All about pickles

I put the pickles in the refrigerator almost immediately, I did. I haven’t been lying; I’ll tell you exactly what happened in the exact order: 

1. I heard about this farmer’s market in Ravenscroft that sells “simply divine” seasonal jam from this guy passing through Korkie who stopped by the diner. It’s about forty-five minutes away from here. And, I know, it’s much farther than the one we have in town, but like my sweet deeply departed grandmama said, if you can taste the season on your toast while the leaves are hitting the ground, then you’ll never have an unhappy day– and well, it was probably nothing, but I thought I’d might as well try to see what fruit could do for me. 

2. I drove up to the farmer’s market with Lucy, my daughter. My wife (her mother) and our two boys were out of town for a soccer tournament, and if there is one person who likes seasonal jam more than I do– it’s Lucy. At a younger age there would be times where I’d catch her waking up earlier than any of us (or so she thought) and she would be knee deep in something jam related. Usually nothing too crazy, just shoving spoonfuls of jam in her adorably chubby cheeks. I thought it was cute, harmless. Then came the interest. She knew just a few components that made up jam: fruit, sugar and condensing. I had to put an end to her jam obsession when I caught her one morning at around five in the morning splashing around in red goo on the kitchen floor. For a brief moment my mind even wandered into frightful territory, thinking it was blood. What had happened in reality was that she got into the fridge and took out all the red fruits– cherries, strawberries and raspberries and started to mash them all under tiny hands and feet. The Lucy we know today isn’t much too different, just as messy and just as passionate about jam, just knows how to clean up after herself. So we had a tradition of going to these types of things together. Just the two of us. 

3. I’m not as one-track minded as my daughter. Lucy took off straight towards the jam, fruit and vegetation side of the market and I wanted to just peruse the unexplored market. And quite frankly, it was only just slightly more impressive than the one we have here in Korkie. They certainly had a wider selection of seasonal jams, I’ll tell you that much. I hadn’t seen Lucy so ferociously enjoying herself in a long while. When I periodically glanced at her she was held deep in conversation by a middle-aged woman with a bright smile across her face. As for the rest of the market, the produce was fewer than ours in Korkie, it was a bit more of a secluded area altogether, nestled more deeply in the woods than Ravenscroft. There was a relaxing still in the fog that surrounded the trees. It was just a few weeks ago, when the leaves had begun turning their vibrant greens into the golden crowns of autumn. Looking down the singular row of stalls, there were not so many people there. That way, every look from a vendor felt personal and like I was almost obliged to approach. That’s when I made eye contact with Nick. 

4. Nick sold pickles. Not just cucumbers, sometimes other vegetables–like cabbage, carrots, beetroot, etc. But the main attraction quite clearly were the regular cucumber pickles. Nothing fancy, unlike the decadent jam jars that Lucy was engulfing herself with. She hadn’t looked over at me once. Unlike the laughing lady with Lucy, Nick resembled the composure of his produce– sour. It wasn’t an awkward, pleading smile that pulled me over to his stand, rather it was the way it seemed that he barely wanted to be there himself. His lips were even pursed together like he was tasting something sour.

“Hello,” he said first, which was surprising because I could have sworn he rolled his eyes when I approached him “what can I do for you?” Bitterly, he asked.

“Oh, I’m just up here for the day… some guy told me about this market and my daughter and I can’t help ourselves but see what y’all were selling” I think I said something like that. Not too sure.

All I remember is wanting to look at the pickles but for some reason his gaze was more captivating than ever eating again. Every appetite lying deep within my brain or belly was now held at bay, only left with the sole desire to look away, but for the life of me, I couldn’t. That was until he asked if I cared to sample a pickle. 

5. I’d never tasted anything like it before in my life. All at the same time it had dimensions of flavor I had never experienced, but struck a chord deep within my gut telling me that I had known this flavor well. The crunch satisfied every moment I’d glanced at glass and wanted to bite it. It was the crunch to end all crunches. Salt didn’t seem to rush over my taste buds, rather my salivatory glands rushed to embrace the pickle. I must admit, at this point, I feel ashamed. Looking back, I was just eating a pickle, and I wish I could tell you as a grown man what had come over me, but I still don’t understand. It was probably nothing. I guess that’s why I’m writing all of this down to you. Well, I guess now is the time to mention what happened next. 

