“Her name was Sally. Past tense because I would never see her again. Past tense because it was a one night stand. But she wasn’t like most girls. For once, sex wasn’t the most important thing in the world. Before the sex, there was laughing and bowls of blueberries. We acted like kids and stuck them up our noses and blew them out at each other. It was silly, but I liked it. I really did. I wouldn’t admit it to the other guys tonight, but I’d keep it in the back of my head. Her lips were a bruise blue, blueberry kisses, sweet warmth shared between breaths. That was the climax of the night. I couldn’t get over the tender touch of her soft lips. When our naked bodies coalesced for sleep, my eyes remained open, my mind active, replaying those few seconds over and over, those blueberry seconds in this blueberry night.
And we woke up to a blueberry morning, with the clouds hanging low, pregnant with gray and rain. She decided to stay a few hours longer and read my coffee table art books. Still carrying a blueberry scent, she carefully leafed through each page of paintings. I watched her, not saying much. I didn’t want to say anything, didn’t need to say anything. I just-I don’t know. Everything was different.
She left with a simple goodbye with a simple smile, and when I walked her out, I stood close by, taking in as much of her as I could gather, the last traces, the sweet remains. One more kiss, and she was off. And I’d never see her again. Later tonight, I’d tell the guys about the amazing sex and nothing else. They’d think I’d be some sort of pansy to talk about blueberries. About that blueberry night and that blueberry morning.”-Josh Summerford
