.” He takes the seed doubtfully. “What do I need to do?” “Hold it, and remember.” The seed is tiny inside his palm and vanishes altogether when his fist closes around it. He closes his eyes, brows furrowed. Sometimes they smile, sometimes they scratch their head, sometimes they cry. He simply presses his lips into a thin straight line. The act highlights the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, the skin pulled too tight across the bones, and I realize that this man I once thought to be middle-aged could be no more than thirty. After several minutes he opens his eyes again. Uncertainly, he stares at the seed in his fist. 165