Blog Entry: Fireflies Can't Live in Glass Jars: Part One

Fireflies Can't Live in Glass Jars: Part One Oranges and Lemons

When I was little I always said that I didn’t like Oranges. Why should I? They’re always sticky and warm by the time they come out of your lunchbox. They’re hard to peel, especially because I bite my nails. The white stuff between each segment tastes metallic and bitter like lukewarm tap water. And Orange juice is even worse. Sickeningly sweet. I hated Orange juice.
I liked Lemons better. Lemonade, and Lemon cake, and Lemon meringue pie. And having contests: who can bite into the Lemon wedge without making a face? Lemon juice squeezed on grilled tilapia or fried clam strips. Lemon juice toner after oatmeal facials and avocado face masks with friends. Like pink and purple and blue toenails.
Oranges aren’t really so bad, though, are they? Stealing them from the dining hall at camp, and eating them with Bryan on the stone wall outside during breaks. Soft and warm from sitting in my backpack, but it doesn’t matter because we’re laughing and soaking up the vitamins C and D all at once. Sometimes I still say that I hate Oranges. That I don’t want them. They’re just Oranges. Mundane. Sweet. Nothing special. Not like Lemons.
Because Lemons are sour, bitter, juicy. Little yellow pockets of sunshine. Eyes that laugh, and love, and judge. Harsh, but they taste like something. Like adventure. Oranges just taste like Oranges.
Sometimes I wonder if I just like the idea of liking Lemons. No one seems to like Lemons. But they’re so interesting. I want to be interesting. But Oranges could be interesting too I guess…
So I say I like both. If I like both, I don’t have to figure it out yet.