The Fruit Man

Remember Beefsteak Charlies? I don’t remember the last time I saw one but every time I see one of those tomatoes, I remember Charlie my Charlie, the one who befriended me he didn’t have to, after all he was my grandfather. Charlie set the bar high 32 years with a seasoned life coach no one in my life came close. He was a fruit man and when I was small, he’d take me with him to work a little red-haired girl in Bed Sty playing with sawdust on Key Food’s floor chattering with Bible ladies who found me irresistible who wore fashionable hats and shoes and kept me in their prayers. We’d have lunch at Arthur’s counter or stop at a diner on the way home He loved diners. When I was older he’d take me to breakfast before school even my teen years didn’t scare him away We’d go to Chapman’s - Nick and Gertie - she made the best grilled cheese sandwich Charlie made a true best friend. I tagged along because he was fun and he sneakily gave me education Charlie never made it past 8th grade but no lettered professor could match his wit or knowledge he wiggled God into my heart and society onto my conscience and he laughed every day, at everything at himself the hardest. People loved him because he was real I loved him because I just did. He taught my daughters to sing and to color a real playmate rollicking along a floor full of trains and trolls and every time I see those tomatoes I remember his gardens he would show me, teach me, tell me the jewel was the beefsteak unmatched in flavor, yet big and lumpy, truly imperfect. That beefsteak was everything every seed, a lesson growth spurring and rounding imperfect and ever changing. I mourn that man every day but my teacher echoes in every lesson he planted in magic tomatoes their voice in my ear be better, be better.