CHOCOLATE for a TEEN’S HEART by Kay Allenbaugh

Author:Kay Allenbaugh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2001-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

SPRING HARVEST

H is elegant tallith disguises his youth. He seems old, knowledgeable of all we desire to ask. We watch, wait, praying he won’t falter, stumble over the well-rehearsed Hebrew prayers. Even though we all know he won’t.

Mike has counted the days until this glorious moment. A bridge is being built between his youth and his adulthood, in the tightly knit Jewish community that has taught him the ageless lessons of our complex lives. His glossy brown eyes are a constant reminder of the childhood he has led. Like an eagle, he seems to watch us from the podium.

His mom, Rachel, sits happily in the front row. Her clasped hands rest on her creamy white skirt. A gentle smile tickles the corners of her thin lips. Beside her, Mike’s dad, Tom, proudly watches the ceremony, his eyes glued to Mike. The twins Ben and Andrew, Mike’s brothers, sit in awe. In all my twelve years, I have not seen them so still and silent. Focusing my attention back to Mike, I realize how much we have changed. Yet the bud of friendship still blossoms.

In the days when clouds were cotton candy and change seemed distant, Mike and I were friends from opposite ends of the pre-fifth-grade social chain in Berkeley. Somehow the “boys-have-cooties” routine didn’t make sense to me. Unlike every other girl, I numbered guys as half of my “best” friends. Weird, isn’t it?

I remember playing hide-and-go-seek with Mike, his brothers, and whoever else happened to be in the neighborhood. It was an energetic game with a twist of patience. The thought of sitting in leaf mush and splintery branches was overpowered by the thrill of secretly sneaking back to base. That was how it was in the spring. The season when the forgotten foliage was reborn and great new hiding spots were discovered. With crooked lines and orange crayons, Mike and I would map out all potential hiding places each and every year. Then the games would begin.

Before long, spring would draw back and summer would roll in. A new season would begin: baseball season. Accompanied by fresh balls, well-loved mitts, and a silver bat, Mike, Ben, Andrew, and I would troop down to Cragmont Park. A meadow surrounded by eucalyptus trees gracing the elegant houses of Berkeley. This would be our new field. With decided teams and understood rules, we would begin the game. Hours of pitching, batting, and disagreements between Mike and the twins crowned my summer days. Nervous neighbors would wearily watch our games, waiting for an uncontrolled ball to sail toward their cars baking in the sun. But nothing ever happened. Summer would soon be fleeing from us, with school nipping at its heels.

Auburn leaves twirled down from trees, covering our sidewalks. Jeans took over from shorts. Teachers seized our baseballs and replaced them with homework. Mike and I used to sit Indian-style on his blue-sheeted bed. School projects and yellow pencils lay at our fingertips. Halloween candy surrounded us in piles while we decided what to eat, save, and trade.

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