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Solitude Ntaoleng

Watermelon

Sweet summer things

I was sitting on my porch, bathing in the hot zenith– my mind was out of its place and my body was beginning to adapt to the ridiculous heat when I heard a knock. I left my balcony with such anguish and low utterance, as I opened the door– there it stood in its beautiful greenes and rugby ball shape; in my life I had never seen such a beautiful watermelon. It had a note that read; you looked pretty hot, thought a melon would mellow you out. Hopefully you’ll call me on these numbers and invite me for a slice. The mystery of the traveling melon was less intriguing now than the person who sent the melon. I called the number as I picked the melon, it was so cold, i couldn’t let go of it. A woman’s voice said," I’m on my way." I waited by the door, and as she knocked I opened it with enthusiasm, there she was, I knew this face, it was familiar– it was the girl next door– i smiled, let her in and we sat on the porch and had the sweet, cold melon; we spoke over the heat, we felt it but it didn’t matter– i was falling in love with the Melon Girl.

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