By Erin Rasmussen, Class of 2024

Editor’s notes: Erin Rasmussen is the receiver of the Redmond Prize. The Redmond Prize for English Narrative, presented in memory of Henry S. Redmond, Class of 1923, is awarded to the student who, in the judgment of the English Department, has submitted an outstanding piece of narrative during this academic year.

“I don’t like oranges,” Louise screamed and screamed last night. 

“But I thought they were your favorite?” Anya was desperate. 

“No! They’re gross! No one else at school eats them! The peels got stuck in my fingernails again! It smells up the whole classroom! I need something else for lunch.”

Anya stared at the aisles of groceries, thinking about her poor Louise, who hadn’t had a tantrum in years. To think, her bright, happy, little warrior was crying about oranges. As Anya clonked around in her heels, her wrinkled suit draped over her cart’s handle, she forced herself to read every food label she could see. Otherwise, she feared the bags under her eyes would win this battle of wills. Deep breath, she thought. Just buy some apple slices and this will all be over. 

The only problem was, Anya did not want to go home. She could not face the empty bedroom next to hers, slowly collecting dust. She could not face her daughter, distraught and heartbroken, yet trying desperately to be strong. Most of all, she could not face the bright, shining orange tree, ignorant and proud. How long before it realizes? 

Once Anya made it to the fruit section, she simply stood in front of the apples, lifeless.  

Why are there so many types of apples? Does Louise want HoneyCrisp, Granny Smith, Mickey Mouse’s “fruit crisps,” the 99 cent unmarked ones, Cosmic Crisp, store brand green apple slices, store brand red apple slices, …

With the oranges, Grandma would simply pick them off the tree and hand them straight to little Louise. Now Anya had to decide. 

Anya could feel her mother staring her down. She used to brag about that orange tree like it was her own child. “See, who needs a supermarket when you have a beautiful garden right in your backyard? I grew that tree from a little seed you know.” 

But none of that matters now. Just buy some apple slices and this will all be over. 

When Anya made it home, she couldn’t help but smile as she saw her little Louise eagerly waiting by the door.
“Finally! What took so long mamma? I set the table just like you asked. It’s all ready. And I finished my homework. Well, most of it. I need your help with problem nine on my math homework. It’s like this guy buys twenty watermelons and tries to share them with his friends. I don’t get it. Oh and you won’t believe what happened at school today! So you know how Mrs. Henderson has been teaching us about division right?”

The pair walked upstairs to the kitchen, Anya too tired to respond to Louise, and Louise too energetic to notice she was the only one talking. Louise had only been alone for a few hours, but listening to her talk, you would think she’d been neglected for years. Not until Louise stopped her anxious chatter did Anya notice the table, beautifully set with three of Grandma’s flowery china plates, three knives, and three forks. Louise even remembered the embroidered napkins. 

“Those napkins were a wedding present from my sister. We can’t forget to use them. You know how she gets about those things,” Grandma used to say. 

As the two of them sat down for dinner, Louise finally noticed the grocery bag sitting on the empty plate next to her. 

“Oh, that’s why you were late. You actually went to a grocery store? For apples.”

“I Know.”

The garden outside the window mocked them. 

Louise stared down at her clean fingernails, quiet for the first time since her mother came home.
“Momma,” she took a deep breath in. Silence. “It wasn’t really about the oranges”

“I know, Sweetie”