The Blueberry Disaster


I see a little, white, glass bowl with drawings of birds and blue ribbons spun around the rim of the bowl. Standing just above the rim of the bowl are hundreds of ripe blueberries. I gently pick out a squishy one and choke it with my fingertips. I hear a slight pop and see green meat gush out from inside of the blueberry. It feels gooey and smells sweet and refreshing. I shove my hands into the bowl. I smash, dig, and shovel up blueberry upon blueberry. My delicate fingers are now stained purple and blue. I grab a handful of blueberries and toss them into the air. Quickly, gravity pulls them to the tile flooring of my kitchen with a thump. They look like exploding fireworks of blue. I repeat and this time, try to catch some in my mouth. I successfully catch 2 in my mouth. The rest smack my face and fall down, slipping across the counter tops and floors. A crazy idea pops to my head. I dig my hands into the bowl and spoon up a handful of juicy, round blueberries. Without hesitation, I whack my hand to my forehead like a pie to the face. The blueberries feel cold and sloppy on my forehead. I shake my head, removing the blueberries and watching the skins of broken berries fly off of my face and down the front of my body to join the rest of my destruction on the floor. Juice drips down my forehead and into my eyes. I blink to avoid getting the juice in my eyes. My hairline is wet with blueberries and my hands are covered in blue. I look around the kitchen at the aftermath of my destruction. I think to myself, “Why did I just do that?”

Frantically, I reach to the small case of Clorox wipes. I yank at the seem of the woven cloth and on my hands and knees, aggressively scrub the floor. The hard, cold tile bruises my tender knees. The juice from the blueberries stains my knees to match my hands. The juice refuses to erase. Frustrated, I roll back onto my shins and let out a moan as I glance at the kitchen. All I see is white floors, white cabinets, and white appliances with long streaks of purple running down to the floor. “Why did my parents have to get white EVERYTHING?!” I think to myself. My face burns red with the anger that I now want to take out on my parents even though, it was me who was responsible for this catastrophe.

I hear the gravel of my mother’s car wheels pulling up into the driveway. My stomach drops. A few seconds later, the door to her car closes and I can hear her continuing on a conversation with someone on the phone. All color in my face washes away as my body goes numb at the thought of her horror after seeing the kitchen. I leap for the cabinet under the sink to hide. A million thoughts scramble my scattered brain. My breathing grows heavier and my heart is practically jumping out of my chest. I close my eyes as the front door opens. All the insanity in my head comes to a painfully silent halt as I freeze. I watch through the crack in the cabinet door as the shadow of her heels walks past me and into the kitchen. A gasp is let out. She is horrified.

My mother calls out “Did you drop the bowl of berries?” I sit still and decide to own up to my foolish mistake. As I come out of the cabinet, she looks at me and a grin is brought to her face as she sees my blue body. Tears start to stream out of my eyes. I don’t know why I randomly started crying, but once I started, I couldn’t hold back. I told her about my stupid idea and owned up to my mistake, prepared to take a punishment. She surprisingly isn’t mad. How is she not mad? She sends me to my bathroom to get cleaned up and says that she will get the problem resolved and not to worry. The guilt of ruining the kitchen is somewhat relieved from the fact that she completely understood. But, I now know to think before I do something foolish.