Fiction:

Dates Don’t Grow on Trees

by Anne C. Bradshaw

The local crop of dates didn’t hold much promise for Amy until Sam went bananas. Suddenly, she realized the idea did have appeal.

“Life’s not fair!” exclaimed Amy, twisting and plaiting her long auburn hair.

Sam, who’d been around since Sunbeam days, raised his eyebrows. They were the last youth in the foyer waiting for lifts home from seminary.

She turned to the notice board, jabbing a finger at a dazzling poster. “‘New Year’s Social,’ it says.” She jabbed again. “‘Bring a date,’ it says. How am I supposed to do that? No one ever asks me. There’s just nobody around this place.”

She slumped gloomily onto the bench, contemplating a dateless Christmas, dateless New Year, dateless forever.

“Thanks a lot.” Sam pulled himself to full frame, short, lean, and topped with a cheery face, nicely sprinkled with spots and freckles.

“So, Mike, Adam, and I are nobody, are we? I’ll remember that next time you want a puncture fixing or algebra sorting out, or …”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to make you mad. It’s just that you’ve always been here. You’re more like … well … brothers. You know—good friends. Dating’s different.”

“How different?”

“Very different. A date should be exciting, romantic, unusual. I want to be whisked off my feet by someone who reveals a delicious character under a tough skin. Someone hard to reach, but cool and …”

“Mushy.”

“Pardon?”

“Really mushy. You’re describing a TV soap star, Amy. People in real life aren’t like that. Sounds as though you’re expecting some posh bloke to roll up in a Jag. I’m afraid you’re in for a long wait.”

He picked up his scriptures. “Come on, there’s your mum’s Austin. Looks like she’s in her usual hurry. She’s reversing already. She’ll be down at the gates if we’re not quick.”

Amy bent down to her bag. “Hang on,” she added, handing him a seminary booklet. “Don’t forget next week’s work. Doesn’t sound very easy reading to me, that section 95. There’s another unfair thing. How can someone be loved at the same time as being chastened? It doesn’t make me feel very loved when I’m getting a telling off.”

“Depends how you listen,” said Sam, reaching for the door. “And whether you hear with your brain or your spirit.”

“You don’t make much sense sometimes, Sam Harper.” She paused, buttoning her coat. “Sam?”

“What?”

“Between you and me, do you think I’m pretty enough to get a date?”

Sam looked away. “Yes,” he said.

“Then why don’t I?”

He stood quiet for a while, keeping the door open with his foot. Then he tapped his scriptures. “Another part of that section 95 might hold the answer. Verse 6 is very interesting.”

Amy poked him in the ribs and brushed past, head in the air.

“Oh, you’re so … so … serious.” This final word came shooting out. “Move it, then.” She began running. “Last one to the car buys chips on the way to your house.”

Sam moved. He took the shortcut, hedgehopping a stone wall and a few rose bushes.

“Slow coach,” he panted, as Amy came in a close second. Then he smiled. “But the chips are on me anyway.”

“Thanks,” she gasped, regaining her breath as he opened the car door. “But you don’t have to.”

Sam’s smile widened as her mother revved the engine. “And some for Sister Frank, seeing as we kept her waiting.”

Before the inner car light switched off, Amy glanced up just in time to catch that smile reflected in the depth of his eyes. It was mingled with such an expression of kindness that a warmth seemed to bounce right back into the whole of her being.

How odd, she pondered, while the car gathered speed. I’ve never noticed Sam’s eyes do that before. She tried to recall the last time she’d ever watched his eyes while he talked. She couldn’t.

She gave a shrug as the chip shop came in sight, quickly dismissing such unfamiliar thoughts.

The following weekend brought snow and ice.

The atmosphere in Sunday School wasn’t much warmer. Amy had read Doctrine and Covenants 95:6 that morning: “They who are not chosen have sinned a very grievous sin, in that they are walking in darkness at noonday.” [D&C 95:6]

Her first reaction had been indignation, followed swiftly by tears. Now she sat amidst her friends feeling dejected.

“What’s up, Amy?” asked Sam, dropping into the empty chair on her left. “You look like you’re having a good-cheer famine.”

She glanced briefly at him, then sniffed. “You really took that verse 6 out of context, didn’t you Sam.”

With a sheepish grin, he cringed a little. “Oh—that.”

Amy half turned away. “Why, may I ask, is it a sin to have no date? And I’m not in darkness.” Her voice rose with a slight wobble. “And everything’s quite bright and sunny, thank you.”

Sam sighed with embarrassment. “Look here, Amy,” he touched her arm. “I … I didn’t want to hurt you. It’s just that … I mean …” he stammered, turning crimson. “Uh oh, I think I’ve blown it. I can’t explain properly. It was a kind of joke. You know a play on words?”

Bending her head forward to let long strands of hair hide her face, she said in a small voice, “I wasn’t very amused, Sam.”

