There are many things that bring back certain memories. Like a key hole and only one key can fit to open a memory so near and dear to me yet seemingly forgotten until that moment. For some, a certain heirloom of a passed loved one. For me, it is something much simpler. An object that most people have in their houses right now yet even the slightest touch or smell of this object and I am lost in the depths of my own mind.
I rummaged through the kitchen, hoping to find something to cure my untamed hunger. The pantry, empty. The freezer, same except for freezer burned packages of old freezer foods. The fridge was my last hope. I opened it. I looked from top to bottom, finding nothing until I reached the bottom drawer and opened it. A perfectly round orange lay there. I grabbed it and began to peel away the skin. My thumb dug into the orange skin and a mist of juice sprayed toward my face. The aroma stung its way into my nose. The key turned and the lock began to open.
Suddenly, I found myself standing, arms outstretched, on a blue stool that had seen better days. I was holding an orange but this one was different than the one that I was holding just seconds before. It was smaller and its skin wore a more vibrant orange. I was no longer in my kitchen, hungry. I was in my grandma’s backyard with my stomach about to burst. I immediately recognized that feeling as grandma’s cooking. The sun was high in the sky. I could have told you that without even looking up because my arms were a bright red and had already begun peeling. I joined the rest of the group which consisted of my two brothers, my mom and dad, my grandma and her dog. All but the dog also had the mark that the sun left on their arms. As I walked over my brothers yelled for help. He tried to toss a handful of oranges into my open arms but before half of them made it they had toppled into the grass with a comforted thud. I picked well over a dozen oranges from the ground where he dropped them. When I placed them into box I noticed just how many boxes there were and one after another they were hauled out from the house to the field to be filled and from the field to the car. This was our annual orange picking day. My grandma grew...well just about everything but each year we came out and picked her orange trees bear. 20 boxes and millions of family photos later, we were back in the car heading home with smiles as wide as a football field.
I found myself back in my kitchen. The same football field smile still glued to my face and the sight of the trees from the edge of the driveway fresh in my mind. The orange itself was nowhere as sweet as those oranges from that day and the whole week they lasted until the last one was consumed but the memory it unlocked was as satisfying as ever. I ate the oranges and with each bite the door closed just a little more, waiting to be unlocked again.
Written By: Luke Urbanovsky
I rummaged through the kitchen, hoping to find something to cure my untamed hunger. The pantry, empty. The freezer, same except for freezer burned packages of old freezer foods. The fridge was my last hope. I opened it. I looked from top to bottom, finding nothing until I reached the bottom drawer and opened it. A perfectly round orange lay there. I grabbed it and began to peel away the skin. My thumb dug into the orange skin and a mist of juice sprayed toward my face. The aroma stung its way into my nose. The key turned and the lock began to open.
Suddenly, I found myself standing, arms outstretched, on a blue stool that had seen better days. I was holding an orange but this one was different than the one that I was holding just seconds before. It was smaller and its skin wore a more vibrant orange. I was no longer in my kitchen, hungry. I was in my grandma’s backyard with my stomach about to burst. I immediately recognized that feeling as grandma’s cooking. The sun was high in the sky. I could have told you that without even looking up because my arms were a bright red and had already begun peeling. I joined the rest of the group which consisted of my two brothers, my mom and dad, my grandma and her dog. All but the dog also had the mark that the sun left on their arms. As I walked over my brothers yelled for help. He tried to toss a handful of oranges into my open arms but before half of them made it they had toppled into the grass with a comforted thud. I picked well over a dozen oranges from the ground where he dropped them. When I placed them into box I noticed just how many boxes there were and one after another they were hauled out from the house to the field to be filled and from the field to the car. This was our annual orange picking day. My grandma grew...well just about everything but each year we came out and picked her orange trees bear. 20 boxes and millions of family photos later, we were back in the car heading home with smiles as wide as a football field.
I found myself back in my kitchen. The same football field smile still glued to my face and the sight of the trees from the edge of the driveway fresh in my mind. The orange itself was nowhere as sweet as those oranges from that day and the whole week they lasted until the last one was consumed but the memory it unlocked was as satisfying as ever. I ate the oranges and with each bite the door closed just a little more, waiting to be unlocked again.
Written By: Luke Urbanovsky