{"id":5481,"date":"2017-08-19T06:36:35","date_gmt":"2017-08-19T11:36:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=5481"},"modified":"2020-09-04T05:24:28","modified_gmt":"2020-09-04T10:24:28","slug":"raspberries-on-the-moon_online-fiction","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/raspberries-on-the-moon_online-fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Raspberries on the Moon"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/div>\n

Patricia Crisafulli<\/a><\/h2>\n

Original Online Fiction<\/h4>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

T<\/span>wo things happened that day, the first being Mrs. Cranson\u2019s call shortly after six in the morning to say she\u2019d picked raspberries already and set aside their order. They\u2019d better come soon, because twelve pints was a lot at fifty-cents each and sin to spoil. The second was that Apollo 11 sat on the launch pad at the Kennedy Space Center, aiming for the moon where two astronauts would set foot on the \u201clunar surface\u201d\u2014a phrase that only needed to be said once for nine-year-old Jennifer Donelli to commit it to memory.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

At T-minus three hours, as the launch counted down, Jen sat on the floor, right in front of the black-and-white screen in the scratched wooden cabinet. She wasn\u2019t budging until blast-off.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need some breakfast\u2014they\u2019re not going anywhere without you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen looked over at her mother standing in the archway to the tiny living room. Honey Donelli\u2019s hair stood out like blond birdwings, mussed from sleep; yesterday\u2019s mascara smudged faint racoon eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat if they leave early?\u201d Jen swiveled back to the screen where two TV announcers in plaid sport coats talked about last-minute engineering checks.<\/p>\n

Honey sat down on quilted platform rocker bought second-hand after their old La-Z-Boy chair broke. She pulled her robe closed over her slim bare legs and covered the edge of the short nightie she wore.<\/p>\n

Leaning back on the maroon linoleum with gray swirls, Jen noticed her mother\u2019s pink polished toes. She liked that her mother was young and pretty\u2014only thirty-one years old. Her mother\u2019s real name was Honoria, but everybody called her Honey\u2014even her teachers back in Maine. Jen liked to hear her mother\u2019s stories of growing up in the big old house just outside Portland, watching the fishing boats come in at sunset. Her mother had been sixteen, working that summer at The Fish Shack where she served a fried cod sandwich and French fries to a dark-haired young man who\u2019d come north with two friends looking for construction work. That\u2019s how her parents met.<\/p>\n

Her mother was only seventeen and her father was twenty when her brother, Jeremy, was born. People got married young back then, her mother told her, but Jen was going to go to college<\/p>\n

Grandma Iva still lived in that big house, even though Grandpa Pete had died when Jen was a baby. Grandma wanted them to move in with her, but Dad wouldn\u2019t go. He always said he wanted them to have their own house, even though this place was so small they kept bumping into each other. Jen heard her parents talking about it late one night when she was supposed to be sleeping. Their voices were raised, and her mother might have been crying\u2014though she really couldn\u2019t be sure.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I eat here?\u201d Jen asked, turning back to the television.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, Moon Bug.\u201d Her mother got up. \u201cLet me know when they\u2019re ready to take off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLift off,\u201d Jen corrected. She read the counter in the corner of the TV screen: \u201cTwo hours and forty-three minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t sit too close to that thing. TV\u2019s got radiation.\u201d Her father stood at the intersection between the short hallway down to three small bedrooms, the living room, and the kitchen. A band of pale skin showed where his short-sleeved shirt rode up a little on his bicep. The rest of his arm was tanned from fishing. He had three shirts like that; all of them said \u201cTexaco\u201d on the front because he worked at a gas station as the assistant manager. Most of the time he pumped gas and cleaned windshields, and maybe did an oil change or two.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou outta be helping your mother,\u201d her father said, tucking in his shirt. Jen dragged herself up from the floor without and looked back once at the TV screen.<\/p>\n

Her mother was at the stove, poking strips of bacon in a frying pan. \u201cIs Jeremy up? He\u2019ll be late\u2014probably should be there already.\u201d<\/p>\n

Thay-ah. <\/em>Jen smiled at the way her mother said certain words with her Maine accent.<\/p>\n

\u201cI ain\u2019t picking\u2014I\u2019m a hauler today.\u201d Jeremy rubbed his right eye with his knuckle. \u201cDon\u2019t have to be there till quarter to eight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ryverson\u2019s Farm grew strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries, plus had an apple orchard. It was Jeremy\u2019s second summer working on the crew.<\/p>\n

