kiwi
Mark Blickley
Johnny Minassian kicked an empty beer can up and down a freezing subway platform. His sister Kate complained about the noise he was making, but the noise didn’t bother her. She was too embarrassed to join him and that’s what really upset her. Johnny looked like he was having so much fun. He didn’t even seem to care what the other people on the platform thought about the noise he was making.
“Stop banging that can around, Johnny,” said his mother “The train’s coming.”
Kate ran in front of her brother and gave the beer can a final kick. They both smiled as it scraped across the yellow line and dropped on to the train tracks.
“Is Daddy going to die in the war?” asked Kate.
Mother shook her head. “Your father’s an airplane mechanic, not a soldier. I doubt he’ll see much action.”
As the subway doors were closing behind them a dirty man in sunglasses, carrying a handmade cardboard sign, threw himself at the door. The sliding doors crushed his body like a pair of hungry teeth, but he managed to squeeze his way inside the crowded subway car.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man shouted as the train pulled out. “I’m not a thief or a mugger. Could you please spare some change for a Vietnam Vet that’s hungry? Show your support for our boys over in the Persian Gulf by helping one of their brothers at home.”
When the man held out his cup to Johnny the boy grabbed Kate by her arm and mumbled something.
“What’s that you say, son?” asked the beggar.
“I said you smell,” answered Johnny.
At the exact moment the bell rang to end the school day at P.S. 92 in the Bronx, a Scud missile was launched from Iraq into Saudi Arabia. The New York afternoon was bitterly cold as Johnny met Kate at the school entrance. The Saudi Arabian evening was warm as Johnny’s father slept peacefully inside his barracks.
By the time Johnny and Kate climbed the three flights of stairs to their apartment, the Scud missile from Iraq had exploded inside their father’s barracks. And by the time Mother returned home from work and prepared supper, Johnny’s father was gone. Forever.
Days later, after the military man bringing bad news had left the apartment, what was left of the Minassian family sat in the kitchen, stunned. Kate began to cry. Mother lowered her head into her arms. Johnny became angry.
“You said he wouldn’t die!” shouted Johnny at his mother. Kate cried even louder.
Mother raised her head. She tried to speak. But when she choked on her first words she decided to give up. Once again she lowered her head into her arms.
Johnny grabbed his coat and ran out of the apartment. He could still hear his sister’s sobs echoing in the hallway as he bolted out the building.
“Hey, Johnny, wait up!” called out Carlos.
Johnny ignored his best friend. When Carlos ran over to him, Johnny took off. Carlos tried to catch up to Johnny but that was impossible. Everyone knew that Johnny Minassian was the fastest runner in the fourth grade, and probably the entire school. And that included sixth graders.
When Johnny finally stopped running he was at the entrance of Fine Foods Supermarket. Taped to the store’s front window was a huge photograph of h;s father in his Air Force Reserve uniform. Sergeant Minassian’s frozen smile was framed with yellow ribbon.
Johnny stared at the black and white picture. Everyone was younger he asked his father why his smile got so much attention. Frank Minassian pulled his son aside and told him the secret.
“You know how much I love fruits and honey, right?” whispered his father.
Johnny nodded.
“Well, it seems my sweet tooth is very impressive. It’s right here, Johnny.” He pointed to his front tooth. “And when I smile everybody sees it. I think it reminds people of all the wonderful things there are to eat.”
When Johnny asked his mother why everyone made such a big fuss over his father’s smile, she said it was because he was so handsome. Johnny disliked her answer. He was glad there was another guy around the house to set things straight.
Johnny Minassian quietly made his way through the Fine Food supermarket. A couple of cashiers and a deli clerk called out to him, but Johnny wasn’t listening. Their voices bl.ended in with the shouts for price checks, the beeping of cash registers, the clang of shopping carts, and the cries of cranky children.
The produce isle was as exciting as ever. It was like an island in the middle of the store. All that color and all those shapes. And the smells. It smelled like his father.
Johnny paused next to a handmade sign stuck in between the avocado and spinach bins. In bold magic marker strokes it proclaimed -- “THE PRODUCE DEPARTMENT IS PROUD OF THEIR MANAGER, FRANK MINASSIAN, WHO IS CURRENTLY SERVING HIS COUNTRY IN THE PERSIAN GULF.”
The sign was lettered in red and blue on white cardboard. But its artificial colors were swallowed up by the natural colors of the surrounding fruits and vegetables. No one seemed to notice the sign.
A hand dropped on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny turned and slipped from under the grip. It was Christopher, the assistant produce manager.
“How’s my boss doing?” asked Christopher. “Have you gotten any new letters from him yet? He’s really missed around here.”
Johnny shrugged and looked past Christopher to the rows of strange and vibrant produce his father had once ordered and organized. He scuffed his way over to the kiwi fruit.
Johnny lifted two pieces of kiwi out of the rack. His thumb and index fingers pressed into them. He bruised the tiny green fruit protected by brown fuzz, and then he crushed them. Juice dripped on to the floor. Johnny tossed the damaged fruit back into the rack and left.
Had Johnny’s father seen someone destroy his produce like that he would have grabbed the person by the collar and marched him into the security office. But Christopher just stood there with his mouth open. After ordering a clerk to clean up the mess he swung open the doors to the back produce room and turned on the radio. War news.
