Raisins.
I love raisins. Raisins are some of my very favorite things in this whole wide world. I love the way they look, the way they smell, the way they taste, how they're made.... It's probably not normal to love raisins as much as I do, but isn't everyone entitled to their own hobbies and interests?
I remember my first raisin. My dad gave it to me one hot summer's day when I was a very small child. I was awestruck, hooked instantly. It's hard to believe that something that seems like it shouldn't be that big a deal can be so life-changing, but there I was, in the backyard with my raisin, having my tiny child mind blown.
I used to go out and get raisins all the time, but just within the last couple of years, I've discovered it's much more fun and satisfying to make my own. The results are better, too. My raisins don't have any of those nasty preservatives that make them disgusting and unhealthy. Nope. I make mine the natural way by setting them out and letting the sun do its duty. The smell might be my favorite part while I'm waiting for the raisins to dry. It's a sweet smell, and it gets me excited for what's to come.
Occasionally---and I do mean very rarely---my love for raisins has gotten me into a bit of trouble. One unfortunate incident sticks out in my mind. I was a junior in high school---this was a year or so after I started drying my own raisins---and I had a really big crush on this girl named Jenny Mae. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, and nice as pie, too. I'd liked her ever since I was a freshman, and one day, I finally got up the courage to ask her over.
"Hey, Jenny," I said one day as I stood beside her locker.
"Hey, Bryce," she said with a sweet smile. "What's up?"
I remember being so nervous I started to shake a little. I hoped she wouldn't notice, but I'm sure she did. Anyway, it was too late to back out now. "Well, I was wondering if you have any plans for the weekend."
"Not yet," she said. "Why?"
"Well, seeing as you're free and all," I said, "I'd sure like to have you around to my house... for some raisins."
"Raisins?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," I said. "You know? Those dried up morsels of goodness. I rather like them, and I make my own. Of course, I think they're pretty good, but I could use a second opinion." Even at that moment, I wasn't sure where the words I spoke had come from, but if I'm honest, I was quite proud of myself. "So what do you say?" I asked.
She said nothing for a minute. And then, "You know what? That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Maybe I'll even bring something to go with your raisins." And, just like that, it was all settled, and I would finally get my chance to impress the girl of my dreams.
Saturday rolled around, and I made sure absolutely everything was perfect. I had a fresh batch of raisins all ready to go. Jenny Mae arrived looking like a summer goddess with windblown hair, a light blouse, and a cute little pair of jean shorts. I remember seeing her come up the front walkway and thinking, "Memorize what you see, Bryce, old boy. That there is what beauty looks like."
Jenny had brought a couple of shopping bags with her. She placed them on my kitchen counter and excitedly showed me their contents. "I was wondering what I should bring," she said, "and so I was wandering through the grocery store when I was struck with inspiration. Peanut butter and pretzels!" I smiled and thanked her, trying not to reveal my confusion. She must have sensed it anyway because she followed up with, "Have you never had ants on a log?"
"No," I said. "Is that a food item?"
"Yes," she said with a sweet giggle. "You take a pretzel stick and you dip in it peanut butter. That's the log."
I nodded. "And the ants are...?"
"The raisins, silly. You roll the log in the raisins and they stick to it."
"I see." I was having a lot of trouble envisioning how that would work with my raisins. "Why don't you show me how it works?" I said.
"Sure," she replied. "Where are the raisins?"
I motioned for her to follow me and led her out to the backyard. She nearly ruptured my eardrums when she started screaming.
"What?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
"You sick fuck!" she shouted at me, and tried to push past me to go back into the house.
"No, Jenny, please stay," I begged. "Let me help you!"
"Don't touch me, you psycho!" she screamed, and hit me hard in the left side of the jaw.
I still regret what I did next. I've thought about it every day since. The shock of being hit sent me into full-on beast mode. I knocked Jenny to the ground, causing her to scream even more, which just intensified my confusion. I had to make the noise stop, so I straddled her and reached for a nearby rock. I lost count after hitting her five times, but eventually, she stopped screaming. And then she stopped moving. And finally, she stopped breathing.
I was very upset to have to do that to Jenny, but even in my grief, I had an economical mind. Why waste the body? I decided to turn Jenny into a raisin, so I laid her down in the yard beside all the others.
It wasn't until later that I realized where the confusion must have been. When she heard me say, "raisin," Jenny probably thought I was talking about those gross little dried up grapes. Nasty things, yes, but I do need to remember that that's what most people mean when they say, "raisin."
Not me, though.