The Pear

Flash Fiction by Robert McEvily



One day, way back when, as I walked naked to the outhouse, a black man pulled up alongside me in a Jeep.

"You the kid they call dumbass?" he said.

I nodded yes. He studied me.

"Why ain't ya got no clothes on?"

I shuffled my feet, embarrassed. "Can't afford 'em," I said. The black man shook his head and laughed. "Can't afford 'em? Ha! Then go git yoself a job, dumbass! Or steal some!" He held up a pear, still shaking his head. After a couple of tease fakes, he tossed it to me. "What kinda dumbass walks around naked, waitin' for an ass-whoopin'? Huh? Tell me that, boy. What kinda dumbass?" I stared at the ground. I realized I could say something funny - or at least something - if only I had the nerve. I just kept staring at the ground.

"Well... pfff." He scratched his chin and sighed. "Find the hell out, dumbass. And cover up that johnson!"

I placed the pear you-know-where.

"And when ya finished eatin', don't worry 'bout no garbage can. Just chuck the core. This here's nature, boy." And he took off. Zoom. Gone. Just like that. Big cloud of dust. I made a mental note of his license plate: GET OUT.

Usually I kinda slowly shuffled to the outhouse, dragging my feet, farting, lost in an aimless fog. But that day, after I ate the pear and chucked it, I ran. I ran as fast as I could. Didn't fart once.