Cherries and Blueberries

Once there was a small island in the middle of the ocean. It was made of coral and pink sea foam, inhabited only by girls. They talked and played, where everything was always safe and neat and clean, and every day they occupied themselves painting their nails, doing their hair and putting on makeup.

They were placed there by a kind creator, who made each with equal parts of sugar, spice, and everything nice, then wrapped them in a little package with a bow and deposited them onto their home.

Their only source of food was a large, red, fruit called a cherry, and it was made to taste just as delicious to each of them. They were always safe, and happy to be isolated from the boys.

Miles out on the other side of their ocean, was another small island. It was made of rock and dense jungle, that glowed bluer than the sapphire tides. It was inhabited only by boys. They climbed up trees and built forts, occupying themselves by playing war, hunting meat, making weapons and telling dirty jokes. They loved to roll in the dirt, and tangle themselves up in weeds.

They were put there by the same kind creator, who made them each with equal parts of bugs, brawn, and everything strong, then packaged them in cardboard and deposited them onto their little island. Their only source of food was a small, blue fruit called a blueberry, and it was made to be just as delicious to each of them.

Everything was as perfect as it could be for both of the groups. They never grew old, they never changed, and under any circumstances, did they ever leave their islands.

However, one particular time, the creator was mixing the ingredients for a new boy. He put equal parts of bugs, brawn, and everything strong into him, but then changed his mind when he was wrapping him. He thought about what would happen if he added just a teaspoon of sugar to the mix. It would make him think differently, feel differently, maybe even look differently from the rest of the boys.

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” he thought, and mixed in a teaspoonful of sugar into the boy, taking him in his hands, and naming him Taylor.

Before he left him that night, knowing that he would need help, the creator made another girl, with equal parts of sugar, spice, and everything nice, but stirred in a teaspoon of brawn into her. She would be different too, and he hoped that they’d find each other someday. He gathered her up in his large, gentle hands and named her Drew.

That night, he gently laid the boy on the rocky island, wrapping him snugly in a pile of leaves.

He then placed a blueberry next to his bedside for him to eat when he woke up. Although I suppose we can see that this is proof of the creator’s sense of humor. He knew he would not enjoy the fruit.

At the same time, the girl was sleeping soundly on a bed of seafoam.

The next morning, just as each of the islands were waking up to have fun, the little boy rose face to face with the blueberry. The other boys came to him and greeted him the way they greeted everyone, by having a blueberry feast, and playing war together. They yelled and laughed, happy to have no consequences for being rowdy. The boy had plenty of fun, and felt very welcomed on the island.

He put a blueberry in his mouth and bit into it. His mouth puckered. His lips drooped. As fun as it was for the others, as delicious as the fruit tasted to the others, he could not stand it. The taste felt bitter and wrong in his mouth, and at once he knew it was not the fruit he should be eating. But there was no other fruit on the island.

He looked up at the other boys and put on a pleased smile, pretending to savor the fruit, trying hard not to spit it out as he swallowed.

He kept doing so for several years, putting on a smile and pretending that the fruit tasted good to him, and that he enjoyed the boyish games they all seemed to find such pleasure in.

One night, he was looking up at the stars and thinking about himself, and why he was different. He couldn’t understand why he didn’t think or feel the same way as the other boys did. He knew there must be something wrong with him. It had now been twenty years, and for all that time, he’d tried to suppress his feelings. But he knew that somewhere on the other side of that vast ocean, he could find out why.

That night he built a little raft for himself, and set out to sea. He took a lantern with him, illuminating the way on the fierce sea. It was the scariest thing he’d ever done, but he knew that he had to do it. The waves rocked him and the wind chilled his bones, as he shivered and held onto the tiny sail that was ripped to shreds by the salt spray.

Finally, as dawn was breaking, he saw land. He drew his raft ashore the pink seafoam island, and fell asleep on a bed of coral.

The next morning, as both islands were waking up, the girls got up to repaint their nails and do their hair. For breakfast, they got baskets full of cherries, and sat on the branches of slender trees to eat them.

Taylor shifted in his sleep. One of the girls thought she saw a tuft of hair sticking up from the sand, so she went to investigate. He woke up, and seeing her there, hid himself, afraid of what she might do.