“Maybe you didn’t listen with your spirit, Amy. I mean, think of it this way. …”

Fortunately, the teacher arrived before he could tangle things further.

Amy sat through the lesson in a dream, letting everything slide over, like warm breath on frosted windows.

By the time midweek seminary came round again, she had melted a little and could see the funny side, even half admiring his weird sense of humour. Imagine Sam having nerve to say that to her. Walking in darkness indeed. Who did he think she’d missed around here?

She chuckled to herself. It was worth catching the early bus to seminary and getting there in time for some teasing.

But Sam wasn’t there. For the first time ever Sam was not at seminary. No one had heard from him all week. Amy felt a niggle of worry.

However, all such problems soon vanished when Amy’s mother arrived at nine. She could hear Mum’s voice before the car door was half open.

“You’ll never believe what’s happened. Maybe I was seeing things. No, they were real all right. But how could they be? Didn’t have time to double-check. Too late leaving. But how in the world … I mean … bananas—at this time of the year?”

“Mum, what are you talking about?” asked Amy, with a worried frown.

“There they were, dear. On the beech tree in the front garden. Bunches of bananas. All over the branches!”

“But, Mother, bananas never grow in England. You must have been imagining things.”

Sister Frank started the engine, shaking her head resolutely. “I may get slightly muddled at times, but I’m definitely not senile yet.”

The homeward trip was even faster than usual. And sure enough, there in the front garden was a banana tree.

Amy clambered out of the car in a daze, vaguely aware of a telephone ringing in the distance. She walked slowly up the path. “Must be some sort of hoax, Mum. They’re tied on,” she called over her shoulder whilst reaching out to touch the nearest one.

But Mother had turned her back towards the house. “Won’t be a minute dear—let me answer that phone.”

Amy pulled down the fruit, shivering. It felt cold and uninviting. She was just about to let it slither to the ground, when she noticed half stuck tape crumpled round the top. Peeling back the skin wasn’t easy. Then her eyes stretched in amazement. Folded neatly under the surface was a piece of paper.

Her fingers were too chilled to be careful, but she managed to straighten the paper enough to decipher a message.

“Is this an exciting, romantic and different enough way to ask for a date? If so, please climb the nearest easy branch and pull down banana number two. The one with a red heart stuck at the top.”

Clambering up the lumpy trunk and onto the first branch, Amy found the next one. The heart had slipped a bit, but another message fell out.

“Well, you’ve been whisked off your feet and this fruit reveals a delicious character under a tough skin.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got to be joking,” she muttered, prodding the banana, now squishy and turning brown.

“Now go for the fruit on that branch overhanging the hedge,” she read. “The one with two hearts. Be careful. It’s not easy.”

Amy hesitated, then quickly climbing, she stretched across the hedge top, only to find herself sliding gracefully into it. Spitting frosted twigs from her mouth, she reached again, grabbing at the banana.

As brown pulp squirted in her hands, she immediately wished she hadn’t bothered. Letting out an exasperated yell, she jumped down. “Oh, that Sam Harper! Just wait till …”

But she couldn’t resist opening the note. Her voice sounded surprised when she read out loud. “So sorry this one was hard to reach, but it’s definitely cool and …”

“Mushy?” came a familiar voice from behind the hedge.

“You can say that again,” exploded Amy. She tossed back her hair, then pulled down another banana. In seconds war would have broken out, but for Sam’s infectious laughter.

“So this is where you were during seminary. You’re a nut case, Sam. What am I going to do with you?” She shook her head and began brushing bits of tree off her coat.

He took out a tissue and gently wiped banana mush from her hand. “You could try answering my question,” he replied softly.

“Which one?”

“Please will you be my date for the New Year’s social?”

She looked at him for a long moment. There was that smile, hovering in his eyes again, only this time it seemed anxious and hopeful as well as kind.

“I think I must be slightly mad, but yes—on two conditions.”

Sam knelt in the slush at her feet, and with a flourish, pulled out a box of Cadbury’s milk tray from inside his coat. “Anything,” he promised, solemnly. “And here’s something to take away the taste of bananas. I know in the TV advert the man leaps off a mountain at this moment, but, … as we don’t have one handy …”

Amy giggled, giving a mock curtsy whilst he gallantly placed them in her outstretched hand.

She pulled him to his feet with the other hand. “Okay, I’ll be your date, but only if there are no more bananas—not ever.”

“And the other condition?”

She paused. “Will this mean I’m no longer walking in darkness at noonday?”

Sam grinned. “How could anyone be in the dark with me around? Come on, let’s celebrate.”

“Does a drink of Mum’s hot black current and toast sound exciting enough?”

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “Umm! Delicious!”

Amy nudged him towards the house. The rest of the bananas could wait until morning. After all, dates don’t grow on trees every day of the week.

Illustrated by Ron Peterson