A few days ago I went to the local bookstore. I’ve known the owners since my very first day in town. They were the first people I met, but I didn’t see the owner or even know the people who were working, which was unusual, since they’ve had the same staff for as long as I’ve lived here. I wondered if the owner had sold it. He’s been talking about it for a few years. I didn’t ask, though. I just didn’t want to have that conversation, so I find what I’m looking for and go up to the counter and pay. The unfamiliar person at the register sets my bag on the counter. I’m about to reach for it and she steers a bowl right underneath my chin and holds it there. It is filled with what looks like miniature pears.
“Would you like a fig?” she says.
I didn’t really want the fig, to tell you the truth, but I took it because I didn’t want to have that conversation, either.
I brought the fig home and this morning I decided to take pictures of it.
I like figs, but I’ve never had a fig that wasn’t ready to eat in the form of a cookie or pie, and so this one just puzzled me.