trick, we think, something too good to be true. Or we think we don’t deserve such indulgence. Anyway, there will be another chance on up ahead somewhere, something safer. Something better for us in the long run. But what if the woman selling peaches in South Carolina was on to something when she wrote the “Last Chance” sign? At what point do we just pull off the two-lane road and buy the fruit (with our own hard-earned money) before it spoils, goblins or no? Coming over to check on me, the woman made friendly small talk. “Where you from?” she asked. “North Carolina. Just passing through.” “These was just picked yesterday.” She held up one of the peaches so I could breathe in its honeyed fragrance. “If you like them ripe and ready to eat, these here is it. If you want them to last longer, I got some harder ones in the back.” And this is the heart of the matter, really, isn’t it: do we want our rewards for tolerating the tedious grind of everyday life now, or later? I bought the basket of ripe, ready-to-eat, just-plucked peaches. I drove on home and shared some with family and friends. But the rest were mine to devour, mine to cut with a sharp knife, mine to pit, mine to peel. Most of all they were mine to bite into without shame or regret. I still take in the messiness of life, the juicy bits that require a lot of napkins and clean-up, but aren’t they so fine! So delicious, they’re worth the trouble. So imbued with sunshine, the heat transfers to my tongue and my skin as the juice dribbles down, and it’s nothing but a beautiful mess. I won’t pass it up. Today isn’t, surely, the last chance for me but I must try it on, like a summer sundress, to see if it holds me close in the right places, and frees me in all others.
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