Clarice quickly threw on her worn out zip-up hoodie just as she did every other day, racing with excitement to her sage green 2012 Volkswagen Beetle. Her long black hair swayed peacefully around her pale skin as the sunlight blinded her blue eyes. She stepped into the car, practically shaking with excitement for the pumpkin patch. Clarice loves autumn. She loves seeing the leaves shift to ambers and reds and yellows, and feeling the humidity change to a crisp breeze. She loves the scent of her pumpkin spice candles, and the warm taste of her chai latte. But most of all, she loves going to the pumpkin patch and picking out the best, most perfect pumpkin for her humble porch steps.
The patch was quite busy today, the first Sunday of October in Fredonia. Clarice stepped out of her car and onto the dirt path. She strolled leisurely along as each step pushed fallen leaves father into the ground. Not far ahead she could see the big welcome sign, decorated with wooden ghosts and plastic skeletons. The sign arched between two silver poles, tied in place with some sort of rope. The harsh wind rocked the skeletons as if they were dancing. She walked under the sign and saw dozens of wooden stands, each packed with an array of pumpkin sizes and colors. People of all ages were smiling and laughing, drinking and eating. Clarice watched two small children fight over who got to take home the pumpkin they wanted. “How silly!”, she thought, as she admired the hundreds of other pumpkins waiting to be chosen. She wandered through the patch, the sunlight keeping her just warm enough to avoid numb fingers and toes.
A couple hours passed by and Clarice was still searching for her pumpkin. She noticed a small stand in the corner of the patch that she had previously missed, as a few haystacks kept it hidden from view. She paced over curiously, with an instinct feeling that her pumpkin was on this very stand. As the options came into view, she knew her instincts had not failed her. There sat Clarice’s perfect pumpkin. About the size of a basketball, a vibrant orange color with defined grooves and a full stem. The shape was symmetrical and round, and she saw not a single indent or discoloration. She exhaled a sigh of relief as the feeling of success overcame her. She made her way to grab the pumpkin, reaching her arms out to claim her prize. Just as her fingertips grazed the edge, a piercing voice shouted, “What do you think you’re doing!?”
Taken by surprise, Clarice turned slightly to glance in the direction of the voice. There stood a tall blonde woman with short pixie cut hair and deep brown eyes, arms placed fiercely among her hips. A red plaid scarf covered her neck and was tucked messily into her khaki coat, followed by black jeans and running shoes. She towered over Clarice and gave a cold look as she continued, “I was going to take that pumpkin home! I saw it there hours ago and had just came back to grab it. So give it here, now.” Clarice laughed, amused by this woman’s demanding tone as if she were in charge of the pumpkins. “Ma’am, if you wanted to take this one, you could have just bought it earlier when you saw it. Now if you’ll excuse me—” Clarice took the pumpkin and held it in her arms tightly as she walked towards the check out stand.
Monica watched with dismay as this woman grabbed the pumpkin she’d spotted hours ago. She had waited all week for the patch to open, filled with excitement and suspense. But to her surprise, this day was full of problems and annoyances. Monica barley got any sleep the previous night, as her son’s cries kept her awake for hours. She was hoping the trip to the pumpkin patch would save the day, when the opposite ended up becoming reality. Her son threw the worst tantrum she’d ever seen, all because someone took the pumpkin he’d wanted. She had struggled to calm him down and was eventually forced to bring him home. After all this chaos, Monica just wanted to get that perfect pumpkin, and now she was facing the same issue that caused her son’s tantrum in the first place. Monica’s eyes trailed the woman’s path as Clarice walked away. Whether Monica was overly tired running on adrenaline, sick of dealing with her son’s drama, or both, she raced up to Clarice and started yelling. “Hey! Give me that pumpkin! You have no idea what I’ve been through today, and all I want is to take home that damn pumpkin!” Clarice turned rapidly around as her jaw dropped in shock. She looked at Monica’s crazy eyes and wild stance, not sure what to say next. She just blurted out “You’re crazy!”, and walked away timidly. Clarice could hear the booming footsteps of Monica chasing behind her, picking up speed with each stomp. She sped up her pace and was almost at the check out when— thud—“OW!”
Clarice watched her perfect pumpkin roll across the dirt with force. It bounced and turned and finally came to a halt as it knocked into the leg of another stand. Her senses returned as she felt her knees soaked with mud and smelled dirt on her face. She looked up in disbelief as Monica leaped over her, scooped up the pumpkin with ease, and ran off to the parking lot without looking back. Clarice laughed as she remembered the children fighting earlier and thought, “So much for my perfect pumpkin.”