The Power of Lemons
Flash Fiction | 4 Minute Read
This is a story I wrote for an NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. I was given the challenge of writing a Romance using a long-term parking lot and a slice of lemon. While researching long-term parking lots I found out about Lot E at LAX, a parking lot reserved for RVs for airline professionals so they could have a home away from home. That discovery birthed this story. I hope you enjoy it.
This is a four minute read.
THE POWER OF LEMONS
It was 2:18 AM St. Louis time when I got on the shuttle. The only other person aboard was a disgruntled looking pilot I had never flown with. I wondered how he had been using the Lot E parking lot village at LAX to recover after his shifts. If he didn’t look so exhausted I might have asked him. Mom told me to call when I got to the lot, but since it was already so late, I dialed when I settled into my seat.
“Are you okay?” she answered on the first ring.
“Why are you wide awake, Ma?” I was so tired I couldn’t comprehend anyone actually choosing to be awake at that moment.
“I’m waiting to hear about the albero di limoni,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
“This is a lemon tree?” I asked, looking at the mysterious box I had traveled with all day, finally connecting the aromatic dots in my brain that kept telling me it smelled of home. I laughed. “I can buy my own lemons, Ma!” I said louder than the sleepy shuttle was used to. I heard the pilot grumble a couple of seats behind me.
“Lemons bring prosperity and love, Gina. You take care of it, it will take care of you.” Our house was never without a lemon in it, I always thought it was because lemons reminded my mother of her childhood in Sicily, now I wondered if it was this superstition.
“Ma-ma! I promise to always have lemons, okay? Will you go to sleep now? I’ll call you before tomorrow’s shift.”
She hung up sounding somewhat satisfied just as the shuttle started cruising toward the back parking lot that was home to my new oasis. It was a place to sleep that wasn’t a couch in the crew lounge at the airport, a home base that didn’t require waiting for stand-by on a red-eye to complete the commute back to my mother’s house in St. Louis. It was my family’s ancient RV parked in the parking lot village created for airline employees looking for a cheap path to sleep. I was turning my head to find my RV when I caught the pilot staring at me. He smiled and said, “Tell me you actually have a spare lemon.”“Um, what?” I asked, confused, but unable to hide my own smile.
“I forgot to buy lemons and I have lemon water every morning. I just need one slice of lemon, you can have the rest.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You sound like some sort of lemon junkie. I think my mother would love you.”
He laughed now, too, and I wished I could see his face clearer. The teasing images of a smile, creases around the eyes and a bite of his lip all while the shuttle passed by parking lot lights was enough to make me want to see more – and know more – of him.
“Let me start over. I’m Frank Ferrari,” he extended a hand across the shuttle seating as he scooted a row closer.
His handshake was firm and warm. “An Italian boy? My mother really would love you! And now I get the need for lemons. I’m Gina Rossi. My lemon junkie mother thinks I need a lemon tree in my life to attract love and luck, so I don’t think I’ll have a slice of lemon for you for at least a season or two.”
“Do you doubt the power of lemons?” Frank asked. A turn into Lot E’s well-lit entryway exposed an adorable smirk on his face.
“You wanna door-to-door you two?” the shuttle driver asked, looking through his rearview mirror.
“I’ll get off here, Shane,” Frank said. “But you should always take the ladies to their door.” He got up to walk off the bus, then he stopped and turned toward me. “Ms. Rossi, I’m going to show you the power of lemons. And, yes, your mother is going to love me.” He tipped his hat and winked in a way that usually turns my stomach, but, for once, felt charming.
It took five seasons for the lemon tree to bear fruit, but the lemons and their love and luck came much sooner.
The morning after that first shuttle ride to Lot E, I received an email that my flights had been changed. There had been a special request from someone on high that I be on a new crew for the next month. It was Frank. I was on every one of his flights. We were scheduled to go across the states, across the Atlantic, to Europe, Australia and back again.
I didn’t talk to him much on each flight that first day, but after every stop, there was a new lemon waiting for me in my seat with a note about it’s name, origin, tartness and FF (Frank Ferrari) score.
When we returned to base and found ourselves on the shuttle ride back to our respective RVs, Frank asked for my review of the fruit. The first time he did so he asked for my “GR score.” I was befuddled. “My what?”
He sat next to me on the shuttle then and I could smell the remnants of the cologne or aftershave he chose in the morning and, more than likely, reapplied throughout the day. I dare say there was a citrus note to it. “You have to try the lemons, Gina! What good is the fruit if you don’t taste it?”
So I tried the first one right there, in the shuttle, a wonderfully, impossibly sweet Meyers lemon from somewhere near our Miami stop and asked Frank, “What’s the highest score I can give?” He placed his hand on mine, squeezed it and said, “Wait, Gina. Don’t score it yet. I still have to take you to Asia.”
Leave a Comment and Don’t Hoard this Story!
I’ll be perfectly honest with you, while I was satisfied with this ending when I originally submitted this story to NYC Midnight, I am currently dissatisfied with it. I want just a little more — a note about how mom ended up really loving Frank, and so did Gina or something like that. I didn’t want to change it though. I wanted to ask you, do you need more? If so, what are you missing?
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