The dream behind the scent
I am poolside at an impossibly posh resort, surrounded by an electric rainbow of bikinis, sarongs, and swimming trunks. Snippets of conversation float past me — Italian, Mandarin, French, and Spanish. The waitstaff weave in and out between cabanas, balancing trays of tropical cocktails, fresh cut fruit, and yuzu sorbet. I crunch on the pomegranate seeds floating in my drink and reach for a wedge of watermelon from the table beside me. It is ice cold and heavy with juice that drips down my wrists with every bite.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and look up to see two giggling children. They are both eating an exotic fruit, something like a cross between a dragon fruit and star fruit. Lime yellow — almost neon. The taller of the two holds out a napkin to me. I try to thank them but they look at me more and more quizzically with every language that I try. Grazie, xièxie, merci, gracias. They giggle shyly and whisper to each other in a language I’ve never heard before.
Where are you from? I ask, motioning with my hands as well. They point up at the sky, which suddenly changes from bright blue to pink. When I look back down they have already scampered o, leaving me with a dozen of their colorful fruit. I hold one up to the light and suddenly the whole world is awash in neon lime yellow.
Inspired by Francesca’s dream
