I remember when a petite fruit stand used to linger on the people ridden streets of Old San Francisco. Whenever you’d pass the brightly painted umbrella and the worn wooden shelves, you could smell the rich fragrance of crisp apple, fresh-picked blackberries and perfectly ripe plums, peaches and nectarines. The young boy who worked there had inherited the century-old stand, which had been handed down through every generation. Every morning at exactly 6:30, the boy would slowly lug his cart to the third curb on Mulkin Street, where he would wait for his daily customers. He usually started the day sitting on a cold Eastern-Way park bench where he sat and read the daily headlines, usually a ramble about some school sports team or some crazy event or parade. This story starts five years ago, the boy, who everyone called Anders, was relaxing on the bench reading about how the San Francisco Elementary School Finches defeated the East Bay Bears 40 home runs to nothing. Anders was pondering how the opposing team couldn’t even score a single run when he heard a loud scream tremble through the air. His body twitched at the sound. It was high pitched, like a screaming pig, but rough and scratchy like radio fuzz. He stood up. That sound was familiar; he had heard it many times before, but only in his deepest nightmares. He ran down the pedestrian filled sidewalks, up Eastern-Way Street, turning right at Midsummers Road and coming to a complete halt at 4432 Crathers Lane. It was a horrible and traumatic moment for the small child who was watching his house ebb into a pile of rubble. His mother had been ironing his shirts for his Sunday mass and she forgot to unplug the iron from the wall. Anders crumpled into a puddle of tears as he saw the roof cave in on itself and fall flat to the ground with a sickening thud.
A couple months later, the court building found the Mother’s will and wanted all members of the family to join in court to gain possession of their deceased loved ones things. The courtroom was painstakingly filled with bright white furnishings and painted a pale shade of light gray. The only attendees were Anders, Ander’s 50-year-old aunt, and Ander’s father (who left when he was just a baby). Anders found a place to sit on the fourth row, three seats over from the second to the last seat. The seats were extremely hard, with only a slight amount of padding on the back. He watched in grief as the testatrix walked into the courtroom and called for silence. She was a tall young woman who had her hair pulled back into an extremely precise bun that looked like a beehive on the back of her head. She was wearing a bright blue pantsuit with a black tie. The testatrix soon signaled that they would have to begin reading the will.
“Today we are gathered to read the will of Mrs. Jimson, the deceased. I shall read the will out loud to the executors.” The testatrix continued. “I, Shea Jimson, residing at 4432 Crathers Lane, San Francisco, CA, declare this to be my will.”
Anders felt a slight stinging feeling in his eyes as they slowly welled up with tears, but he blinked them away quicker than they appeared.
His Mother had given the estate to her Cousin, Lucie, who had looked out for her when she was a small girl. She gave most of her possessions to Ander’s Father, Jerry, who was sitting in the corner, stiff as a board, but if you looked close enough you could see that tears were slowly running down his cheeks too.
Anders sat patiently, but it had already been an hour or two and his name hadn’t come up yet. He was wondering if his mother had even left anything for him, but that’s when his moment came.
“I give my most wonderful baby boy, Anders, my most beloved possession. My fruit stand. I grant court the right to give this possession to my son, a minor, and if both I and my spouse pass, I give all custody rights to.............” The testatrix paused. She took a deep breath and looked deep into Ander’s eyes. “My dear child, I am so sorry that all you got was a dirty old fruit stand. And she didn’t even give and custody rights. We must drop you off at the orphanage next week.”
“It’s may be dirty and old, but it’s all I have left of her. It is going to be my fruit stand and it will be the best in the world. She gave this to me and I will take the honor of protecting it for her.” He interrupted, quite louder than he wanted to.
Anders looked around the room and, to his surprise, everyone’s eyes were bulging in his direction. He tried to turn his head towards the floor, but he could still feel the pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head like knives. He edged his way off the seat and attempted to sneak out the door. He noticed that everyone was occupied and he quietly ran straight out the freezing cold marble doors, trying to not drag any more attention to himself. Anders ran faster and faster, accumulating speed as he ran further and further away from the courtroom. Soon, the courtroom looked like a small dot on the horizon. He ran past beautiful, golden hillsides and huge houses that towered above him with giant courtyards and drives, and then he passed a school painted yellow and had a long chimney pipe poking out of the lopsided roof.
Anders didn’t know where to go, he just kept running and running; down the gravel roads that crinkled and crackled under his feet, past the old fashioned supermarket on 8th street until he reached a park bench. He was extremely tired; sweat was pouring from his forehead and his shoes were drenched with a cold mud. The bench was hard and splintery and Anders was very uncomfortable, but he still didn’t complain.
It could be WAY worse, He thought. I could be sleeping on the floor of an orphanage with no blankets or warmth. To the orphans, this would have been a fantasy, so he made the best of what he had. His eyes slowly began to grow heavy, so heavy that his eyes fluttered closed like a butterflies wings, and he fell into a deep sleep.
He woke up the next morning, the sun shining in his eyes and the air a chilling wave of ice. Anders looked up at the sky, the sun was like a golden coin flying in the air, and the clouds were huge and fluffy like cotton candy. He wished he could reach up into the sky and grab ahold of the clouds and fly away. He then felt the weight of the world as it settled on his shoulders and shoved him upright. He reached down next to him and picked up the daily newspaper that was lying, crinkled, on the bench beside him. The pages were cold and smooth under his fingertips, and he opened the pages one by one.
Something on the paper felt a little funny, like someone had cut out a page and pasted it somewhere else. He looked down at the pages and they were spelling out something. It was hard to make out, but it looked like: turn right on Paige, keep going straight three, then turn left onto Piling. You will find it there.
Anders couldn’t resist the temptation of an adventure, but he was sure to keep a wary eye for approaching strangers. He slowly made his way towards the destination. The streets weren’t as crowded as they used to be, but that changed once he reached Piling Road. The dirty roads were crowded with people of all ages, and there were millions of people crowded in bunches. He slowly made his way through the crowds, shoving his way past the townspeople and pedestrians.
When he finally reached his destination, he couldn’t believe his eyes. A fruit stand was waiting there just for him. It had a small interior, just big enough for him to fit inside, and there was a huge, painted umbrella with all the colors of the rainbow. He smiled as he walked past the worn wooden fruit shelves and small, wooden buckets full of mangos, peaches, pears, plums and many other odd colored fruits. He felt like he was stuck in a dream. He reached out and touched the small apples and oranges with his fingers, which immediately turned a red orange color from the fruit juice. It was definitely real.
Where did these come from? Was this Moms fruit stand? Is it mine? His head was filled with many various questions about the mysterious fruit stand and the note and its owner. He could feel that this was the beginning of something special, some thing wonderful, something extraordinary. He was going to own a fruit stand.
Chapter One