Peachy

We're playing a word game... sort of. It's our version of a word game, anyway, and it consists of us taking turns saying words we really like. Not necessarily because we like their meaning (although we often do)- the point is more that we like the sound of these words. A short sampling of words that appeal to us on this aural level:

Svelte
Luminescent
Mandible
Succulent

"Ooo!" she says, and for a moment I'm thinking I've really wowed her with "prestidigitation", but then she points across my chest out the window and says, "Peaches!"

"Peaches?" I turn to look and there it is- a road side stand in the middle of friggin' nowhere. "Peaches! Heck yeah, let's pull over!" And so we do.

She puts the car in park and we hop out, and you have to understand how badly we want these peaches, because we are voluntarily exiting the life-sustaining cocoon (there's another good word) of air conditioning and braving the heavy wet shimmer that is the summertime air of Alabama. But man, I tell you what- there is not a geographical location on this planet that can beat the South for heavenly smells. May be that's why there's so much religion down here: hot as hell but smells like manna. We're inhaling the dizzying fragrance of ripe peaches and my mouth starts watering fit to rival a thunderstorm.

We choose our bounty with care- one does not take the privilege of selecting fruits from Eden lightly- and in the end the peaches we select are the size of our doubled fists, each blushing gold and rose and covered in softest velvet. The desire to immediately sink our teeth in is almost overwhelming, but we opt instead to prolong our pleasure- I run my lips back and forth over the fuzz, getting high off the sweet scent, while she strokes it gently across her cheek. I cannot help but smile at us, a couple of silly little girls somehow transported into these adult bodies.

As though by some prearrange signal we both take our first bites- and then there's juice running out the corners of our laughing mouths, dripping down our chins, and our too-clever tongues are darting out to salvage what we can. I look at my best friend and I think,

This is joy.


(Peachy)