Fortunately, she decided to bring him to meet the rest of the island’s inhabitants. She took him by the hand and led him to the cherry breakfast. The girls stared blankly at him, some cowering, others casting disgusted looks on him. His hair was matted, his cheeks crusted with salt.

The girl who’d led him there showed him a small pink hammock where he could stay for the night.

He slunk back into it and watched the girls eat and play and paint their nails. He wanted to have his hair done, but kept the thought back. If leaving the boys wasn’t bad enough, acting like a girl was. But more than anything, he wanted to try a cherry. He finally wanted to try another fruit that wasn’t a blueberry, but it was out of his reach. Boys could only eat blueberries, girls could only eat cherries.

After the whole day passed and he hadn’t eaten, his stomach growling and his mouth watering, he snuck out of the hammock to a cherry tree. He reached up to it and grabbed the juiciest one, bright red and plump, hanging from it. He lifted the fruit up to his mouth and bit down. The fruit tasted like the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. He admitted to himself that it was, and it felt good. He chewed and savored the fruit, and sucked the juice from it.

Just as he swallowed, he turned around to see a girl staring at him, her mouth gaping in horror. He wasn’t ashamed. He was proud of what he’d done.

She screamed, waking the others.

His courage wavered as the girls hopped up to see him standing with red lips, holding the stripped pit in his hand.

“Look!” she yelled. Another saw what he’d done. “What a freak!” she pointed at him. They gathered around him, but he held his head high.

They all stared at him in disgust. What he was doing… was simply unnatural.

“This island is for girls only,” the largest of them said. “Go back.” she pointed an accusing finger at the boy. He flinched. The girls began to move toward him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of the island.

“Please,” he looked around them. They were all indifferent.

“It’s not my fault. I just… don’t like blueberries.” Just as his feet slipped into the water, someone spoke up.

“Wait!” one of them called out. The girls parted for her. She looked different from the rest of them. Her hair wasn’t done, and her fingernails were long and grimy, but her eyes reflected beauty. The girl with a teaspoonful of brawn.

The others judged her masculine features. “Why should I?” the largest said.

“It’s not his fault that he’s different, he just is.” Drew answered.

She took a blueberry from her pocket, tossed it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed.

“I’m different too.”

“Get out of here!” the largest yelled. “You’re a freak!” the congregation of girls knocked them into each other, pushing the tiny raft at them. As they fell down onto it, they exchanged fearful looks. Where were they to go?

The girls watched them sail away, as the night fell on the vast ocean.

They began to cry. They had both thought they could find out why they were so different. Instead, they’d lost their only homes.

Over the next days they talked and got to know each other, and exchanged fruit. They became good friends, and lived off of what little food floated around them.

They knew they probably wouldn’t make it, so after three days of floating adrift, they comforted each other, starving, thirsty and shivering, holding on to each other as they slept.

As dawn was breaking the next day, their tiny, broken raft ran ashore land. They woke up on a soft beach. Drew took some of the sand in her hand and let it sift through her fingers. It was colorful. As they looked up, they saw that they were on an island, composed of all the colors of the rainbow. There was fruit falling from rainbow trees, both cherries and blueberries, and even a purple fruit neither of them had seen before. They embraced and laughed, and occupied themselves doing their hair and tangling themselves in dense jungle, painting their nails and building forts, playing war while painting themselves pink.

Through the years, the creator made other girls and boys with spoonfuls of sugar and of brawn, some with equal parts of the recipe, diverse and beautiful; different in their own ways. But the islands never saw them that way. Every time they ate the wrong fruit, or refused to participate, they were exiled.

But because he loved them, the creator guided each and every one of them to the rainbow island, which grew larger every day. They would always be deemed unnatural by both islands. They’d each lost a home, but by being themselves, ultimately gained a new one. They even made a little flag for their special rainbow creed, and shared of everything they had to each other, not one person ever forsaken.

Only one last hope remained for the tiny community, living in harmony on the island. The hope that someday the people on the pink and blue islands would understand. Taylor and Drew were born this way. Nothing else to it.