\u201cPacked you a lunch\u2014it\u2019s on your chay-ah<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen stifled a giggle at the way her mother said the word.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2019re you so happy?\u201d Her father took his place at the head of the oval table in the corner of the kitchen. \u201cThat moon business? Government don\u2019t take enough out of a man\u2019s pocket without wasting money on that stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s educational, Frank. Good for a girl to be interested in science.\u201d Honey put a plate of bacon and toast in front of him.<\/p>\n

Jeremy snorted a laugh. \u201cMaybe Jen\u2019ll go to the moon. I could send her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll remind you, young man, that your grandmother taught high school biology. She could have been a scientist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGive the boy something to eat, Honey. He\u2019s got to go to work.\u201d Frank pointed to the empty place in front of Jeremy.<\/p>\n

Honey set down another plate of toast and bacon. \u201cScrambled or fried?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo time for that if they ain\u2019t cooked yet,\u201d Frank grumbled.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly takes a minute\u2014this grease is hot. I\u2019ll scramble enough for the two of you. You want some, Jen?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head. \u201cJust cereal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPour yourself a bowl and you can go back in to watch the TV.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen didn\u2019t have to be told twice.<\/p>\n

\"Raspberries<\/p>\n

The astronauts had slept well and eaten a good breakfast, the TV announcers assured the world. They were ready to go.<\/p>\n

The back door slammed, and Jeremy sped by the window on his bike.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou gonna say good-bye to your old man?\u201d Frank stood in the archway between the kitchen and the living room.<\/p>\n

Jen got up, knocking her cereal bowl with her foot, and gave him a quick hug.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t sit there all day,\u201d her father said. \u201cYou got chores.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen fished out the last of the soggy Rice Krispies, and figured how long it would take her to wash her face, brush her teeth, get dressed, and make her bed. Seventeen minutes later, she was back with a plan: She\u2019d dust the living room for her chores today and keep an eye on the television.<\/p>\n

At eight, the phone rang again. Jen heard her mother say \u201cMrs. Cranson,\u201d and knew it was about those stupid raspberries. All summer Jen helped her mother can fruits and vegetables and make jam and pickles, using Grandma Iva\u2019s recipes written down in a little brown notebook. Jeremy brought home berries from Ryverson\u2019s and sometimes Jen and her mother went to the U-pick for a few extra quarts. But raspberries always came from Cranson\u2019s, already picked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have to go,\u201d Honey announced. \u201cWe\u2019ll be back before the launch.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen read the TV countdown. \u201cBut it\u2019s fifty-eight minutes, twenty-six seconds!\u201d<\/p>\n

Her mother sighed. \u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen ran a dust cloth over the top of the end table jammed next to the brown plaid sofa that Grandma and Grandpa Donelli had given them when they moved to Florida a couple of years ago. She emptied the bookshelf in the corner, sprayed Pledge all over it, and wiped the wood. The books had hard covers, and a couple still had their paper jackets: Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Pride & Prejudice, Great Expectations, The House of Seven Gables. <\/em>Classics, her mother called them; she\u2019d brought them with her from Maine. Jen opened one and scanned the pages, assessing if this was the summer she could start reading them. She was going into fifth grade in the fall, but last year her teacher said she read almost at a seventh-grade level.<\/p>\n

Honey appeared in one of the summer shift dresses she made herself\u2014green with a paisley print, and an inch above her knees; her hair was brushed into a flip and tied with a scarf. Her arms were full of sheets to be washed. \u201cThank you for doing those shelves.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen ran for the dust mop and cleaned under all the furniture, even lying on the floor to get at the baseboards behind the sofa. Then it was T-minus twenty-nine minutes.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey go and then we\u2019ll go,\u201d Honey said.<\/p>\n

