The Influences of Grapefruit

Whenever I hear the word ‘grapefruit’ used in a sentence, I immediately think of the day that Hannah , Sarina , and I became friends. The very thought of the sticky pink fruit puts a smile on my face as the memories flood back to me.

It all took place on a chilly spring evening in the seventh grade at Hannah's house. Neither Sarina nor I knew Hannah very well, as she was new to our school that year, but we both agreed to sleepover at her house one Friday after school.

I hadn’t known what to expect, exactly, but I should’ve at least guessed that Sarina would end up completely hyper off pop and sugar-filled treats like most other sleepovers. I’d known Sarina since we were eight, so I was no stranger to her childlike behaviour.

I sat with Hannah at her kitchen table, and we watched through the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard as Sarina ran around outside in a crazed manner. She was completely oblivious to the world around her, as she laughed frantically like a hyena.

I took the time to examine her kitchen. Aside from the obvious surroundings like a fridge, and a stove, I noticed a painting of an unfamiliar beach hanging on the wall next to the cupboards, and a bowl of giant, ripe grapefruit sitting in the middle of the table.

That’s when the idea occurred to me. It was as though someone had flicked the switch to an invisible light that lingered over my head.

“Hannah, do you have a knife that I can use, by some chance?” I asked in a relatively calm and constructive tone.

She must’ve seen me eyeing the fruit, for she smiled and retrieved two dinner knives and wordlessly we started slicing open the grapefruit.

Ten minutes later, with halves of grapefruit in each of our hands, we shimmied out the sliding door and stayed close to the light blue siding of Hannah’s house. Sarina was still running around in some sort of frenzy, so she didn’t even notice me as I pounced out of the shadows and smashed a grapefruit half over her head.

“It’s so sticky!” She screamed at me in horror, realizing what I’d done. The fruit had made its way from her hair to clothes, and shoes. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

I took her anger as a hint to run. I had made it just around to the other side of the house when I looked back and saw that both Hannah and Sarina were on my tail. My legs were too wobbly to continue any further, but I trekked on. There was no way that they would use my own idea against me.

I was tired though, and eventually Hannah caught up with me and attacked me from behind, clobbering me with her portion of the grapefruit.

That night, as we did our best to clean the citrus fruit from our hair and clothes, laughing and making jokes about the event, I realized that not only was our little grapefruit fight a lot of fun, but it broke down any barriers we’d had before the fight. The three of us were no longer acquaintances; we were friends. Best of friends.

I was sitting in the car the following morning when my mother stopped to examine my hair. “What on earth is in your hair?” She demanded.

With flushed cheeks, I thought an excuse to cover up the fight that no one other than the three of us were to know about. “It’s just hairspray,” I finally replied in a nonchalant manner.

She gave me a strange look, but drove on without another suspicious remark. As for me, I just stared out the window and thought back on the amazing night I’d just shared with my two best friends.