Stolen Cherries

One of my favorite months of the year has always been May. I loved it in childhood because in mid May we finished school year and the long awaited summer holidays started. I loved May because of its still fresh pleasant weather with the warm rain, with the green grass and trees in white and pink bloom. I loved May because of the first home grown roses and strawberries for my birthday. I loved May because it was the start of my mischievous summer adventures.

Denis, Sasha and I planned our night raids. We associated for a season because we trusted each other – we trusted the secret, the fast feet and ability to run, and finally ,that we would cover for each other.

Ten houses down the road, our neighbors had a cherry garden with few other fruit trees. We invaded their garden because the cherry tree was fast to ripe, before the market was flooded with the fruit, their apricots were sweetest in the whole of the neighborhood and we knew that if caught they would forgive us, because after all – we were neighbors. And so we went, two boys and me – under the moon light we climb the trees and pluck the cherries, stuffing our pockets and filling our plastic bags. I still remember my dress pockets wet and colored. Soon the dog starts barking as we giggle and whisper to each other. Of course, the neighbor has to come out to check on the dog and the garden.

The lights come up and my heart beats fast as I consider whether to run or stay and hold my breath and cherries. In a moment I decide that I can jump off the tree, and I do. I ran as fast as I can, catching up with the boys and hear the swearing of our neighbor and the dog chasing after me. We make it safe and hide in the lilac bush and sit there for a while, trying to catch on our breath and giggling like crazy. I get overwhelmed with shame; my cheeks turn red and burning. As everything becomes calm and the lights go off we go to the water pump and wash the cherry to later enjoy it on the bench. It is way late after nine, and I know it is my time to return home; in a hurry I eat a bunch of cherries and the rest I give to Denis, because I liked him and he was rather a brother to me.

Certainly no one knew about the event but three of us, a couple dogs and our neighbor.

It was later that I confessed to my mother that I had been robbing the cherries. She was kind enough not to punish me, but she was also honest and carrying enough to instruct me. And I – I was committed to mischief. I only dreaded the dogs chasing after me.