\"Raspberries<\/p>\n

Jen knew the U.S. had to get to the Moon first, before the Russians did and turned it all communist\u2014who knows, they might even try to blow it up, just to spite everybody else. The Moon\u2019s best hope was having an American flag planted on it\u2014that\u2019s what Mrs. Franklin had said last year in fourth grade. Then the Moon would be free forever.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Cranson called a third time. Jen heard her mother\u2019s voice, soft and apologetic: \u201cWe got tied up this morning. My husband and son needed breakfast before they went to work. I promise, we\u2019ll be there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Thay-ah. <\/em>Jennifer whispered the word aloud, trying to imitate her mother. Last summer, when they visited Grandma Iva, they walked the beach barefoot and dug for clams\u2014even her dad had finally taken off his shoes and rolled up his pantlegs. Jeremy didn\u2019t like the taste of clams, but Jen couldn\u2019t get enough of them. She went to bed at night smelling of salt and pine. When they left Grandma Iva\u2019s for the long drive back, Jen saw her mother wipe her eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThose astronauts bet-tah <\/em>get a move on.\u201d Her mother sat on the arm of the sofa. Jen sank into the thin cushions beside her.<\/p>\n

The newsmen talked about the historic moment, one you\u2019ll tell your grandchildren about. Then it was time.<\/p>\n

We have ignition. We have lift off.<\/em><\/p>\n

The rocket roared and flames shot out from the bottom. Big as a skyscraper, it rose straight up from the launch pad, snapping gravity like a rubber band. Jen reached for her mother\u2019s hand, holding on as if their grip kept that rocket steady. When the boosters disconnected Honey gasped, but Jen told her mother that was supposed to happen. Then the rocket was a bright white light, Moon-bound.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you imagine what it\u2019s like to be thay-ah<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

For a second, Jen thought her mother meant the Kennedy Space Center. But with one look at her eyes and parted lips, Jen knew what she really meant.<\/p>\n

\"Raspberries<\/p>\n

Jen sat in the front seat, looking out the window at the blur of tall grass, blue bachelor button flowers, and Queen Anne\u2019s lace growing in the ditches. The way the colors mixed together, it felt like they were going a hundred miles an hour, but when Jen fixed her eyes on a more distant point\u2014a perfectly shaped maple in an open field\u2014it felt like they were crawling.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot so hot today. We can make jam.\u201d Her mother glanced over as she drove.<\/p>\n

The Cransons lived out where the roads narrowed and trees formed leafy arches. Cows grazed in scrubby pastures. Houses were mostly gray boards with patches of white. One house had a bright blue wall, but either the people who lived there had changed their mind or forgot to do the rest.<\/p>\n

Cransons\u2019 place was neat and well-kept\u2014even Jen could see that. No paint peeled on the siding or the dark green shutters. Red geraniums bloomed by the front steps, and pink petunias spilled over the edges of the window boxes.<\/p>\n

Honey steered down the gravel driveway toward the barn in the back. A few chickens scattered at the approach of their car.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Cranson opened the screen door of the back porch and stood there, arms folded against her sagging bosom. She had on a blue dress and those orangey-tan cotton stockings that old ladies wore. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun as severe as her brown tie shoes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou kept me waiting,\u201d Mrs. Cranson said. \u201cIf those berries are moldy, I won\u2019t take them back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure they\u2019re fine,\u201d Honey said. \u201cWe\u2019re making them into jam this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then Jen saw it, the look down that bumpy old nose, the lipless mouth curling into a sneer. \u201cNot dressed like that, I hope\u2014like some kind of hippie girl and not a married woman.\u201d<\/p>\n

A pause followed and Jen swallowed hard, twice.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many pints did you pick this morning?\u201d Honey asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwenty-six. Kept five myself. All the rest are gone\u2014\u2019cept yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

Honey held out a roasting pan. \u201cBrought this for the berries. That way so you can keep your baskets.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Cranson didn\u2019t have anything to say to that one.<\/p>\n

Firm and red, not a bad one in the bunch, the berries tumbled into the pan. Mrs. Cranson emptied each pint carefully, so as not to bruise the fruit. Honey handed over six dollars.<\/p>\n

A red-wing blackbird cawed. Jen turned to find it against the blue sky and wondered how far the astronauts had gone. \u201cD\u2019you see the launch this morning? Apollo 11\u2014you know, going to the Moon.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Cranson stared. \u201cIs that why you made me wait\u2014for that nonsense?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen felt her mother\u2019s light touch on her shoulder. \u201cHistory in the making, Mrs. Cranson,\u201d Honey said. \u201cJust think, in a few days, the astronauts will land on the Moon.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Cranson huffed a laugh. \u201cI never knew the Moon was made for walking on!\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen giggled, thinking it was a joke, but Mrs. Cranson glared.<\/p>\n