6. The man who came by the diner touched me on my shoulder. There was a brief moment where the muscles holding together my shoulder involuntarily were rising quickly to meet his jaw, but I caught on quick enough. It’s probably nothing, just a reaction to all the sodium. The fog had encroached the market. The man in front of me, virtually a stranger, seemed only to exist from the waist up, which is where the fog lay on all of us. I turned my head to see Lucy, and I noticed that she was eating the jam with her fingers. I snapped back toward the man, with more questions than my tongue would allow, and only his face told me that he was sorry before I walked quickly towards Lucy, and took her hand by force. Her eye twitched, and it was probably nothing, but it had never happened before. She was a very relaxed teenader– apart from all the jam-induced sugar highs. She looked at me like she was only just seeing me for the first time.

“It’s time to go.” I told her, pulling her hand away, but she resisted.

“Dad, this is Jennie.” Lucy said, and I looked at Jennie, and there was a kick start to my heart. The day was actually much brighter from then on. The tiny trace of blue in the sky was vibrant and the fog seemed more like a cloud.

“Hi, dad,” Jennie started. Dad, I thought, I always wanted to be a father from a very young age. But she didn’t know that, did she? Or did she? It was probably nothing. “Lucy here loves jam.” Jennie’s smile was perfect.

“Oh, yes, we know.” I remember laughing and it felt so gooey and good around the walls of my mouth.

“We have a program here. For teenagers. To come foraging with us, and make the jam.” I looked at all the products and saw the plain packaging, and thought the whole thing was cute, and when I looked at my girl’s face, I knew her mind was set. “None of the students are here today, but we are accepting new applicants.” Her voice was calm, like my grandmama’s.

“Can I, dad?” Lucy warmed up my heart. I couldn’t say no. So, I let her take Jennie’s information (who was quite pleased about the whole interaction), and we headed back to the car. Although the day still was so pleasant, I knew not to look back at Nick’s stand. That’s why I was so confused when we arrived home, there was a jar of Nick’s pickles on our front step, outside our diner. On the packaging it said to refrigerate immediately, so I popped them in the fridge. 

7. My wife tried the pickles. She loved them. Told me to go back next week and get some more. So I did. This time, Nick’s sourness didn’t bother me so much. I didn’t look at him. Just at the pickles. Lucy started her jam program (internship? I don’t know what you call these things), and was bringing home boxes of jam and going through it. But one day something changed. 

8. My son had left the pickles out of the fridge. He was running off to soccer practice and no one was in the house, and he left them out. When we came back the jar was there, squeaky clean– like there had never been pickles in there ever. It was probably nothing; I assumed my wife cleaned them out, but that’s not entirely what had happened in reality.  

9. Soon the town was set on by a heavy fog. Not like the one in Ravenscroft. It made the air hard to breathe. Everyone had to rush from door to door. The diners in our restaurant came in gasping for air, and desperate for food. Snapping at me, customers of two decades were turning… sour. There was no reason why the two would be connected, but they were. How did I find out?

10. You came to see me. You asked if I had put the pickles in the fridge immediately and I said, yes of course (and who the hell are you?), what’s that got to do with anything? 

11. You told me that my son shouldn’t have left them out. 

12. I said he’s fourteen, he doesn’t care about refrigeration as much as the average person does (and the average person doesn’t really care all that much about it)

13. And you said that this situation ought to be controlled, that my family ought to be controlled and then I shouted, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT DO PICKLES HAVE TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS? 

14. And then you looked at me… all calmly-like… and I didn’t like the way you looked at me. There was no fog around you, I noticed then. I wondered… I touched you and the fog went away from me and I noticed my heart beating, my face contorted and how loudly I must have been screaming before. Everything slowed. You changed. There was that apologetic look again. But this time, I didn’t think it was nothing, I didn't think it was weird, I knew it was real, so I asked again, this time calmly and with a clear head on my shoulders, “Who are you?” and you told me to drive to Ravenscroft, pick up my daughter (who I hadn’t heard from in days, now that I was thinking about) and go to a diner and ask for the club sandwich on rye, with extra pickles. I agreed, I let go and the fog around me didn’t come back. I got in my car, and drove to Ravenscroft, did as you said, and was given this address to explain everything. Now I have and, you know how they say sometimes on paper things make more sense? This doesn’t. I have no clue what the hell has happened, what universe I’ve stumbled on, and how it will help but I guess it’s the only option I have. I’m just stuck here wondering if I made a mistake at any point? Was there meant to be some sort of catharsis with all of this, or was this whole thing really just some cosmically, magically charged event all about pickles?