Lubita Love Stories

Strawberries

I was nine, and you were ten. My mom became friends with your mom, and invited you to my birthday party. There was a clown I was scared of, and presents I wasn’t really looking forward to opening. I didn’t know who you were, but I swear you knew who I was. You’ve always recognized my soul.

You bought me a present. A little tupperware box wrapped in blue tissue paper with a big silver bow on the top. After eating a little bit of cake and going through the pretending-to-be-happy-with-my-gifts cycle, you gave me that poorly wrapped box. I opened it up, and didn’t know what to think about what was inside.

“It’s a strawberry!” You exclaimed.

“…I know.” I said. I put on my fake smile, and said my fake thank yous, and then tossed it with the other reject presents. But that wasn’t the last of you. You stayed with me when I wanted to be alone. You played with me when all of the other kids ignored me. You helped me pick out clothes for my Barbie. We went outside, and you taught me how to properly hold a bat so we could play softball. You didn’t leave my side once. When it was time for everyone to leave, you begged my mother to let you sleep over, and she allowed you to.

In the morning, my mom made french toast with bananas. As you came to join us at the table, you snatched my fork out of my grasp and yelled “wait!”

“What??” I snapped back.

“You forgot your present!”

“What present?” I asked. You walked over to my pile of reject presents, and pulled out the strawberry. You placed it onto your plate, cut it in half with a butter knife, and gave me one of the halves.

“Everything tastes better with strawberries.” You said, flashing me a smile.

I was fifteen at the time, and you were sixteen.

You frowned at me, and you gave me a look of disappointment.

“You don’t actually celebrate it, do you? It’s such a greeting card holiday.” I said. Valentine’s Day wasn’t exactly my favorite holiday. I’d only had a boyfriend for it one year, and he didn’t even buy me anything. Being single on the day isn’t much better.

“Not really, but I did want to share something with you.” You replied.

“You bought me something?”

“No. Some girl bought me something. A box of chocolates, to be exact. I hate Valentine’s Day too, but chocolate’s still good, right?” I smiled at you.

“Only if there’s strawberry cream involved.” You flashed a smile back at me.

I was twenty-one at the time, and you were twenty-two.

I was sweating, and it was getting a little hard to breathe. My long, white dress dragged behind me as I sat down to take a deep breath and cool down. My plate still had scrapings of icing, but as sloppy as I am, the napkins were still neatly tied with a gold ribbon that read “Save the Date - March 16th.” My mother sat down next to me.

“Well, at least you’ve worked off that cake!” She said. I laughed. Nothing could work off this cake.

“Speaking of cake,” She began again. “I thought you decided on vanilla.”

“Individually, I did decide on vanilla. But, he wanted chocolate. So together, we decided on strawberry shortcake.” She looked at me weird, but I couldn’t explain it any better than I did.

I am twenty-three, and you are twenty-four.

It’s nine in the morning, and I feel your hands trail around my waist. I giggle as you nibble on my neck while I finish making our plates. I nudge you to sit down, and I transfer the plates to the table. You don’t move, and you refuse to eat. I was hoping you’d notice.

“I knew you’d pick up on it.” I smirked, and you returned it. I got up and grabbed a small tupperware box, where I sprinkled pre-chopped strawberries over our banana french toast.

“Everything tastes better with strawberries.” You said, as we shared a smile together.

-xLLSx-

(Source: topit.me, via boystudent)