The fingers on her shoulder tightened; it was time to leave.<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople ought to be content with their lot in life\u2014stay where they came from. You keep filling her head with nonsense like this, and God knows what will happen to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen stared down the barrel of a crooked finger aimed in her direction.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Cranson showed a picket fence of yellowed teeth. \u201cThen again, the apple doesn\u2019t fall far from the tree.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen waited, but her mother said nothing. Tears bit at her eyes. Her mother was going to let that old meanie get away with saying those things. Honey picked up the roasting pan full of berries, and Jen followed her out the back door. They got as far as the bottom of the porch steps, where yellow daises nodded their heads. Jen was ready to run ahead to open the car door when her mother stopped and dumped the pan. The raspberries pelted the ground; some smashed on impact, others bounced and rolled.<\/p>\n

Jen heard the old lady wheeze. \u201cLand\u2019s sake!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go, Jen,\u201d her mother said. \u201cWe don\u2019t want those berries.\u201d<\/p>\n

They rode in silence, Jen not sure what she should say, or whether her mother was angry or proud of herself. After about a mile, her mother turned toward her. \u201cDon\u2019t tell your father about this, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCross my heart.\u201d Jen smiled out the window.<\/p>\n

When they got home, Honey changed into an old pair of shorts and a stained blouse to work in the garden. Jen rode her bicycle a little, then helped her mother pull weeds, although she avoided the tomato vines on account of being deadly afraid of hornworms with their fat green bodies.<\/p>\n

\u201cRaspberries are stupid,\u201d Jen said at last. \u201cI hate them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her mother dug at the long tap root of a dandelion that had sprung up in the row between the peppers. \u201cThey\u2019re my favorite. Taste like summer to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sum-mah.<\/em> Jen wanted to make a list of all the Maine words, like a dictionary. Then the next time they visited Grandma Iva, she\u2019d sound just like her mother.<\/p>\n

\"Raspberries<\/p>\n

Supper was meatloaf and salad made with leaf lettuce and radishes from the garden.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou get them berries from Cranson\u2019s?\u201d Frank asked, looking up from his plate.<\/p>\n

\u201cFull of little bugs,\u201d Honey said. \u201cAphids, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRyverson\u2019s sprays,\u201d Jeremy said, his mouth full of of bread ripped off in an enormous bite. \u201cDon\u2019t even have grasshoppers there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jen took a forkful of meatloaf, never her favorite, and busied her mouth. Her mother hadn\u2019t lied\u2014those berries were crawling with Mrs. Cranson\u2019s meanness.<\/p>\n

After supper, Jen waited a long time until the first stars came out. Darkness swallowed the backyard by the time she went out and sat atop the picnic table in the backyard, swatting mosquitos that landed on her legs. The moon showed a three-quarter face, as if looking around a corner. She heard the back door open but couldn\u2019t see who it was until her mother climbed up beside her. In her hand was a jar of last year\u2019s raspberry jam, with two spoons sticking out of the open top.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere do you think they are?\u201d Her mother handed her a spoonful of jam.<\/p>\n

\u201cHalfway, I think\u2014maybe less. It\u2019s 240,000 miles.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy smart girl.\u201d Her mother leaned against her a little.<\/p>\n

Jen tasted the tart sweetness. Raspberries really were her favorite.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
\n

Patricia Crisafulli,<\/strong> M.F.A., is an award-winning writer, published author, and founder of FaithHopeandFiction.com<\/em><\/a>. She received her Master\u2019s in Fine Arts (MFA) from Northwestern University, which also honored her with the Distinguished Thesis Award in Creative Writing. She is the recipient of three Write Well Awards for best-of-the-web literary fiction for stories that have appeared on FaithHopeandFiction<\/em>. She is the author of several nonfiction books and a collection of short stories and essays, Inspired Every Day,<\/em> published by Hallmark.<\/p>\n

Image Credit: Tricia<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Then Jen saw it, the look down that bumpy old nose, the lipless mouth curling into a sneer. \u201cNot dressed like that, I hope\u2014like some kind of hippie girl and not a married woman.\u201d \u2013 online fiction by Patricia Crisafulli.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":5484,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[200,2,18,1],"tags":[102,100,170,67,25],"class_list":["post-5481","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-award-winning-online-fiction","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli","category-uncategorized","tag-children","tag-family","tag-fiction","tag-motherhood","tag-short-story"],"yoast_head":"\nRaspberries on the Moon | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Then Jen saw it, the look down that bumpy old nose, lipless mouth curling into a sneer... 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