A Tale of Two Raisins: A Hate/Love Story

Claire and John are a story unlike any other. A story that is false as well as true. A story that began with a mother packing raisins—and once took twenty years to tell all the way through.

Claire

Claire knew John hated her from the moment he first saw her. It began as most hate does, with a simple trade.

Hate. Hate is a strong word, especially for a six-year-old. But how else does one describe the feeling of having their box of raisins stolen and being given a Fruit Roll-Up as a replacement? And then there was the lemon. A lemon! Everyone knew that raisins were the superior lunch snack, and her mom had packed them specially for her. Then, three days before the Great Raisin Theft, John started the rumor that she had given everybody lice.

“Claire has lice and cooties,” he’d said.

She hadn’t had either, and she tried to tell the other kids, but of course the only thing that can spread faster than lice is a rumor. Nobody sat beside her for the next month.

His hatred and his strange way of showing it only became more confusing and inconvenient as they grew older. He once insisted on being her lab partner even though she ended up doing all the work herself. Another time he bought her a card for her birthday when everybody else had seemingly forgotten. As if she had needed the reminder. No doubt, these actions were meant to make her uncomfortable. But discomfort has a strange way of blurring into rather inconvenient things. Somewhere around middle school and high school, it had shifted into something much stronger and more undeniably permanent.

It only got worse when the movie offer came. John had approached her directly about seeing a film together. Later, of course, she stayed up all night waiting for a text. And the night after that, and the night after that. It never came. She knew then that he had never liked her but instead wanted her to look stupid. To lie about such a thing to make her look like the fool was just cruel. But not as cruel as prom night. She would never forgive him for that.

She had thought he might ask her, but when he didn’t, Big Al did instead. Her stomach hadn’t been feeling quite right, and her head had already begun to spin. The drink in her cup didn’t taste particularly great either. Sometime in the night, Big Al disappeared. She later found him making out against the wall with another girl. She’d cried her heart out outside the gym, mascara running and heels in her hands. She looked up, ignoring the throbbing of her head, and saw him. John. For one hopeful, tiny moment, she thought maybe he was there for her. Maybe she had been wrong about him. But then he turned back around and left her there all alone. She’d cried the rest of the night after that and was still a mess when she found herself back at her parents’ house the next morning.

John

Max was John’s older brother and in the fourth grade. He had even held Samantha’s hand for an entire bus ride. Naturally, this made him the undisputed expert on all things girls.

John hadn’t stolen the raisins. Technically. Max had said that if a girl really liked you, she would let you take one of her snacks. Not only that, but a true gentleman would take the grossest food. John hated raisins with a passion rivaled only by his hatred of lima beans. When he took her raisin box, she didn’t stop him. In fact, she continued to stare at him from across the playground long after—therefore, she obviously liked him. Max had also said that he heard from his friend that girls liked lemons. He’d also pointed out that Claire had lemon stickers all over her notebooks, and even on that one shirt she always wore on Fridays. It had seemed very rude to not offer her an armful of the fruit.

Earlier that week, he had overheard his mom talking to the other moms about “lice.” It had seemed important, because that mom told another mom who told another mom who told Claire’s mom. John loved any news regarding Claire. So naturally, John wanted in, and when Veronica asked if it was true, he’d said yes. Claire didn’t talk to him after that for three days. He didn’t understand.

John volunteered to be her lab partner just so he could sit next to her, even though he knew science wasn’t his strong suit. He got her a birthday card because what else did someone do for birthdays? Then he finally asked her to go out to the movies.

Then his phone fell into an empty manhole. An actual, genuine manhole. Nobody believed him. Not his parents, who made him pay for a new one with several weeks’ worth of allowance. Not Max, who thought it was a convenient excuse to get a better phone than him. And definitely not Claire—whom he’d promised to text that weekend with a time for a movie. He had tried to borrow other phones to let her know, but before he could, he’d been grounded indefinitely. By the time he saw her on Monday, she wouldn’t let him get a word out, let alone an explanation. She never listened to another offer after that.

Then there was prom. He had planned a whole promposal to finally tell her what he knew they had both been feeling. He’d bought the white roses instead of the red because she’d once told him they smelled better. Even after smelling both at the florist, he still couldn’t tell the difference and was half-convinced Claire was pulling his leg. But he’d bought them anyway. Then he heard she was dating that other guy. The footballer. Big Al. The one who was with a new girl every other week. Max told him to ask her anyway.

“It’s just a rumor. Ask her. Show her the roses!” Max had said.

But he didn’t. John didn’t want to tell her that Big Al didn’t mean it. Part of John was also still fuming over the fact that she hadn’t waited. Didn’t she know he wanted to ask her? All he could do was watch as it all went crashing down that night.

He hadn’t touched the punch. Max had told him a dozen times before he left.

“Trust me, John,” he’d insisted. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

That evening, he watched Big Al disappear with one of his exes, while Claire sat all alone under the cut-out paper stars. He slowly walked right up to her.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here,” he said softly.

John ran as fast as he could for a bottle of water, and when he came back, she was still crying.

He later held her close while her mascara ran down her cheeks. When she could finally stand again, he found her clutch, picked up her heels, and carefully walked her to his car to drive her home. John didn’t remind her the next morning, even after the hangover eventually left. When she asked how it went, he painted a picture of dancing, stars, and magic. She had danced until she couldn’t anymore, and everybody had loved her perfect cat-eye. He would have painted the whole world if it meant she never remembered Big Al again.

Now years have passed. John sees her across the airport terminal. Claire looks up at the same moment and is most definitely staring right at him. For a moment, he thinks she has come for him.

She sees him across the terminal and, for a moment, wonders if he is there for her.

Neither of them moves at first. They then slowly approach, as they have been doing for years and years. He reaches into his pocket and brings out a box of raisins.

“You still like raisins?”

“They are delicious.” She laughs before accepting the box. Her eyes meet his again. “Share with me?”

“I’d love to.”

She opens the box and reaches inside for a few.

“Did you ever actually hate me?” she asks.

John is so horrified that he nearly chokes on his raisins in his rush to answer.

“No,” he finally manages. “I just really hated raisins.”