He certainly hadn’t been without fault, she thought as her call went to voicemail again. Yet, she blamed herself. She didn’t even bother to scribble the usual frustrated commentary in her journal or engage her sister in the familiar text crossfire about always taking the fall for guys. She knew that even in calling them out for their behavior, the work still fell on her: to prove it, to grapple over something they took for granted. It all made her feel so tired that it was just plain easier to bear the brunt of the whole misdeed. Earlier, in the dawning light, in the orchard’s back office, being questioned by a hugely overweight security guard wearing white tennis shoes with Velcro closures, she felt like she’d been carrying the burden of being a woman for many more than her 19 years.
It hadn’t been her idea to go apple picking at Hillside Orchard at 4 am. That part of the blame definitely belonged to him. It wasn’t really a crime, he’d said. Apples can’t really belong to anyone, can they? And the time was perfect, he reasoned, since he finished his shift at the Circle K at 3:30. His ease and his confidence – unburdened as he was with any kind of moral compass – gave his ideas an old-timey wholesome brand of wonder that was impossible to resist. Pick apples? Sure. 4 am? It’s just a time. Right?
The idea was the extent of effort he put into the scheme, and it was up to her to run with it, to find the easiest way into the orchard once the public gates were closed for the day, to think about where to park in order to make their getaway, to find black canvas bags that would carry the load of apples. She was pleased with how easy it was for her to find ways to be criminal. She even suggested in a gleeful whisper that they both dress in black, and although he nodded enthusiastically and laughed his open-mouthed laugh at the idea, when she picked him up that night at 3:30, he wore jeans and a gray windbreaker. He had yawned hugely and leaned his head against the window of the car and told her to stop for coffee.
The security guard was showing her footage now: a woman dressed all in black, falling gracelessly from the limb of a short tree to the grass, brushing at her knees and slinging a black bag over her shoulder. Here was the woman again, her head grazing branches, reaching and plucking. The video was grainy. That could be anyone, she thought to herself, looking away from the video for a moment and catching sight of the grass-stained knees of her black leggings. She looked back to the figure on the screen, now awkwardly scooping a couple of apples from the ground beneath a tree. It dawned on her at that moment that she wasn’t much of an apple fan, except for apple pie, and she really preferred strawberries. A strangled snort of a laugh escaped her, but at the guard’s indignant look, she quickly turned it into a mock sob and lowered her head in what she hoped looked like contrition.
The security guard, Andy, didn’t call the authorities as he’d threatened. He confiscated the black bag of apples and gave her a stern, yet kindly warning, and then offered her a ride to her car which she’d parked on a side street about a half mile from the orchard. He seemed to forget about the whole incident as they walked to the Hillside Orchard Security van, he wheezing slightly with the effort. And as they drove out through the neat rows of trees, he casually pointed out the different apple varieties. Her accomplice hadn’t shown up in any of the footage, and Andy had never thought to ask if any one else had been involved. As they approached her car, she let a slight hope surface that he would be there waiting, a smile of relief on his face. Ultimately, though, she was just glad that she’d held onto the keys, and that the car was still there.
She finally reached him on the phone that night, after several attempts.
“Man, that was freaky!” he laughed, “That fat dude was like, ‘Stop! Stop!’” he laughed harder. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Your face! Your face!” He laughed even harder, almost choking. “The look on your face!”
A beat of silence. Did she hear the crunch of an apple? She hung up.