Mango Market

Mangoes were grainy. Hailey had wandered into an outdoor market of types. It reminded her of the few farmers’ markets she’d gone to after visiting her grandmother who lived in a fairly rural area. They’d drive for about fifteen minutes in their old minivan down older asphalt roads through cornfields, and then her two sisters and her would follow their mom as she walked around with a canvas tote, picking up fruits and vegetables and examining them. Hilary had a fascination with the honey sticks that were set up at one stand. She’d beg for all of the flavors, but she’d only ever be granted access to one. Mom would let little Hope pick out bread, and Hailey would drift in and out of stalls and read all the names of different types of cheese, and try to memorize what brussels sprouts looked like.

This market was similar. But it was more colorful. There was so much more color here. She felt that under this sun she could clearly delineate indigo from purple. Had that ever been possible before? Even on summery days, there was never light like there was here. The scales of the fish lying on their sides, piled on top of each other like individual scales themselves, were more silver than gray. The green of whatever type of salad substrate was lying on that red checkered table cloth wasn’t green, it was verdant. Hailey slowly walked around, carefully examining from afar each individual item. There were a lot of people rushing around her, but they had actual items in mind. She would be satisfied if she found something to snack on. Like a honey stick.

She finally stood unmoving in front of a fruit stand. The colors had interested her interest when she had been several booths away, and now she was struck by how many different shades of warm colors were present in the plastic bins containing stereotypically tropical fruits. There was a woman carrying her child presumably in her hands two steps to the side of Hailey. She was discussing something more than fruit with the woman behind the table. Hailey tried to not pay attention, looking very interested in the range of colors the mangoes were displaying off to the right. Green, orange, red. She imagined her mom standing next to her. How can you know which one is ripe?

Hailey couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a mango, and couldn’t remember if she actually ever had. Star fruits were off to the side, and she knew for a fact she’d never had those before. She always picked around them whenever they presented themselves in nicer fruit bowls. Natural things shouldn’t come in cookie cutter shapes, she had reasoned.

“Ai, ai, ai. This is just terrible. How are we to set good models for ours if we have such things going around,” the merchant pointed to the woman’s son who had begun to amuse himself by clapping his small hands together with little success in making a clapping sound at all. The mother whistled. “John says he’s going to talk to the governor, you know, but I don’t know if that will do anything actually. It didn’t do anything the last time West Bay went to him.” They both shook their heads disapprovingly, then the merchant noticed Hailey. “Hello. What’d you like?” The mother went back to picking up fruits and examining them after switching the child to her other arm.
“I’d like to try a mango.” The woman stood there waiting for her to pick one up. But she did not. “How do you know which one is the best?” The woman smiled and bent over the pile of mangoes with her hands clasped behind her back, studying them. Her long pearl necklace fell down, almost colliding with some of them. Hailey tried to look inspective. “Ah,” the woman picked up one that was half green, half orange. She squeezed it with her lightly wrinkled hands. Then she smelled it quickly. “This one is the best, it should be very sweet.” She deposited the mango in Hailey’s hand, while Hailey reached with her other hand into her pocket. She had shoved some Cayman dollars into it after she’d gotten change after buying a diet coke at a gas station along her walk to the market. It was ninety degrees. She regretted the diet coke when she was done with it—she was thirstier than before. Hailey pulled out a blue sheet of cloth paper and gave it to the woman who began pulling out change. She was about to plop the cents into Hailey’s hand when she noticed that Hailey had the mango dangerously close to her opening mouth. “No no no!” Hailey paused, Mango emanating perfume directly under her nose. “Don’t eat the skin, girl.”

Hailey felt disappointed in herself, and shrugged her shoulders, “Sorry.”
“It’s alright” the woman laughed and pulled out a knife, took the mango back from Hailey and quickly peeled it. She gave the wet fruit back to Hailey, “Don’t eat the pit,” she motioned eating and then pointed to the dead center of the mango, as if the girl might have been deaf. Hailey thanked her gratefully and then began walking back to the hotel, slowly gnawing through her treat. It was grainy. But it was also juicy. Orange liquid began accumulating at the sides of her mouth before they poured down to her chin, and she had to wipe it away with the back of her free hand, leaving both her face and her hands sticky when she finally arrived at the Seaside Suites.