Pickles and Strawberries, By Deanaletta Seif

We played frisbee and badminton under the shade of an old oak tree. Scouring the grass for buttercups to nibble on. Never worrying about the grime of the dirt floor or its influence on the flower’s suitedness as an after-lunch snack. We’d consume these tiny delicacies, marveling at our foraging abilities. 

I’d watch you mold tinfoil into little people. Another friend who fashion dresses for them out of tissue paper. Imaginative pastimes of our youth. Briefly, we were joint leaders of an interview club created solely so we could talk to classmates we had crushes on. Learning more about them through our highly organized interviews.

One day we got lost at the pickle festival. I can’t remember why exactly. When my parents found us, they scolded us for not paying better attention, but all was forgotten when we went strawberry picking under the spring sun. That is how I remember this friendship. Sweet and innocent, like eating fresh strawberries.